DUMPED by Lucy Hawkins

Author:Lucy Hawkins [Hawkins, Lucy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-06-03T16:00:00+00:00

Seventeen

Alex

“Alexander Haynes, quit hogging the fucking bathroom!” Taylor’s fist pounded against the door. “What are you even doing in there, dyeing your eyebrows?”

Alex jerked the door open and crossed his arms across his bare chest as steam poured out into the hall. “If you must know, I’m getting ready for a date.”

Just saying the word made his stomach flip.

“I’m sorry, did you say a date?” Taylor waved the steam away. “Who could you possibly be going on a date with in Redwood?”

“Who said I’m going with someone from Redwood?”

Narrowing her eyes, Taylor turned back toward the stairs. “Mom, did you know Alex was going on a date?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Alex hissed, pressing his hand over her mouth. “It’s none of your business.”

Unable to respond, she simply raised an eyebrow. Two could play that game.

“Fine. You want to know who it is? I’ll tell you. But I’m also telling Mom you spent the night at Scamp Mowbray’s house last week.”

“You wouldn’t,” she said against his hand.

Alex smiled sweetly. “Wouldn’t I?”

Glaring, Taylor swatted his hand away. “I cannot believe you. You’re being childish.”

At one time, that would have drawn a fight out of him. Now, it just made Alex laugh. “Yeah, okay.” If she couldn’t see the irony in that statement, that was her problem.

Retreating back into the bathroom, Alex grabbed a bottle of cologne and sprayed it into the air before walking through it. Then he paused. Was it too much? The last thing he wanted was to smell like some douchey frat guy. Grabbing a towel, he wiped what he could off his arms.

He was being ridiculous. This was just Hank. The same Hank he’d interacted with over the past month at the inn. The same Hank who offered him coffee and listened to him talk about nothing for hours on end.

The same Hank he’d slept with after half a bottle of scotch and had a dance-off with in the drawing room.

He pushed that thought out of his mind. This wasn’t a quick, drunken fuck. This was a date. Even if Hank hadn’t even been able to say the word out loud, he’d made it abundantly clear when he’d booked a table for two at Grappa ’72 in Albany. Alex had scoped out the menu a few days ago, and it had left his mouth watering. The restaurant was fancier than anything they had in Redwood, so he needed an appropriate outfit.

Rifling in his closet, he pulled out a number of options—mostly Will-You-Plan-My-Wedding bribes from Hazel. The cashmere sweater was too hot for summer. The denim button-down wasn’t fancy enough. What did people even wear on dates anymore? Did any of his clothes actually fit anymore? In the weeks following the breakup, he’d allowed himself one too many pints of ice cream, and his stomach was softer than he’d like for it to be. Glaring at himself in the mirror, he went back to the drawing board.

He’d just settled on a pair of lightweight khakis, short sleeve button-down, and blazer when the doorbell rang.

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