The Wild Card: A Small Town Fake Dating Sports Romance (The Wild Westbrooks Book 3)(10)

My mind wanders back to my pitiful dating history. My ex-boyfriend Luke was perfect on paper. Like Laurent The Date Stacker, he too checked all the boxes. Luke is a successful lawyer, just like me. He worked long hours. He graduated from an Ivy League school. As a bonus, he even worked at the same law firm as I did. Between our seventy hour work weeks, sometimes that was the only way we saw each other.

It took me years to figure out that what looks good on paper doesn’t always translate to real life. Luke essentially broke me. Well, not ‘me’. The old Nadia. The Nadia who allowed herself to get dragged around by her heartstrings and naively wore her emotions on her sleeve. That Nadia doesn’t exist anymore.

Luke had a way of belittling everything I believed in. Despite the fact that we worked together—or maybe because of it—he hated my career ambitions. He said my competitiveness was unattractive. Too manly. He put me down and squashed my dreams at every turn.

I think he would have been happier with a cute little girlfriend that stroked his ego and made him feel like the big important macho breadwinner he envisioned himself to be. It’s taken me months of therapy to understand that it wasn’t me. That Luke’s narcissism just couldn’t handle someone being his equal.

To top it off, he had the gall to be embarrassed of me. He hid our relationship from our mutual friends and coworkers for years. I was just this dirty little secret that he wanted to change and mold into his ideal woman.

In the end, Luke’s constant rejection and disapproval became too much. You know you’re in a dark place when starting over in a new town with a new job is more appealing than being continuously dragged through a toxic relationship.

I packed up and left the NYC law firm where we worked together and accepted Liam’s offer to come work here in Sin Valley. And that, boys and girls, is the story of how Logical Nadia was born. Because after the heartache I’d been through, my body reflexively constructed a defense mechanism to make sure that shit never happened again.

But I didn’t move here completely blind and unfamiliar with my surroundings. My family actually lives just a few towns over. Far enough, but not too far. The Chesters are crazy—keeping an adequate amount of distance from them is necessary for my sanity.

Anyway, settling here was the next best thing to moving back home. Because somehow the idea of moving back home felt like failure, and my therapist is helping me avoid those negative thoughts.

Enter my next ex.

About a year ago, I reconnected with a guy from my old high school. With Riggs being the Sin Valley sheriff now, I assumed I wouldn't run into the same issues I did with Luke. What’s more masculine than running the sheriff’s department? Surely he wouldn’t be threatened by a woman with a career, right?

Wrong.

Either I’m only attracted to men who can’t handle me, or it’s just…well, me. Because there’s seriously a sad pattern here.

Again…another fun topic for my therapist to straighten out.

It was great when we first started hooking up, but things with Riggs went downhill quickly. He would get pissy when my work got in the way of our time together. But it wasn’t like we were even dating or going out in public. I’m pretty sure he was keeping me a secret, too, because all we really ever did was jump into bed whenever our schedules synced up.

It became clear that Riggs was turned off by my aspirations, and it turned into a weird hate-fuck situation that eventually became emotionally exhausting. I might have been getting orgasms back then, but it was tearing my soul apart.

He still texts me every once in a while, but I’m just not interested in being his booty call anymore.

Now? I’m just tired. And this trip down memory lane isn’t helping matters.

I grab the remote and turn the volume a few notches higher. “This is not the conversation I signed up for tonight, Nova. I’m watching a damn football game.”

Nova rolls her eyes in a ‘loud’, dramatic way, complete with shoulder slumping and a heavy sigh. “Sometimes, I just wanna come over there and ruffle you up. Get you all messy. Muddle up your whole perfectionist persona—”

“I’m hanging up now,” I announce.

But Nova pushes on. “—because I know the real Nadia, under that professional veneer. She’s incredible and fun and sexy! I just wanna let ‘er loose—”

“Goodbye, Nova.”

“—and I tell you all the time—you deserve a man who has you walking around with a limp. And some hickeys on your neck. And your hair sticking up in every direction. And a big, dopey grin on your face—”

“I love you infinitely. Have a great night.” I feel zero guilt when I end the call. Okay, maybe a little guilt.

My sister loves me. And she just wants the best for me. But all that pressure and the constant reminders that I’m getting it wrong in the love department don’t help.

So avoidance—that’s the strategy for tonight.

I bring my attention back to the screen and I try to get into the game. Man, the Paragons are taking a beating tonight.

On the next commercial break—when I should be editing a lease extension clause for one of Liam’s commercial tenants—I find myself logging into the secure server where Paragons-related information is stored. I find myself pulling up Harry Westbrook’s personal file.

Height: 6 ft. 2 in.