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Chapter One

Cash

The thrum of the bass reverberates throughout the room, almost like a physical presence. The New York City nightclub is packed, with people at the bar, wall-to-wall on the dance floor, even the hallways leading to the bathroom. It’s the kind of night where you feel invincible.

Once upon a time, I would have loved it. The atmosphere. The music. That feeling of being alive, in the prime of your life, hanging out with the beautiful people of the world. Or at least of New York.

Tonight it’s nothing more than a painful reminder of what I lost.

Or, more accurately, what I let slip away.

A year after my divorce, I still wonder who was truly at fault.

But she’s moved on, so I plan to as well.

There’s no running away from your own life, but you can definitely put some distance between the past and the present.

“You want another drink?” My friend and teammate on the Atlanta Thunder, the team we play pro hockey for, nudges me. Simon Lacroix is our backup goalie and has become a good friend since I was traded to the Thunder just before the deadline last spring.

“I need all the drinks,” I say. “I don’t plan to leave here tonight with so much as a shred of my wits about me.”

He laughs. “I’m on it.” He starts making his way to the bar, since I got the last round, and I look around.

Strobe lights bathe the dance floor in a kaleidoscope of colors, moving right along with the bodies. Everyone is dancing, seemingly having a great time, as the music blasts through the speakers.

There are throngs of beautiful women in the mix, and I let my gaze roam over each group. Most are in pairs, a few in larger groups, dancing with random men. It should be easy picking, finding one, buying her a drink, dancing with her—taking her back to my hotel room.

My heart isn’t in it, though, which doesn’t make sense because I’ve been the opposite of a monk since my divorce.

Today is different, though.

Somewhere in a villa in Provence, my ex married my former best friend.

The supermodel-turned-actress and the movie star.

Shandy and Jack.

Jack and fucking Shandy.

Who were sleeping together for more than six months before I caught them.

It was a double whammy, losing my wife and my best friend.

I was gone all the time, she complained.

Jack was there when I needed him.

Needed him for what?

His dick isn’t even as big as mine.

Jesus, I need to shake this off. I’m not stupid. I understand that seeing clips of my ex and my best friend getting married all over the internet and tabloids has re-opened a wound I’ve desperately tried to heal. That’s partly why I’m here tonight, to fuck the thought of my ex right out of my system.

I see Simon, still at the bar, trying to get drinks, and toss down the last few drops of the one in my hand. The bourbon burns its way down my throat, and I’m just about to put the empty glass on the nearest flat surface when a beautiful blur of dark hair and purple lipstick twirls in front of me.

“Come on!” she yells with a grin. “We’re making a train.”

Before I have a chance to reply, she’s grabbed my hands and put them on her hips, dragging me into a line of people moving and undulating around the dance floor. Someone, probably a woman from the light touch, does the same thing to me from behind, and then I’m caught up in the movement.