The Men of Summer Collection by Lauren Blakely, L. BLAKELY EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Authors: Lauren Blakely, L. BLAKELY
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 5.8 MB
- Price: Free
DECLAN
Shortly before spring training
As good as new.
That’s how Benji describes my sleek i-8 when I arrive to pick up the
BMW on a Saturday morning at his body shop in San Rafael, just past the
Golden Gate Bridge.
“Check it out, Declan. You can’t even tell that the butterfly door was
smashed,” he says, sweeping an arm out to show off his handiwork.
I wince at the reminder of how terrible those beautiful doors looked a
few weeks ago and how much it’s cost to fix them.
I’m not talking about money.
I’m talking about the ugly scene in front of my home in Pacific Heights
when I saw what my ex had done to this hot tamale of a sports car.
“You, sir, are a master at covering up all the mistakes of my past,” I say,
pointing to the man in coveralls.
Benji laughs. “We’ve all been there,” he says, then opens the gorgeous
car door. There’s not a single nick in the paint, much less a gargantuan
crack down the middle.
“Let’s hope none of us go there again. Promise you’ll never date a jerk
who thinks knocking back a bottle of merlot and taking your new car out
for a joy ride is a good idea.” The words are bitter, but nothing compared to
the acrid memory of the damage the TV star had done that night.
Not just to the car.
To my trust.
Benji holds up a fist for knocking. “I’ll do my best to avoid it. But I
have dated jerks. Happens to all of us. So don’t be so hard on yourself.”
But that’s what I do.
If I don’t stay disciplined, if I’m not obsessed with doing my best . . .
I’ll do my worst.
I thank Benji and pay him, adding a fat tip, then I slide into the black
beauty and pat the dash.
“Missed you, babe,” I say, even though I’m not a car person.
It wasn’t the car I missed while it was under the knife with Benji.
It was the control.
As I turn the engine on and cruise onto the highway, that sense of order
starts to return. It floats through the air in the vehicle, wafts around like a
new cologne. Scent of Sensibility.
I laugh at that, but sensibility is precisely what I need, along with
discipline and order.
With the car fixed and the relationship kiboshed, I’m getting my life in
order. I despise messes like this—Nathan getting loaded while I was
recording a radio spot in a studio on this side of the bay, then grabbing my
keys and speeding across the Golden Gate Bridge in this baby. I hated how
his Ari Gold-esque agent showed up to triage the debacle and spin it into
something less damning for his A-list client than getting drunk on merlot
and wrecking his boyfriend’s car.
Oh, I mean, ahem, getting a ride home from Ari’s assistant who was
totally sober when they took out the hapless hydrant. Which didn’t even
make sense.
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