Once the glass door slams shut behind me, I release the breath I'd been holding.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Peyton and I step off the curb and begin to weave our way through the aisles of cars in the gym parking lot. Adrenaline courses through my veins, practically making me vibrate with nervous energy, but it has nothing to do with post-exercise endorphins and everything to do with who I just saw.

I couldn't bail on my standing gym date with Peyton this morning, but I wasn't even remotely prepared for awkward it would be to see Dean.

"What did Dean want?" Peyton asks.

What does Dean want? Apparently, to forget anything ever happened. Even worse is that I'm the one who went up to him in some misguided attempt to smooth things over for bailing on him yesterday morning.

"Oh, nothing. Just something about Brendan's wedding." I make a concerted effort to avoid making eye contact, pretending to search for my keys in my purple nylon duffel bag.

"Are you sure that's all?" She nudges me playfully. "I saw the way he was looking at you during our cool-down."

My teeth set on edge and I swallow, trying to maintain a neutral expression. I haven't exactly told anyone about the other night, not even my closest friends. It's not that Peyton would judge me; she'd give me a high five. But I'm not sure what to make of the situation myself, and outside opinions would only confuse me further.

I fumble with my keychain, trying to conceal shaky hands. "I'm sure."

We come to a stop next to our vehicles, parked side by side like always. My white Civic is streaked with dust, a stark contrast to her pristine silver Lexus. Mental note to hit the car wash later.

Peyton unlocks her car and reaches up to smooth her short auburn bob, trying to tame the post-workout frizz. "Want to hit Over Easy after you go home and shower? My treat."

It's nice of her to offer, since she knows I'm searching the couch cushions for change to pay my bills these days.

"Wish I could, but I have to go to my parents' for brunch with Brendan."

Sunday morning brunch is my mother's favourite tradition. No matter how many times we offer to take her out so she doesn't have to cook, she insists on staying in and making a huge spread. Bacon, waffles, fresh fruit, the works. I guess nurturing her fur babies—two Bernese mountain dogs, Bernie and Bette—doesn't quite cut it compared to her human children. Not that I'm complaining, because her food is a million times better than any diner.

"Okay..." Peyton narrows her hazel-green eyes. "But you're coming out this weekend, right? There's a new club downtown that just opened. Charity can get us on the list."

"I have Brendan's surprise party on Friday, but we could try for Saturday." To be honest, I can't decide whether going clubbing sounds like a good distraction or surefire torture. Then again, I'll probably want to drink after spending all of Friday night with Dean.

"It'll be fun," she says. "A good way to get your mind off things."

By 'things', I know she means Travis and Jade. But that's been the last thing on my mind these past 48 hours. I've been too busy obsessing over the fact that I tripped and fell into bed with Satan. And liked it.

"Yeah, we can make a plan." I shift my weight, tugging at my gym bag on my shoulder.

Peyton points at me with a manicured peach fingernail. "I'm going to hold you to it."

"Or do you want to come to Brendan's surprise party on Fri..." I trail off.

Across the parking lot, Dean strolls out of the studio and heads to his bright red SUV parked on the opposite side. I watch him briefly, transfixed by his long, confident strides and trademark composed demeanor. Unlike me, he seems perfectly fine. Probably over it already.

"Yeah," Peyton says. "That sounds good. Text me the details."

Instead of looking back to her, my gaze stays glued to Dean for a moment longer than it should. Peyton's brow furrows as she studies my face. She begins to follow my line of sight and I force a laugh, trying to stop her.

"Sure thing." I sound way too chipper. "Can't wait!" Peyton eyes me warily, probably thinking I'm losing my mind. Which would explain a lot.

We exchange a hug and promises to text. A minute later, I'm in the safety of my car, headed to my mother's for brunch with Brendan. But my head is still a mess, and it's got nothing to do with Travis or Jade.

*

Leaning against the black granite counter, I snag a piece of crispy bacon from the plate while my mother isn't looking. She's humming away to herself, busy with preparing breakfast while I surf social media on my phone and lament the state of my career. Or lack thereof.

Thing is, being a 'social media influencer' is a great gig— until it's not. Success is dependent on an elusive combination of timing, luck, effort, and an elusive 'x factor'. These factors are subject to change at any time without warning. Worse still, there is no safety net to catch you when things go sideways.

Three months ago, Jade and I had 3.86 million followers under the Everyday Fashionista account we created together. We had sponsors fighting to be featured, a steady stream of ad revenue, and no shortage of free swag. Everything was going perfectly... until Jade got publicly called out for plagiarizing a content from a lesser-known influencer without my knowledge and threw me under the bus.

Now I'm starting from the bottom all over again.

"How's work, sweetie?" My mother finishes pouring batter into the waffle iron and shuts it. She wipes her hands on her blue gingham apron, glancing up at me with a frown. Something must have been written all over my face while I was staring at my meager follower count on the screen.

"It's going."

Her expression softens. "I'm sure things will turn around soon."

"Totally." But I'm not so convinced. My comeback attempt might be more successful if I could generate some decent content, but I've been experiencing creative block in the worst way. Updates have been sparse in both frequency and content, and not for lack of trying. I want to create interesting posts, but it just isn't there when I sit down at the computer.

I haven't been accomplishing much, period. I have 997 unread emails and another two dozen or so sit in my inbox, having been read but not yet replied to. I'm tempted to delete them all in one fell swoop, but that would be inadvisable because I need every sponsorship or opportunity I can get.

Down the hall, the garage door rumbles. Bernie lets out an excited yelp and bolts for the mud room where Bette is already waiting and whining by the door. They proceed to whine and scratch at the door frantically, like they didn't just see my dad a couple of hours ago. For such enormous animals, they're gigantic babies.

"I think Brendan and dad are back. Are you sure you don't want me to help?" I ask my mother for the fifth time. I'm a little hopeless in the kitchen on my own, but I can take directions.

She waves me off. "No, no. Go sit and relax."

A new direct message notification pops up and a little thrill runs through me. Maybe it's something good, like a brand wanting to do a sponsored post. Quickly navigating to my inbox, I see that it's from a male screen name... and it's yet another dick pic. Gross. I delete the message and block him, but it seems like a good metaphor for my life right now—disappointing. And veering sharply to the left.

A moment later, Brendan and my father walk into the kitchen, followed by the dogs eagerly trailing close behind in a blur of fur and wagging tails.

"Brookey." My father gives me a big bear hug, squeezing me tightly. He smells like sunscreen and his aftershave, a familiar and somehow comforting combination. "We missed you on the course."

"How was golf?" I ask. They both look sun-kissed and relaxed after their early round of golf this morning. My golf game isn't very strong, but in retrospect, joining them would have been a better idea than hitting the gym and running into Dean.

He laughs, raking a hand through his greying blond hair. "Your brother is starting to give me a run for my money."

Not a huge surprise, given that meeting with clients on the golf course is practically in Brendan's job description.

My mother sets a jug of ice water down on the table, waving for everyone to sit down. I slide in beside Brendan and take the bowl of mixed berries from him, scooping a few spoonfuls onto my plate. We pass the rest of the platters of food around, preparing our plates.

Bernie and Bette circle the table, snuffling around on the floor until my mother tells them to lie down. Then shoot us wounded looks before skulking over to their beds beside the patio doors.

"What do you think about Jay's offer?" Brendan glances up at me questioningly.

On New Years—before everything happened with Dean—Jason asked me whether I'd consider getting a fitness certification and become a trainer at their gym. Supposedly, they're having a hard time filling the schedule. While the pay is great and it seems like it would be fun, but I can't shake the feeling that the offer was driven more by pity than genuine belief I'd be a good fit.

"I don't know. I haven't really had time to think about it."

"You'd be great," Brendan says, cutting into his waffle and mopping up the syrup on his plate. "You have the personality for it."

"I'll let him know this week." My other concern is the certification itself. I always struggled in school and I know the education component for some fitness certifications can be stringent. Part of me is worried I might not be up to the task. I need to do more research about what the certification process entails so I know what I'd be getting into—and whether I'd be destined to fail. Especially if it involves any math, my eternal Achilles heel.

We lapse into small talk catching up on the latest with my parents, both of whom are in the process of stepping away from their busy careers and easing into semi-retirement. In a family with a dermatologist father, divorce lawyer mother, and contract lawyer brother, I am the underachiever by a mile.

The conversation swings back to Brendan's wedding, as it often does since my mother is over the moon about it—and eager for grandbabies.

"Are you excited to be such a big part of Brendan and Vidya's day?" My mother asks, beaming at me from across the table.

"Um, yeah." I'm a little confused. I'm just a bridesmaid. It's important, but I wouldn't say it's a 'big part'.

Brendan interjects. "I hadn't asked her yet."

"Asked me what?" Please don't ask me give me a speech at the wedding...

"Vidya and Danielle had an argument on New Years." He grimaces, taking a sip of ice water. "They had a disagreement over the bachelorette party venue and it snowballed. Danielle completely went off the deep end. Saying stuff like Vidya doesn't deserve me, this marriage is a mistake, really bizarre stuff."

"What?" Vidya is one of the sweetest people I know. I'm thrilled my brother is marrying her—and I'm no easy sell when it comes to Brendan, who only deserves the best.

Then again, I was always iffy on her best friend Danielle. She was always giggling a little too hard at Brendan's lame jokes. You know, taking it a step beyond the requisite polite tolerance someone generally shows their best friend's boyfriend.

"Poor Vidya," my mother says. "I'm sure she's got enough of her plate planning the wedding as it is."

Brendan sucks his teeth. "So that's the thing. The wedding. Vidya is devastated about what went down." He pauses. "Her other bridesmaids are on the other coast, and she wanted to know if you'd step in and be Maid of Honour. I told her that I was sure you would—I mean, you're a bridesmaid already—but I think she's a little afraid to ask. She wanted me to float the idea first."

"Me?" I do a double take. "I mean... sure. Of course. If that's what she wants."

Relief washes over his face and his posture relaxes. "Awesome. I knew you wouldn't mind. Plus, you're great at planning events. Plus, Danielle and Dean had already planned some of the bachelor and bachelorette party, but I'm sure you know that since you guys talked about it on New Years. You'll just have to connect with Dean and—"

"Hold on." I raise my hand, signaling for him to stop. I'd forgotten that the Maid of Honour's counterpart was the Best Man. Terrible idea, especially now. "Dean? I don't know if that will work."

"You can't be serious." Brendan gives me an exasperated look while my parents study me quizzically; they both adore Dean. "I'm sure you two can bury the hatchet for a few weeks."

I give a half-shrug. I mean, it might be possible. Unless one of us ends up buried six feet under first. Also possible. Or worse still, hooking up again. I'd like to say that isn't possible but it's anyone's guess.

"You know, Brookey, I always thought that Dean had a crush on you." She turns to face me with a knowing smile. Karen Maccabe— divorce attorney by day, hopeless romantic by night.

I fight back the heat spreading up my neck and across my cheeks and roll my eyes. "Yeah, right. The only person Dean is into is himself."

"He's not a bad guy," Brendan insists.

Truth is, I had a schoolgirl crush the size of Texas when I first met Dean. First of all, he's vertically gifted. I have a particular weakness for tall guys, but at 5'8, many of them aren't that tall in comparison to me. Dean still has a healthy couple of inches over me. Major plus. And let's not forget his eyes. Framed with dark eyelashes and thick brows, they're a deep green to die for. Did I mention his smile? It's a panty-dropper.

Basically, when I saw my brother's roommate, I thought I had completely lucked out. Until we actually interacted.

I smiled at him... and he looked at me like I was an ant on his shoe. I tried to make conversation... and he grunted. At first, I thought he might just be shy. But it became crystal clear the feeling wasn't mutual when later that evening, Brendon and Dean brought me to a party and Dean proceeded to make out with some blonde girl in a corner all night. He barely acknowledged my presence for the entire duration of the two-night visit, crushing my sixteen year old heart. Well, bruising it at least.

That set the tone for our relationship from thereon out. Add in what happened last Friday, and it's even worse.

Dean basically ignored me for nine years—and after one night of heavy flirting, I fell into bed with him like all of the other women do.

Now I'm just another conquest. I know it, too, because of the way he acted when I saw him this morning. Like he wished he could take it back.

I come back to reality, where my brother is watching me expectantly, waiting for a response. "He's the worst."

"Nah." Brendon piles butter onto his third waffle while my mother side-eyes him over the quantity. Lucky for him, he's still got the metabolism of a teenager, but after my father's heart attack last year, she always worries about his arteries. "He's just focused on work."

I spear a strawberry with more vigor than necessary. "Focused on work, focused on himself. Potato, potahto. Same thing."

"Will you be able to set aside your differences for planning? We're keeping the bachelor and bachelorette parties pretty tame. Don't forget, Vidya is a total lightweight."

"Right. I'll watch out for her," I reassure Brendan. He looks at me expectantly. "And yes, I'll coordinate with Dean."

Problem is, I don't actually hate Dean.

I just wish I did.

Nothing like getting thrown together again... And again.

PS it's me, I'm Vidya. That happened to me with my wedding party. It was brutal!