Prologue

PROLOGUE

Hayes

Late September

I hate hockey.

My boyfriend—hopefully my fiancé by the end of tonight—absolutely loves it. If Malcolm didn’t, I can guarantee you that sitting in this arena is the last way I’d be spending my night. In the beginning, I tried to ask him questions about the game, wanting to learn more about something he loves, but my questions were too much, frustrating him and keeping him from enjoying the action.

Malcolm shoves to his feet beside me, arms in the air, and I can only assume the LA Rebels did something good. This is a preseason game, and I don’t get why it counts, but it is what it is.

“Woohoo!” I exclaim belatedly, standing too, and of course that’s exactly when everyone sits down, looking at me like I’m an idiot.

“Hayes, sit down,” Malcolm hisses, annoyance in his voice.

Damn it. I don’t want to mess this up. Tonight is our night. I want to treat him to the perfect evening, where I’ll get on one knee and ask him to be my husband.

I plop down in the seat, my heart beating a little too fast. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Just…whatever. Have fun and be chill.”

I nod, thankful he’s willing to be patient with me. It’s taken me a while to figure out how to be a good boyfriend, mostly because it’s not something I’ve ever done before Malcolm. Which at twenty-six is incredibly sad, but I didn’t grow up the way most people do. My parents own the Rockwell, a high-end hotel chain throughout the United States and Europe. We traveled most of my life, and I was homeschooled. Even when we were home in New York, where I’m from, I never got along with my parents’ friends’ kids. I get that I can rub people the wrong way sometimes, and that’s fine by me. I don’t really care…mostly.

College was the first time I stayed put, but I was busy with school, not trying to find boyfriends. I wouldn’t have complained if one had fallen into my lap, but that didn’t happen until Malcolm started pursuing me eight months ago.

Honestly, I thought it was a joke at first, but it wasn’t. He just felt…connected to me, which is a really amazing feeling.

Malcolm watches the game, and I watch him.

I stick my hand in my pocket to make sure the ring is still there. It is. My stomach tightens in anticipation.

I want this. This is what people do, right? They meet their person, have okay sex, fall in love, then get married. Malcolm has told me over and over how much I mean to him, how terribly he’s been treated by exes in the past—being cheated on, lied to, used. For the first time in his life, he’s with someone who sees his worth. And for the first time in mine, I have a person. Someone who deals with my finicky ways. I can be a lot, but Malcolm puts up with it, lets me know when I’m being…well, me, and I should dial it back a little.

I startle when two players slam into the plexiglass thingies.

“It’s so violent,” I tell Malcolm.

“It’s just a game, Hayes.” He claps and cheers with everyone around me, and I try to pretend I’m interested, each second my stomach twisting more and more in anticipation, until it’s the end of the second period…which is my time.

I pull the box out of my pocket and slide to the dirty floor, which I didn’t think about ahead of time. I totally wish I would have brought something with me to kneel on.

I open the box, hands shaking. People around us begin paying attention, tapping each other on the shoulders and pointing their phones at us.

Malcolm is too distracted by his phone to notice. I’m not sure what’s so interesting, since he doesn’t know much about technology and doesn’t have social media.

I clear my throat.

“Hayes, can you get me a drink and—” He looks my way, sees me, sees the ring. “What are you doing?”

“Aww! They’re on the jumbotron!” says a woman in the row in front of us.

Malcolm’s gaze flashes up to it, but I can’t take my eyes off him. “These last months have been…awesome,” I say because I’m not sure how else to describe them. “I know it’s soon, but I’m not like those other men you’ve dated. I want to be with you, want you to know how important you are to me. Malcolm, will you marry me?”

“Put that away!” There’s panic in his voice, which I don’t understand. His pupils have blown wide, his head jerking around like he expects the secret service to jump out and grab him. Is he on the run? “Hayes, Jesus Christ. What the fuck are you doing?” He grabs his jacket and puts it over his head as I try to comprehend what’s happening. Is it because I did it here? I thought he would like it, considering how much he loves hockey. Plus, Malcolm loves to be the center of attention, loves to be showered with it, but maybe I fucked up. Maybe he wants this moment to be something just between the two of us. Something small and romantic.

“I’m sorry. I just…” I don’t have words to continue. I feel every eye on me now, every camera facing us. I want to slink into the floor, climb under these chairs and never come out.

What was I thinking? I’ve ruined everything.

“Move. Get out of the way,” Malcolm says tersely, pushing around me and walking away.

The arena gets echoey around me. My vision blurs, heart trying to beat its way out of my chest.

“Maybe you should get up,” one of the people in front of me says, but I can’t think. Can’t move. How did I get that so spectacularly wrong? I thought this would make him happy, would make us both happy. He’s always telling me how much he loves me, how different I am, how special. How he wants to spend his life with me.

I’m not sure how I screwed this up, but I’m determined to fix it.

I push to my feet, the eyes of everyone zeroed in on me, the guy who just got left with a ring in his hand while proposing to his boyfriend.

Is Malcolm still my boyfriend? I want that to be the case.

I run the direction he went, but it’s packed with people—seems like the whole arena took a bathroom or food break during the intermission.

I call his name, push through the crowd but don’t see him, so I run out of the building, to the lot where Malcolm parked…and his car is gone. He left me here, which okay, yeah, that’s a little annoying. He could’ve at least waited for me out here so we could talk.

The first and second times I call, it rings and rings. The third, it goes straight to voicemail.

“Mal…it’s me…of course it’s me. You know that. Who else would be calling from my phone? Anyway, sorry. I…can we talk? I know I messed up, even if I’m not sure how. I just…I don’t know. Call me.”

I sit on the curb and wait for a ride share to pick me up.

Malcolm doesn’t call all night.

When I wake up the next morning, I fumble my phone, hoping I missed a message from him last night, but I didn’t. From my parents, yes. Somehow, I must have forgotten to turn my ringer back on after the game. There are numerous missed calls and texts from my mom.

Mom: Honey, I’m so sorry. Call me.

So sorry? How the hell does she know?

Mom: Have you seen? I’m assuming you haven’t seen?

Dad: Your mother doesn’t want me to send you this, but it’s not like you won’t find out eventually.

I click the link in the text from my dad, and my heart drops. The video of my proposal has gone viral. It’s all over the internet. There are memes and GIFs and… My gut clenches, nausea sweeping through me as a headline grabs my attention: TWO MORE LOS ANGELES MEN CLAIM MAN IN VIRAL VIDEO IS THEIR BOYFRIEND

I don’t have another boyfriend. What the fuck?

I shove up and sit on the edge of my bed.

Current and ex-boyfriends keep coming forward.

Malcolm cheated on me with my best friend.

Malcolm used me to get ahead.

Malcolm made me think I was special, but really, I was just part of his sick game to inflate his ego.

On and on and on. Stories from men who met him online and had relationships or friendships with him. At least two other guys from LA, and he’s left a trail of others in cities he’s lived in. Many of them gave him money.

Just like me…

I used to pay for everything.

Malcolm is a con artist.

Malcolm used me.

Malcolm cheated on me.

He was never mistreated.

It was him who mistreated everyone else.

So many things start to make sense. How he doesn’t like social media. Hell, how he pretended he didn’t even understand it. That was all a game, and I fell for it.

I proposed to him.

In front of everyone.

Fuck my life.

Things don’t get better over the next few months. I’ve become a meme, a saying. You Got Hayesed. That’s what they say online when something bad or embarrassing happens to someone. The media calls me for interviews. They dubbed all of Malcolm’s old partners the Jilted Exes’ Club, and apparently, the one dumb enough to propose at a public event is seen as the biggest loser of them all.