1. Eva

One

Eva

“Girl, you are not about to sit in that apartment all holiday season, staring at your laptop.” My best friend Emily’s voice comes through my phone speaker, in that no-nonsense tone she uses when she’s about to drag me. “You know how I know? Because I’m not letting you.”

“Em, I’m on a deadline,” I protest, shifting the phone to my other hand to stir my tea. The glow of my computer screen mocks me from the other side of the room, my manuscript stubbornly sitting at 20,000 words when it should be at 50,000 by now. “I have a book due in four weeks. To my editor. You know, the scary one?”

Emily clicks her tongue, and I can practically see her rolling her eyes. “Eva, you always say that. Every single time I try to pull you out of your cave, it’s ‘deadline this, manuscript that.’ And you know what? You always get it done.”

“This is different,” I insist. “I’m seriously behind.”

“You’re always behind, and you always pull it. What you need is inspiration.” Her voice dips into the coaxing tone she’s perfected. “And I’m telling you, there’s nothing like Lake Tahoe in December. You’ll be in a luxury lodge, surrounded by snow, fire pits, and hot cocoa. Maybe even a fine-ass hockey player or two.”

I laugh despite myself. “Em, I write mafia romance. Not hockey.”

She snorts. “Please. You’re telling me if one of those guys walked into your life, six-foot-plus, all muscles and tattoos, calling you ‘baby girl,’ you wouldn’t fall all over yourself?”

“I would not,” I lie through a laugh. A very obvious lie. Because, yeah, that does sound pretty amazing.

Emily pounces on. “Uh-huh. Girl, pack your bags. You’re coming to Tahoe. It’s the team’s special Winter Classic weekend. Big reception dinner, fancy outfits, all the wives and girlfriends hanging out in the lodge. You’ll love it.”

“Em…” I trail off, feeling the crack in my resolve. “I don’t know. I’d just feel out of place with all those—”

“Those what?” Emily interrupts. “Girl, please. I wouldn’t invite you if I thought you didn’t belong. You’re a bestselling author, and you got more personality in your pinky finger than half those puck bunnies put together.”

I laugh again, my tension softening a bit. “You always know how to hype me up.”

“Because it’s facts,” she says, triumphant. “Now, you’ve got two choices. One, you stay in that apartment, hunched over your computer like Gollum, eating leftovers and stressing yourself out. Or two, you join me for a weekend of glam, relaxation, and maybe a little inspiration.”

“Inspiration, huh?” I sip my tea, letting her words sink in.

Emily’s voice turns conspiratorial. “Sis, these guys are like a whole catalog of book boyfriends. I’m just saying, you might find yourself plotting your next bestseller by the time you leave.”

I groan. “You’re not gonna let this go, uh?”

“Not even a little bit. I’ll send you the details. Pack sexy and warm. You leave Friday.”

“Friday?!” My voice shoots up. “Em, that’s two days from now!”

“Plenty of time,” she says breezily. “Now, I have to go. Liam’s calling. Byyeee!”

Before I can argue further, the line goes dead, and I’m left staring at my tea, already mentally scrolling through my closet. Because, damn it, Emily always wins.