The Hustler Paperback

Chapter 1: Theo
I’m in paradise. The sunshine, the ocean pooling around my legs, the feel of the board beneath my body, it’s calming. Relaxing.
It’s more than I deserve after the past year but right now, I’m grateful my brother and Heather decided to marry here, in Maui. I know they wanted to have something private, something that wouldn’t cause a big media spectacle, which is a relief.
For my career, a hockey player for the NHL team, Boston Hawks, I’m known as Eddie Sims. But here, this week, with my family, I’m back to being Theo, the charming, often aloof, second son of American power couple Lance and Margaret Lawrence. Media attention wouldn’t just overshadow Preston’s wedding, it would also push me into a spotlight I’ve shied away from for years. I learned early on that my surname draws attention, the kind of attention that comes with ulterior motives. That’s why, professionally I go by Eddie, from my middle name Edward, Sims, from my mother’s maiden name. It’s partly to protect my parents and their work and partly because of my own ego. I’d like to be judged by my performance on the ice and measured by my own merits, without the help of belonging to a well-known American family.
I catch a wave, effortlessly riding it. When I near the beach, I intentionally fall into the beckoning sea and let it roll over me. It’s therapeutic, having a week at this lush resort, spending quality time with Mom and Dad, and celebrating Preston and Heather. While my family doesn’t fully understand why I’ve professionally distanced myself from them, they’re still supportive enough to root for me in secret and respect my wishes to not call me out publicly.
Besides, last season I did that spectacularly all on my own. I single-handedly cost my team the play-offs, a shot at the Cup, and that’s a regret I have to live with.
“Shit,” I swear, dunking my head underwater. Why am I drudging this up now? It’s in the past; I can’t undo it. All I can do is move forward and try harder, be better this season. Now, I’m starting as the Hawks right wing and I intend to pour everything I am, every energy I have, into getting it right.
Right after I celebrate my brother and Heather’s union.
With the sea surrounding me, I gaze back to the string of gorgeous hotel villas my parents rented for the week. Although Heather and Preston’s guest list is intimate, our family went all out on their wedding week. I need to get back into a celebratory mood; Preston and Heather deserve it. As best man, I owe it to my brother to step up the way he’s always stepped up for me.
I dunk myself under water again, letting my failures from last season wash away so I can get in the right headspace to celebrate tonight’s festivities.
When my face breaks the surface, I shake the water from my hair, and turn away from the villas. Instead, my gaze falls upon a breathtaking sight.
A woman. A beautiful woman. Tall, lithe, with tanned skin, and a white bikini with ties begging to be tugged. Her hair is wet, molding to the tops of her shoulders. Her face is open, tilted upward toward the blue, cloudless sky.
Where the hell has she been hiding? I’ve been here for five days and, as best man, I’ve mingled with every guest present. I’d remember if I met her.
Something about her captures my attention and I’m unable to look way. It’s not because she’s smoking hot, which she is. No, it’s something else.
I watch her for a long moment, glad she doesn’t notice me staring. She drags her fingertips through the water, grinning as the little ripples spread outward. She spins once before dropping back into the sea, letting it catch her the way a crowd surfer dives into an expanse of raised arms. With trust and hope and an edge of recklessness.
When she emerges, she twists her hair, wringing out the water. A figure up on the sand waves a scarf to catch her attention. I note the way her shoulders stiffen. She hesitates before lifting a hand in recognition and a streak of pain, a flicker of agony, blazes over her face. I frown, trying to decipher its cause but she’s already swimming away, reaching the shoreline, and walking toward the villas. The sashay of her hips flicks away droplets of water, and I swear, gripping the back of my neck, while I try to place her.
She’s sexy as hell. But it’s something else that holds my interest, that piques my curiosity. It’s the heaviness of her gait, the aloofness etched into her expression. It’s her disappointment in being interrupted when she was just trying to enjoy a moment to herself. It’s her desire to remain unseen, otherwise she would have swum on the other side of the resort, amid the group of people trying to catch everyone’s eye.
She’s an anomaly in a paradise filled with beauty, laughter, and excitement. Something about her sadness, her realness, draws me in and I’m unable to look away until she disappears into a villa.
* * *
“Thanks for doing this, Theo.” My brother clasps my shoulder.
“Of course,” I reply. For Preston, I’d do pretty much anything. Not only because he’s my big brother and I’ve always looked up to him, but because he backed me hard when I wanted to take Mom’s maiden name. It took my parents a minute to come around, but Preston advocated on my behalf, no questions asked, since day one.
“It means a lot to Heather too,” he adds.
I glance at my soon-to-be sister-in-law and smile. Heather Felton has been a permanent fixture in my life since I was a freshman in high school. She and Preston fell hard and fast for each other, much to the delight of both of our families. They truly are a match made in heaven and even though it’s cliché as hell, it’s also a rarity. “It means a lot to be included.”
Preston squeezes my shoulder once and drops his hand. Heather walks over to us, and Preston tucks her into his side.
I lift my Negroni in their direction. “Cheers to the happy couple.”
“Thanks, Eddie.” Heather grins, her face radiant. “I can’t wait to marry you,” she says to my brother.
“Me too, love.” He kisses her nose.
And…that’s my cue. I drain my glass and make my way toward the bar. “I’ll take another one, please.”
The bartender smoothly makes my Negroni, placing it down in front of me on a coaster created from crushed seashells. I can’t imagine how much time Heather spent on the decor for this week, but I know for a fact that every tiny detail received her stamp of approval.
I turn, letting my back settle along the edge of the bar. Bringing my drink to my lips, I survey the room. Beautiful dresses created from a multitude of textures and colors, a seriously strong watch game on full display, blinding diamonds, and—wait.
I squint, my gaze zeroing in on the woman. The beautiful woman from the sea, blending in with a floral display that mimics Monet’s Garden at Giverny. But how could such elegant, natural beauty ever blend at an event like this?
Pushing off the bar, I make my way toward her. She doesn’t notice me coming, which gives me time to study her. Dark hair that’s a bit unruly snakes into waves that hang down her back and falls around her shoulders. Tanned skin, with a dash of pink in her cheeks and the tip of her nose from exposure to the sun. Freckles decorate the slope of her nose and the tops of her cheeks. They make me smile because I’d bet my signing bonus that every other woman in this room went to great lengths to cover up their freckles. I like that this woman embraces her natural look. Hell, aside from a swipe of mascara, I don’t think she’s even wearing makeup.
I’m only a few paces away now and my gaze dips lower. Jesus. Her body is somehow sexier now, encased in a simple, form-fitting black dress, than it was in a white bikini. Spaghetti straps cross her shoulders, giving a full look at her toned, tanned skin. Her dress molds to her curves, slim waist, full hips, long legs, ending just below her knees.
She looks up as I approach and freezes, her mouth dropping into a startled “O.” I narrow my eyes, wondering if she gives that expression when experiencing a different kind of O.
Get your head out of the damn gutter.
“What are you doing here?” I ask her. Shit. That’s not how I wanted to start this exchange but, “Who are you?”
A hint of panic flares in her eyes but then she closes them. She rolls her shoulders back, stands to her full height, pushing out her impressive chest, and fixes me with a cool stare that fascinates me just as much as her unease from a moment ago. More questions roll through my mind and suddenly, I want to know everything about this woman when I usually don’t give a shit if I even learn a girl’s name before taking her into my bed.
But that’s not what this is about, is it?
“My name is Sofia,” she gives by way of explanation.
“Theo.” I hold out a hand.
She hesitates for a second before placing her palm against mine. I hang onto her hand a moment longer than necessary, not wanting to let go.
I grin. “Are you having a nice time?”
“Nice enough,” she says guardedly.
I bark out a laugh and some of the tension leaves her face. She smiles back and my laughter falters because her smile is so damn…genuine. It hits me full-on, the ease with which it was given.
“I saw you earlier,” I admit, not wanting to sound fucking creepy. Is this making me sound creepy? “In the ocean.”
“Oh.” A sly grin crosses her face. “I saw you this week too. You’re a great surfer.”
I nod my thanks and gesture to a passing server. I swipe a champagne flute, handing it to her.
She takes it delicately, as if frightened she’ll snap the stem of the glass. “Thanks.”
“You like champagne?” I never met a woman who didn’t but this girl, Sofia, seems unnaturally nervous.
She shrugs, taking a small sip. “I like anything tonight, but I shouldn’t be drinking here.”
I place a hand in the center of her back, moving us away from the floral monstrosity and out to a high-top table, where the sound of the ocean drowns out the chatter of guests.
“Why’s that?” I ask.
She sighs, biting the corner of her lip. She mutters something under her breath, and I lean closer, trying to catch the words. I think she said, “screw it,” which makes me smile again.
“This is my last wedding.” She wrinkles her nose and takes another sip of her champagne. “I was employed here, and a month ago, I was let go. Well, kind of forced to quit but they asked me to wait until this weekend. Tomorrow’s the wedding so…”
Surprise rolls through me. “You work here?”
She tilts her head. “For another twenty hours. I’m pretty much off the clock now but…there was an issue with the flora.” She gestures back toward the massive floral wall.
I check it out again. “It looks perfect to me.”
“That’s a relief,” she laughs. “It’s fixed now.” Her gaze settles on Preston and Heather for a long moment. “They’re a beautiful couple. The loveliest, most down-to-earth couple I’ve met while working here.”
I follow her line of vision, watching as Preston twists a strand of Heather’s hair around his finger and leans down to kiss her. They’re so enamored with each other, they share the same glow, an intrinsic togetherness that not all couples have. “They’re the best,” I agree. I gave up on trying to create that kind of glow with a woman a long, long time ago. My brother and Heather are the exception to the rule, not the norm. “How do you know them?”
“I helped plan this soiree,” she explains, spreading her arm out to encompass the lavish party with so many intrinsic details.
“It’s beautiful,” I tell her truthfully, impressed by her work. “Especially the flora.”
She chuckles, as I intended, and I’m caught off guard by her beauty. I mean, yeah, she’s a smoke show, but when she laughs, she’s effervescent. Stunning. Elevated in a way that makes her seem ethereal. Like a goddess or a mermaid or something. Listen to me, I’m definitely being fucking creepy. A mermaid?
“I’m sorry about your job. If you pulled this off, then it’s their loss. You’re seriously talented.” I bring my Negroni to my lips.
She blushes slightly, dipping her head. Her shoulders round forward as she shrugs. “Thanks. It is what it is. There’s always other jobs, right?”
I roll the Campari over my tongue, considering her words. It’s an odd remark because most people either love what they do too much to consider anything else. Like myself. Or Preston. Or they’re so locked into their jobs and the lifestyles they provide, that anything else seems scary. Unattainable.
But this girl, Sofia, seems oddly okay with losing her sweet gig at this world-renowned resort. “You didn’t like working here?” I press.
She scrunches up her nose. “No bullshit?”
“What?” I sputter, laughing.
“I mean, you want me to be honest?”
“Uh, yeah…” Don’t most people want an honest response to a question? I ponder that for a second and realize that, no, most people want the answer they’re expecting. I lean closer to this enigma before me, gesturing for her to continue.
“I liked working here. Especially with couples like Preston and Heather, although they’re next level. Like, relationship goals.”
“Fair.”
“You team bride or groom?”
“Both. But I’m the best man.”
“Oh, nice.” She grins, as if this news excites her. “I see the resemblance now. I can’t believe we haven’t met sooner. You’re Preston’s brother.”
“Guilty.” I grin back. “So, my brother and Heather are your favorite couple?”
“Yes. Most people irritated me.”
I bark out another laugh, caught off guard. “Why?”
“Meh. Too pretentious, too caught up in their own head and the tiny worlds they built inside of them to see the beauty a place like this provides. Not the services or amenities but the astounding, natural beauty of Maui.”
As she speaks, I glance out to the sea again, watching the waves curl, the foam spray. I look back to Sofia. “You’re right.”
She lifts her right shoulder an inch before dropping it. “I know.”
I smirk, liking her even more. “You are the most refreshingly honest person here.”
“Thank you,” she says sincerely. “But I don’t know if you’ll feel that way when you learn the rest.”
“The rest of…?”
“My story.”
“Oh. Well, do carry on.” I drop my elbows to the table, hunching forward. She doesn’t back away, but her eyes flare the tiniest bit and the tip of her tongue swipes over her bottom lip. It’s clear that I affect her and yet…it’s also clear that she’s just being herself. That her sharing her story has nothing to do with me and everything to do with her. She’d be just as chatty if she was conversing with Heather. Or Preston. Or Mom and Dad.
Wait. I narrow my eyes for a second, wondering if that’s what this is about. Maybe I’ve gotten it all wrong. I’ve gone by Sims for so long, I’ve forgotten the appeal of the Lawrence name. Sofia’s obviously met Mom and Dad and knows about their expansive network. Maybe she’s feeding me the sob story to help her land a new job.
While I’ve enjoyed this week, taking a break from the public persona of Eddie Sims, I’ve stepped back into the role of Theo Lawrence, which has its own set of rules. In Maui, I may not be the infamous, wild, partying Hawk who lost the play-offs, but I am known as Lance and Margaret’s son, which in many ways, comes with more expectations.
“I do like planning events but not necessarily weddings. My true calling is volunteering,” Sofia says, gearing up for her pitch.
“What kind of volunteering do you do?” I ask cautiously. Here it comes—she wants funding for her next great idea.
“Mostly planning events at the hospital back home in Michigan. Sometimes, the prison too.”
Uh, what? My eyebrows furrow as I stare at Sofia, trying to read her expression. Nope, she’s serious. She’s really serious. And surprisingly, not asking for a job or making a pitch, even knowing who I really am. I clear my throat. “The prison?”
“Yeah. I love the tutoring programs to assist inmates with their GEDs or even college degrees. Oh, and the pen-pal programs.” She makes a circle with her index finger and thumb, flashing me the “okay” sign along with the cluck of her tongue. “Just things that fill my cup, ya know?”
“Hospitals and prisons,” I repeat, wondering if she’s messing with me. “What do those two places have in common?”
“People who need support.” She says it like I’m being dense.
“Hm,” I say slowly, seeing her point. Maybe I am. “And yet, you came all the way to Maui to plan this soiree.”
She sighs, sadness washing over her face. “I came for my fiancé.”
I jerk back, as if slapped. Glancing around, I look for the dude who must be a second away from telling me to fuck off, but there’s no one paying us any attention. Except Heather, who looks even more excited than she did an hour ago. “Your fiancé?”
“Ex-fiancé,” she clarifies, and relief fills my veins. After everything that went down last season, I’m done tangling up in drama. I’m done making stupid decisions that have real consequences. Consequences that don’t just blow back on me but on my entire team. “We just…well, he called off our wedding a month ago. That’s why I quit, or was fired, whatever. His parents own the resort.”
I narrow my eyes, realizing that her eyes are clouded over. Shit, she’s a little tipsy. From the champagne? Or… “Have you been drinking?”
She hiccups, holding up her hand again. This time, she places her thumb and index finger an inch apart. “Little bit. But shh, don’t blow up my spot because…the flora really is something else.”
“It is,” I say softly, my heart going out to her. A few months ago, I would have blown her off. Eddie Sims from last season didn’t have the patience to deal with drunk girls hung up on their exes. But since coming home this summer to spend time with my family and reevaluate my priorities, I’ve grown more into the Theo Lawrence of my past. The guy who once wore his heart on his sleeve, until it was shattered. But that guy can certainly empathize with Sofia. “I’m sorry about your engagement.”
“Thank you.”
“But Don Servino seems like a massive douchebag,” I tack on. While his parents are all right, he’s showy as fuck. I mean, the whole family had dollar signs in their eyes when they met with my family to discuss the wedding, but Don seemed slimy about it. How the fuck did a guy like him land a girl who volunteers at hospitals and prisons? And knows shit about exotic flora?
Sofia laughs and shakes her head. But I catch the tears that pool in the corners of her eyes. “Everyone caught on to that little factoid much earlier than me.”
“Hey.” I move my hand over the table until it touches her wrist. “I’ve only known you for thirty minutes and I promise, you’re better off without him.”
“How can you tell?” she whispers, her expression curious.
“Because any woman who loves volunteering, who cares about the GEDs of inmates, and who can still sincerely celebrate the union of two people mere weeks after losing her own happily ever after is a unicorn. And Don Servino isn’t deserving of most women, never mind unicorns.” Inwardly, I groan. A fucking unicorn?
Her expression smooths out and she gives me a smile. A real one that makes her face glow similar to Heather’s. One that informs me that unicorn was actually the way to go. “Thank you, Theo. It’s a little bittersweet, my last wedding. And with my favorite couple. But that’s the nicest thing anyone could have said to me tonight. And I’m happy it was you.”
“Me too,” I reply, caught off guard by her honesty.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
I lift my eyebrows. There’s more?
“This is my last night here and…”
“And?”
“I want to do something fun. Something wild. Maybe a little reckless. I think I tried too hard to be the woman Don wanted me to be. Clipped my own wings, as pathetic as that is to admit. I used to be so damn spontaneous…”
I shake my head and laugh, squeezing her wrist once before dropping it. “One last hurrah?”
“Something like that. Tomorrow, I fly to my brother’s in San Antonio but tonight…” She drifts off again, her gaze on the ocean. “It’s too beautiful to waste.”
“Much too beautiful,” I agree, staring right at her. I’ve never met anyone like Sofia before. She’s…captivating. In a way I’m not sure if I should lean into or back away from. She’s blatantly honest and sincere. But she’s also hard to get a read on. It’s almost as if she could disappear in an instant. Too intangible to hold on to.
“Want to start with a drink?” I ask.
She grins, shaking her empty flute. “I’d love that. I’m all out.”
“You and I both know that can be rectified. Come on.” We walk back toward the bar. “Pick your poison.”
“Are we going all out?” A glimmer of excitement rings her irises.
“What do you think?” I ask, enjoying being with her more than surfing in the sea.
She glances at the bartender. “We’ll take two shots of Beluga…” She peers around him to glance at the bottles. “Epicure. Chilled.”
The bartender nods and I let out a whistle. At six-thousand dollars a bottle, this chick is going all in. And I fucking love it.
“You don’t mess around, Sof,” I joke, shortening her name. It’s something I haven’t done in ages, preferring to keep the girls I tangle up with at arm’s length. But something about her sincerity pulls me closer, makes me feel like I’ve known her for longer than tonight.
She flashes me a grin, but her eyes are serious. “No. Not anymore. I’m all about the moments.”
I inch closer, until my arm brushes against hers. “I’m glad I met you.”
She smirks, picking up the shot glasses and handing me one. “To being real.”
“The realist,” I agree, tapping my glass against hers and tossing back the vodka.
It’s smooth and cold, but burns a trail all the way to my stomach.
Behind us, aimless chatter and boisterous laughter ring out, mixing with the delicate sounds of a harp. But here, at the bar, it’s just me and Sofia and the unmistakable tug of possibility.
She takes her shot without flinching and tosses me a smirk.
I grin back.
A promise and a warning flash from her eyes. Oh, she’s trouble.
And tonight, I’m sure as hell going to enjoy it.