Title: Dangerous Exes

Author: Rachel Van Dyken

Release Date: October 30, 2018

Publisher: Skyscape

Synopsis

Isla made one teeny little mistake. Now she and her PI company, Dirty Exes, are being targeted by one seriously angry and furiously sexy ex-quarterback. Jessie freakin’ Beckett. But there’s no way some NFL superhunk is going to take her business away. If only he didn’t make her so hot—and bothered.

Jessie wants payback for a ruined reputation. His plan? Top secret. His hard-to-hide arousal for Isla? Not so much. Especially when they let down their guards and sneak a kiss. Like any juicy scandal, it goes so viral, so fast, that only a good lie can combat the bad press. Mortal enemies in a fling? No way. Um…this is love!

Actually…could it be?

Isla’s not faking it. Jessie can’t. As the game of let’s pretend gets real, Jessie forgets all about revenge. That’s the problem. His plan is already out of his control. Now it could undo everything they’ve been trying to build. Coming clean may be the only thing that can save it.

Exclusive Excerpt: Dangerous Exes by Rachel Van Dyken

I had her entire schedule.

I visited her office with a box of donuts and charmed her office manager, Abby. When Abby told me about her long, hellish day, I sent her to Colin’s bar and told her that she and her husband should order anything they want on me … but not before swiping the keys to the office.

And boom.

Schedule obtained.

Life. Ruined.

I grinned.

I knew it all.

Where she ate. Where she visited on Tuesdays.

Her routine was mine to memorize.

And I only felt slightly guilty about it, mainly because it was an invasion of privacy and I knew I’d clearly lost my mind if I was planning my day around driving her insane and making sure she knew I wasn’t going to back down.

For one minute.

I’d second-guessed myself.

And then I’d stupidly turned on the TV to see news of my old charity’s annual holiday gala.

And the anger returned tenfold.

Had she never taken my ex on as a client, embarrassed the living hell out of her, and basically used entrapment—I wouldn’t be sitting on my couch upset over my life’s work getting stripped from me based on rumors and bad publicity.

Blaire was in on it too.

But for some reason I blamed Isla more.

Isla made me feel like she genuinely liked me. She made me think she was real, that our friendship was real, not just a way to get at me in order to expose something that wasn’t even true.

A falsehood.

She’d thrown our friendship, or whatever the hell it was, away for a paycheck.

And I wasn’t sure I would ever forgive her for that.

For giving me a taste of what it could be like. What it should be like.

And ripping it the hell away.

I checked my watch and smiled when her Lexus pulled up. “Right on time.”

Part of me had to respect the rigorous schedule she kept, another part of me was horrified that there was another human being on the planet as punctual as me.

She jumped out of her car and grabbed a black duffel bag. Her leggings hugged every inch of skin like she was poured into them, and her bright-pink shirt only made me stare longer than necessary at the expansive cleavage getting pushed up by her pink-and-black-striped sports bra.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Or the best idea I’d ever had?

I snuck in behind her and winked at the receptionist I’d bribed, then casually strolled right into the hot yoga studio.

The doors closed with finality behind me.

I cringed.

The last time I did yoga I couldn’t walk for weeks.

But the receptionist had convinced me this was a beginners class, that I’d be just fine as long as I had no health issues. I almost felt the need to remind her who she was talking to but didn’t want to come across like a jackass.

If I can stay in the NFL for eleven years as a star quarterback, pretty sure I can handle an hour of hot yoga.

I eyed Isla, grabbed my mat, and then rolled it out right next to hers. “Hey, neighbor.”

“Son of a bitch,” she hissed under her breath, knocking her water over in the process of trying to scurry away from me.

I grinned at her horrified expression. “You miss me?”

“Like I miss my braces and feathered bangs.”

“You? Feathered bangs?” I reached out to touch her silky black hair, but my hand was slapped away with a burning sting.

“Stop that.” She scooted to the edge of her mat and sat with her legs crossed. “You’re taking your creepy stalking to a whole other level if you’re following me to yoga class, you psycho.”

“Psycho.” I rolled the word around in my mouth and grinned. “Kind of has a nice ring to it, also maybe next time you should say that while looking in the mirror since you’re the one who basically moved in with me.”

“I did not move in with you.” Her cheeks flashed pink. “I merely saw an opportunity to drive you insane and took it.”

“And yet here we are.” I spread my arms wide. “In yoga class.”

“You gonna go to my gyno appointment with me Monday too?” she snapped, then regained her composure just as fast as she’d let the mask slip.

Gotcha.

I smirked. “It’s a dentist appointment, and though I’d love to watch you get your teeth cleaned and mouth tortured, I think I’ll take a hard pass, I hate the dentist, don’t even like walking into the office.”

Her eyes widened in fear as she hissed, “How the hell did you get my schedule?”

I just looked her body slowly up and down, then shrugged casually, as if to say I had to use different means, like my sexuality, to get it.

It was a lie.

I knew it.

She knew it.

And her blush, damn it, her blush was worth every lie I told.

An instructor in nothing but a black sports bra and black yoga pants turned on some weird new-age music and smiled at the class, spreading her arms wide like she was gathering our souls to her bosom before sacrificing them on the sweaty altar of hot yoga. She started rocking back and forth from foot to foot like she was doing a mating dance, her braid swung with her.

“What the hell is she doing?” I said under my breath.

Isla was gaping at me. “Then how do you have such nice teeth?”

“I think I’m lost.”

“The dentist. You refuse to walk into the building.”

“Does she always do that?” I pointed to the instructor.

“I mean they’re really white.” She leaned in like she was seconds away from asking me to open up so she could inspect.

The instructor inhaled deeply through her nose. “She seems really into this.”

Isla elbowed me. “Are you ignoring me on purpose? And she’s getting rid of all the bad energy.”

“Bad energy,” I repeated. “You’re kidding.” I panicked as I watched the students start mimicking her movements like there was literally bad air and energy in the room. They moved their arms and legs, and then shut their eyes. What. The. Hell. Finally my lust seemed to cool a bit, so I answered, “I have a friend who’s a dentist, he makes house calls.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you do. And no, not kidding, this is yoga, we don’t really lift heavy things and expect someone to clap for us or pay us millions of dollars when we can throw a stupid ball.”

“Twenty-eight million, actually,” I corrected with a wink. “A year.”

She scowled and returned her attention to the instructor. “No wonder your dentist makes house visits, do you even grocery shop on your own?”

“Isn’t that what Amazon is for?”

“Unbelievable,” Isla said through clenched teeth. “You know what? This isn’t even about me anymore, is it? You’re just so bored and I’m the easiest target in a sick scheme to find some sort of meaning in your life outside of football!”

“Bored?” I repeated, hating how it actually made me feel like less of a man when she pointed out one of the things I had struggled with until finding the charity. “Nah, just … angry. Very. Very. Angry. So. Angry. That the one thing I had to hold on to was ripped out of my fingers by a bitter, selfish woman and her ignorance.”

“So I’m ignorant?”

“No.” I gritted my teeth.

Her eyes flashed with hurt and anger.

“No!” the instructor shouted in my direction. “We leave our anger at the door.”

Isla leaned in, her eyes wild with rage. “She means literally.”

“Go on,” the instructor said in a fake soothing voice. “Walk over to the door and just…” She rolled her shoulders back and forth as if my anger was weighing them down. “Leave”—she let her arms go limp—“all the anger.”

“Just like that, huh?” I said in disbelief as I stood and walked over to the door, then made a dropping motion with my hands. “All gone.”

“Don’t you feel better?” She smiled wide.

No actually, if anything, I just collected everyone else’s anger that they’d supposedly left at the door and carried it back with me to my mat, where a grinning Isla was waiting.

“Yup,” I said quickly.

“Good.” She rubbed her hands together. “Shall we get started, class?”

About the Author

Rachel Van Dyken is a Wall Street Journal, USA Today, and #1 New York Times bestselling author known for Regency romances, contemporary romances, and her love of coffee and Swedish fish. Rachel’s also recently inked a deal for her Wingmen Inc. series—The Matchmaker’s Playbook and The Matchmaker’s Replacement—to be made into movies.

A fan of The Bachelor and the Seattle Seahawks (not necessarily in that order), Rachel lives in Idaho with her husband, a super cute toddler son who keeps her on her toes, and two boxers.

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