Down to You

Down to You Lauren Lieberman Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Love this book? About the Author Down to You Copyright © Lauren Lieberman, 2023 Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from publisher. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000. Dedication For my mom, who always believed that I would write a book one day. Chapter 1 Winter 2016 As I sit here 39,000 feet in the air nursing a mimosa on the plane to Cozumel, I can’t help but laugh at the turn my life has taken. Or else I would cry—and I am not a cute crier by any means. I’m also not a bitter person by nature, but when you’re attending your brother’s wedding in a tropical paradise as the only single guest, it’s inevitable that some of your joy for the happy couple will be a teensy bit tainted. I did anticipate that this situation would sting a bit, but when we started planning this blessed event only weeks ago, I thought that maybe, just maybe I would miraculously have a date. Or even a booty call. Or at least someone to drunk-dial on the night of! But, lo and behold, I am indeed attending alone, knowing he will be there. Lucas, my childhood crush, my ex (if you can even call him that), the love of my life. The flight attendant sees my grimace and asks if there’s anything she can do for me. I give her a pained smile. “What do you have to get me through a three-day wedding in Mexico where the man who obliterated my heart is one of two groomsmen?” Without a word, she hands me another mimosa. I nod in gratitude, finish the first one in a single gulp, and pass her back the empty glass. I sink back in my seat and sigh loudly—which, judging by the expression on the older gentleman next to me, is something I’ve been doing repeatedly for the past hour. I try to clear my head, but sure enough, thoughts of Lucas creep back in. Our romance had an unconventional start: he’s one of my older brother’s best friends, and I’m the off-limits younger sister. But somehow, to my delight, it did happen—albeit briefly—before it spectacularly blew up in my face. Twice. And it will probably be the epic love story of my lifetime. And also my downfall, I think as I start in on my second drink. I catch the flight attendant’s eye and tell her to keep the mimosas coming. * * * I step off the plane and am immediately slapped with a wall of humidity that makes it impossible to suck in a breath. I pull my sunglasses down over my eyes and raise my hand to my face to shield myself from the blazing Mexican sun threatening to burn my retinas. Jesus, it’s hot. There’s no bridge leading the disembarking passengers from the plane into the airport; everyone descends a set of metal stairs on wheels to reach the tarmac. I close my eyes and say a quick prayer that I don’t tumble to my death before I follow suit, making my way down the flimsy steps. Sweat has already begun to bead at my brow and between my shoulder blades. Thank God I dressed in layers, I think as I pull off my hoodie. Men hand out Coronas in front of the airport doors. I grab one, wishing it was a margarita, but grateful for the cold bottle as I touch it to my forehead before taking a giant gulp. I’m hoping to awaken the mimosa buzz I started on the first half of the flight. I follow the rest of the passengers into the terminal, where a huge line zigzags the length of the room, waiting to pass through customs. Great. I sigh, fanning myself with my passport. It must be a hundred degrees in here. The line moves at a snail’s pace, and now I feel the sweat trickling between my boobs. Damn, I wish I’d grabbed two beers from that guy. I drain the last sip and toss the bottle into a nearby trash can. My brother Jake and his bride-to-be, Ashley, who also happens to be my best friend since kindergarten, have assured me that my room at the hotel will have a fully stocked minibar, and they’d better be right if I’m going to get through the next few days. The two of them, along with both sets of our parents, came down yesterday on a sold-out flight, hence my solo trip today. Which was fine with me; it gave me an extra day to prepare myself and gather my nerves to see “he who must not be named.” Another day to practice my happy face as the supportive maid of honor for my best friend and brother. This whirlwind wedding came together in record time. I was secretly hoping they wouldn’t be able to pull it off so fast; the sting of rejection was still fresh in my mind. After all, it was only a few months ago that Lucas left