Pick Six

PICK SIX MAGGIE RAWDON Copyright © 2023 by Maggie Rawdon Editing by Kat Wyeth – Editor (Kat’s Literary Services) Photographer: Michelle Lancaster - www.michellelancaster.com All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or events are purely a work of imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, actual events, or places is purely coincidental. NOTES For content information: visit my website Pick Six Prequel Short Story: Defensive End 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 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Epilogue Also by Maggie Rawdon Acknowledgments About the Author ONE Harper When I see him across the room, towering over the crowd with his usual smug look, I duck behind a group of women. I’m half listening to the chatter about the food and the champagne, how fantastic it all is, and what an excellent host Violet makes while I keep an eye on him. I’ll have to let Violet know later that everyone loved it because I’ve been too busy running around prepping and socializing to get a bite yet. We’d spent hours going over menus and caterers, and Violet is a genius when it comes to this stuff. So I’m thankful it’s all coming together and people are enjoying it. This event was part of our last-ditch attempt to try and get enough signatures, votes, donations, and public interest to save the museum building and our jobs. Doing that requires passing a levy, one which is buried in legalese and not exactly sexy in its marketing. It’s going to require effort just to have people understand what’s on the ballot, so we’re doing our best to make it count. Lucky for me, one of my closest friends is well connected, understands the politics, and loves me and the cause enough to lead the charge on getting this done. She also has a gorgeous, enormous house and a very patient husband. Violet Lawton is a lifesaver. I smile at her across the room, until I see him move again, and am distracted from my silent admiration. He, on the other hand, is definitely not a lifesaver—more like a menace to society and my sanity. I shift to my left as he starts to move around the room, greeting people as he makes his way through the gathered crowd. The women in front of me are far too animated to even realize I’m using them as a shield, and it gives me the ability to watch him for another moment without being seen—before I make myself scarce. I won’t be able to avoid him all night, but I can at least buy myself some time. He looks more refined than usual, dressed all in black with a button-down shirt that hugs his traps and upper arms. Not that it matters what he wears. On him, they always look like they just barely wrap around his frame. Like the tailor measured to within a centimeter of his life when he fit them. It’s honestly infuriating that he always looks that perfect, especially given how messy his reputation is in comparison. I snatch a small glass of the much-discussed champagne from a tray as it floats by, taking a sip as I watch him talking to some of his teammates. He laughs again at whatever Tobias Westfield, his friend and frequent partner in crime, is saying while flashing a smile that’s too pretty to belong to someone like him. Because despite, or rather because of, the massive frame and the tattoos that wind their way up his neck and down his arm he is gorgeous, in large part because he looks like he was resurrected from the mud of some ancient battlefield. The kind you can’t look away from. The kind you can’t stop thinking about even if you wish you could. When his dark gaze starts to shift this way though, I move with it. Looking at him is one thing, but he’s the last person on earth I feel like talking to tonight. Especially since everywhere he goes, he attracts far more attention than I ever want. And while I definitely need to make sure I’m engaging with all the guests I can, giving them the kind of desperate “save our museum, please” grovel that only one of the curators can, I don’t need or want more eyes on me than necessary. Tonight or any night. Especially not his, because he’s Alexander “Xander” Xavier, or XXL as his fans have nicknamed him on and off the field. He’s a defensive end for the Seattle Phantom football team and one of the most infamous playboys the league has ever known. He’s also my newly minted ex-husband’s best friend. Alex and I had started off friendly, better than friendly, really, if we counted the first night we ever met. Then over time, particularly when I ended up dating his friend without knowing it, and then marrying him—it had turned less-than-friendly. Barbs and banter had become our thing whenever we were forced to see each other at events. Now that the papers are signed and the rings are off, I can assume that nothing at all is going to