Left Field (New Hope #4)

Chapter Two

Blake

Fiddling with the hardened edge of the card stock, I use my fingernail to make an indent in the overpriced paper. My gaze flits down, studying the printed cursive, although it took me less than three seconds to memorize the writing on the invitation.

A linen border surrounds their names, complete with flowers made of gold foil. It's classy, tasteful, understated... unlike the man getting married to my ex-girlfriend.

"Would you throw that thing away already?" Gordon demands, placing two pints on the lacquered table. My best friend—let's be honest, my only friend—takes a seat across from me, his stocky frame filling the booth. "You're making me feel like I'm the one with a broken heart."

"My heart is fine," I clip, taking a sip of the foamy beverage. I don't even like beer, but I'm a man of habit. Gordon and I have been coming to this dive bar nearly every Friday for years. It's conveniently placed down the block from his flagship MMA studio.

"Says the guy ruminating over his archnemesis' wedding invitation," he challenges, raising a heavy brow.

"Don't call him that," I fire back.

He licks the beer from his lips. "Why?"

"Because I'm a thirty-year-old man, not a superhero. I don't have an archnemesis," I clarify, feeling the blood pumping like oil in my veins at the mention of his name. "Julian Heathrow may've fucked my college girlfriend and is now marrying her, but he's not my archnemesis."

"To-may-to, to-mah-to."

I raise my middle finger, flipping him off. "I'm going to that wedding, G."

Gordon sighs, running a calloused hand through his scruffy hair. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

He thinks I'm still hung up on Natalie, the ex in question. We dated for a year while I studied at MIT, until I discovered she was also sleeping with Julian, who was attending Harvard at the same time. While I may have nursed a broken heart for longer than I should've, this isn't about Natalie. It's Julian I wanted to get back at. And Momma always told me the best revenge is a smile.

"Julian is trying to screw with me," I explain, spinning my wet coaster on the table. "This invitation is a giant middle finger pointed in my direction. If I don't show up, he wins."

"Wins what?"

"At life!" I exclaim, garnering the attention of a few nearby patrons.

"Blake," Gordon begins, leaning forward so we aren't overheard by the dregs of Philadelphian society. "You're the founder, creative director, and chief executive officer of a multibillion-dollar tech company. You have three PhDs, a family that loves you, and an ass you can bounce a quarter off of."

"Been looking at my ass, have you?"

He tilts his head, giving me a dead stare. "My point is... you're winning, bro."

Gordon doesn't understand. Julian and I have been going tit for tat since grade school. I may be over six foot now, but I used to be the smallest kid in class. Julian took advantage of my short stature and disproportionate limbs in the way any bully would. It wasn't until my stepdad got me into a karate class that I learned to defend myself. When I began to grow into my body, Julian changed tactics. He started playing mind games and stealing anything of importance to me. Natalie was no exception.

Over the years, Julian has consistently tried to one-up me. He bought a house in my neighborhood, making sure his had an extra bathroom. When I declined a feature in Forbes 30 Under 30, Julian volunteered himself. One of my charities works to educate everyday Americans about endangered wildlife, so Julian flew to Africa and saved an elephant from ivory poachers, making sure to document it online. I've been able to ignore him for the most part, but this is too much.