Game of Admirers

By Paige Lynn Hill

Olivia doesn't want to be a pen pal. So, how does she end up as a catfish? She just knows that she's falling in love with Van, and Van is falling into trouble. But does helping him mean losing him?

 

Olivia is living the good life as a lead blogger for Charbonnier Magazine. However, life at work may get a bit tenuous when her relationship with her male bestie implodes, just as her roommate offers up the perfect distraction in the form of a military pen pal program.

Except, this Marine looks awfully similar to her high school crush, who had strong feelings about plus-size women, much to her chagrin. All she planned to do was offer him up a little dream, but before too long, he became her dream. In her heart, she knows the accusations leading to his court marshal are wrong. If she doesn't do something, she may lose her heart and her man.

Still, what will Van think about all this catfisher's lies?

 

Game of Admirers is a wonderful epistolary, contemporary romance standalone. If you like cute, feel-good stories, with a curvaceous heroine and a couple that yearn for each other, then you'll love Patricia Hoving's engaging military romance.

 

See the world in Game of Admirers Now!

 

Guaranteed HEA

• Language: English
• Publisher: TRS Books
• Release date: Jan 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201879136

Book preview

Game of Admirers

Paige Lynn Hill

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TRS BOOKS

Copyright © 2022 by Paige Lynn Hoving

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any

form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,

photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written

permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post

it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without

permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and

incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or

localities is entirely coincidental.

First

Edition

Cover Art by Dark City Designs

This book was professionally typeset by Atticus.io

Editing by Fiverr Vendor

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ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

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AND MANY MORE!

Contents

1. Olivia

2. Olivia

3. Olivia

4. Olivia

5. Van

6. Olivia

7. Olivia

8. Olivia

9. Van

10. Olivia

11. Olivia

12. Olivia

13. Olivia

14. Van

15. Olivia

16. Olivia

17. Olivia

18. Olivia

19. Olivia

20. Olivia

21. Olivia

22. Van

23. Olivia

24. Olivia

25. Olivia

26. Van

27. Olivia

Afterword

About Author

Chapter one

Olivia

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Letter writing has gone the way of the dinosaurs.

How much could her prison pen pal have to say?

Who are you writing? I asked, standing in the doorway of her bedroom. That’s like, all I see you do now?

One of my closest friends, Angela Frederick, the only person I know to have personalized stationery, looked ready to burst, like all she was waiting for was for me to ask.

As you know, Olivia, I’m still heavily involved in my sororities’ alumni society, Angela gushed as its Vice President. This year, our focus has been on our military, sending care packages and becoming pen pals.

I cocked my head to the side and smiled. That’s kinda cool, but I’ve seen you do charity projects before. I’ve never really seen you as excited about any of them as this one.

It has become the most exciting part of my day, Angela said, getting to her knees and holding up one of her letters. Olivia, I can literally be anyone I want to be with these guys. I can say anything I want. It’s like being Wonder Woman on Tuesday and Catwoman on Friday.

So, it’s like lying, I said, squelching a laugh. I went over to her bed and picked up a few of the envelopes. Are you talking to more than one person?

Yes, she said, pulling the envelopes from my hand before turning her computer around to face me. We found a pen pal site for military gents that reads more like a dating profile. Anyway, it’s meant to match you with a pen pal to write to and send approved care packages. But I’m certainly not lying, more like selling hope. These guys are facing some harrowing situations. Some of them don’t have any family. What’s it to me to turn into their Girl Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, if it gives them a little more to look forward to?

What happens if these guys want to meet? I asked, intrigued.

I’m selling hope, Olivia, not reality.

And they know this? It sounds an awful lot like you’re catfishing.

She rolled her eyes. Olivia, please, the only one losing money in this endeavor is me.

How much have you spent?

Angela turned the computer back to herself. We just tell members to follow their hearts, and that’s what I’m doing.

Going overboard is more like it, I protested, looking around her room for more proof of her exploits. Seriously, like, ballpark it.

She sighed. I have an Amazon wish list of items that I’m frequently asked for.

I took out my phone and pulled up this website, quickly scrolling through some delicious-looking men. Well, if that’s one less tube of lipstick or pallet of blush arriving on our doorstep, I suppose they have my thanks. And you are at least trying to be helpful amid all this selfishness.

I’m not getting anything out of it. Except managing to help a lot of guys.

Another smirk played across my lips. What’s a lot of guys?

Five, and possibly looking for more. It’s not as if these guys will run into each other at the local grocery store. And even if they did, I’m not promising marriage or a forever after. Angela shrugged. Heck, I’m not even the same person from letter to letter. It’s almost hard to keep up with, but I also have a spreadsheet.

Spreadsheet? Ugh, naw, take weekends off, sis.

It’s only for six months, and then we switch over to the holiday season.

Yes, back to your regular. Helping the homeless and raising money for the local battered women’s shelter.

Yeah, then I’ll cool it, maybe, Angela pouted, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes.

The Iraqi Conflict is the biggest governmental shit show since the Vietnam War. It’s gone on longer than most wars, and most citizens don’t even support it anymore. Do not continue this farce at home, all year.

They chose to join, Olivia?

So?

They have access to the same information we do. Yet, those soldiers still joined. I think on its face that at least means they’re the most gullible.

So, this is pseudo-revenge, black widow spider? Tongue-in-cheek, I was genuinely trying to understand where this girl was coming from. Or like they deserve to be lied to?

Neither.

Their light conversation had suddenly taken a much darker turn. She was starting to lose sight of the plot. After the death of her brother Dwight’s best friend in 2017 in Chicago, Dwight thought about joining the military. A decision that epic shouldn’t be made under duress. He respected his little sister’s opinion enough to give me a heads up, and I talked him out of it. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him and not knowing why.

Yet, I could summon some respect for the men that put their lives on the line for the greater good. Whether or not that was actually what it was. They were doing it for their families, for America’s families, and it wasn’t easy. And I wasn’t about to condone lying to anyone for any reason.

Frankly, it went against the brand I was cultivating at Charbonnier, which sounded like a French wine but was the name of the hot trending magazine by celebrity French actress Josette Charbonnier.

These days it was fashionable for celebrities to release lifestyle brands in the form of magazines, blogs, and the like. But I was feeling good about the celebrity I hitched my wagon to, considering the magazine had been going strong for five years now, and Josette was proving that she had a mind for the industry to outlast the fad.

At the magazine, I had a monthly column in the lifestyle section about body positivity. I spotlighted items, people, and places meant to make everyday women feel good about themselves. No matter their shape, size, or ethnicity.

I glanced down at my phone and noticed it had landed on a photo of a man I recognized from high school.

Van Hayden had been beloved by everyone in high school. Funny and literally larger than everyone, he fit right in with the football crowd but never carried the ego. He hadn’t laughed at the yearbook geeks or pick on the poor kids, and it had been open season on anyone for his legendary pranks.

His father was like a doctor or something, and his mother was equally important in the business field. I remembered thinking how high the expectations must’ve been in his family. Of course, he didn’t know I existed. We hung out in different circles.

He had four brothers, and I knew he fell somewhere in the middle. After high school, everyone seemed to just disappear. He was a grade higher than me, in any case. It was crazy to see that he ended up in the military—the guy who couldn’t be serious about anything.

I had a major crush on him, but of course, my bubble burst when I overheard him talking about some fat actress. Like, genuinely immature guys, his friends were playing date, fuck, or dump. He clearly made it known that he considered the buxom beauty to be a firm dump. Fat was not his style.

Someone caught your eye? Angela asked, looking at her.

No, I said, knocking her over the head with my phone.

You did.

I rolled my eyes. It’s not a dating site. A quick perusal of the About section clearly says that the mother/daughter team that started this program had the best of intentions. They just wanted to be able to help everyone. Not just their son who had enlisted. They were filling a gap. It is quite honorable of them when you think about it.

It’s why we chose them, of course, Angela said with a click of her tongue. We’d only work with the most reputable establishment.

So, it’s just you corrupting this long-running establishment?

There is no corruption going on.

Someone is getting fiesty, I teased with a smile.

I’ve already stated my intention to spread as much joy as possible, like Mrs. Claus at Christmas. She’s not just a show pony, you know.

I’m vaguely familiar with the cartoon legend.

Our particular chapter may be small, but we are mighty. I know how to do a lot with a little. And you would do better to jump on the bandwagon. Maybe feature us and our charity.

You know I don’t mix business and pleasure. I want my readers to view my recommendations as authentic as possible. And giving my dearest friend a boost would just be seen as favoritism. I’d be called a sellout immediately. What you guys are doing is commendable. I’m sure it will attract the right attention once you start putting yourselves out there. I’m the queen of not being recognized for my accomplishments.

Save me the speech, Brene Brown.

I chuckled. It sounds like you need one right now.

Angela returned to her letter. Unfortunately, I’ve heard your inspirational speech about sweating over your blog for five years before someone saw your talent.

I wasn’t too happy with her callous tone as I crossed my arms over my top. Just no exorbitant pronouncements of love.

It’s not about love, Olivia. Conversation is precious too.

Have you shared any of this with the other sorority members? I asked. I was mostly thinking of the president of this operation.

Do they know that I’ve chosen to sponsor more than one soldier? Yes, Olivia, and it’s not a problem.

I looked at her wryly. Sponsor. Is that what you’re calling it? I’ll call it that too, for lack of a better word. But trust me, when I find it. . .

Angela could never really be backed into a corner even on her worse decisions. It’s fun, she began, rattling off her reasons on her fingers. I’m actually helping by being a listening ear. I’ve also sent more care packages than most of the members of my sorority since this program began. She scooted up to her knees and fixed the silk scrunchie around her ponytail.

For many, Angela could only be described as adorable with her round-shaped face, her skin a glowing dark walnut cedar. But she wasn’t exactly deep. Angela was the hippie type who would place a flower in a gun in the middle of a war. However, she deeply affected the people around her for the positive. Frankly, that was more than she could say for most people outside of her field.

Don’t you have a yoga class in fifteen minutes? I asked.

Dang it, I’m late, Angela said, wide-eyed. We’ll continue this discussion later.

Or not, I mumbled, already over it.

I followed behind Angela, closing her bedroom door. Only to end up in the kitchen searching for something to eat. After I did an article on Soul Veganism, a how-to on cooking delicious soul food the vegan way, I had been a recent convert. Which meant I was struggling to make do.

Whoa, where are you going so fast? a male voice asked Angela, half-hidden by the open door.

Work, I replied, instantly placing the voice as Greg Riva.

My male bestie and co-conspirator at Charbonnier did the sports section. Josette happened to be a fan of rugby. She was heralded with reigniting the love of the sport in America, where magazine issues were also circulated. We currently worked out of their American offices located in Washington D.C.

What’s up, bro ham! I asked excitedly. I wasn’t expecting to see you today?

Greg was the biggest surprise of my life when I first started working at Charbonnier three years ago. He was the ultimate douche, raving on some receptionist about coffee refills, and I let him have it for all humanity. It was why I affectionately referred to him as bro ham. If only to remind him of his reformed douche ways.

The preppy green-eyed wonder turned into my biggest fan after that. But our lives and upbringing couldn’t possibly be any more different. Greg was the kind of guy that had parents who vacationed in Martha’s Vineyard, lauding that it was a tourist trap now.

I finished a meeting around the corner and figured I’d stop by. He smiled, looking me up and down.

I rolled my eyes and pulled out the ingredients for spicy fried cauliflower nuggets—a substitute for the chicken nuggets that I was severely craving.

Seeing you on this new diet is crazy, Greg said, leaning against the kitchen island, watching me. I’m proud of you for sticking it out this long. What has it been now, three months?

It’s not a diet, I protested, disbelieving this was the seventh time I had to tell him that. And I’m probably healthier than you, considering how hard you’re breathing after coming up those stairs. Let me guess. The elevator’s out?

Yes. I met five of your neighbors on the walk-up. The powers-that-be must break it on purpose because it’s a great way to meet people during the climb.

And not a hair is out of place, I said, handing him a bottled water right before turning back to the fridge. Can’t say the same about last night after your hard-partying. That surprise donor coming on as a partner just read job security to me.

Distractedly, I stopped to take another peek at my phone to admire my former crush. Van had been tall in high school with dreamy blue eyes. But this was still the best glow-up I’d ever seen. He was rocking the buzz cut versus his classic boy band mop look, and his six-pack was now lickable. Back in the day, he still had most of his baby fat. Now it looked like he could bench press her 170 pounds and then some.

I had a little too much to drink. But I wasn’t the only one.

I hadn’t changed too much since my teenaged years. Unless one counted how long it took me to build up my self-confidence. I knew I wasn’t everyone’s favorite flavor, but what does it matter when I was the best one in the box? Finding a man to love my thick thighs and brown eyes was more manageable once I stepped into my self-worth.

Hello! Earth to Olivia.

I laughed, unable to ignore the hand waving in front of my face. What were you saying, bro ham?

I wasn’t the only one drunk that night, he repeated.

I caught him trying to look at my phone and quickly stuffed it into my back pocket.

Greg had a poor opinion of everyone we worked with, considering himself vastly more intelligent. You must’ve been too, taking Mason’s phone number?

I merely grinned and seasoned my flour. I wasn’t expecting it. But I can’t say that I hate the guy because he’s pretty nice. Maybe this is the shove I need to get to know him better.

You need to avoid that inevitable train wreck, please, Greg said like he had knighted himself an expert on my dating life.

I wanted to shoot him with a glare but needed to pay attention to my food. I dipped the already cut-up veggies into my seasoned flour then layered it in my air-fryer. Finally, I turned to the sink to clean the flour paste off my hands.

What train wreck? Do you know something about Mason that I don’t? I asked, looking over my shoulder at him.

He’s just not right for you, he implored as if I was heading toward a firing squad and not a date.

I know I haven’t had the best luck in love, I said, drying my hands on a tea towel. But I wouldn’t classify my dating life as a train wreck. More like a hang glider into a side of a mountain that I never saw coming. I chuckled, making the motions with my hands until I stood in front of the mountain that was his granite chest.

Only to look up into green eyes that had distinctly changed into something that I wasn’t sure was meant for me until he lowered his lips to mine and kissed me with a passion that should be reserved for his girlfriend.

And I returned that hot kiss.

My emotions swirled around me like a confused bunny. His kisses tasted better than anything I had imagined.

Heyyy, I said, pushing away from him, smacking him lightly across the face like I was merely turning down bad hot sauce. We’re not supposed to be doing this.

My mind was a jumble.

You’re right, he nodded. I thought I could, but I wasn’t even getting hard.

Excuse me, I said dryly. Shouldn’t we be thinking about your girlfriend now?

I love you, he blurted, like all he needed now was a shot of penicillin.

You’re funny and a nice guy when you actually try, I explained, working it all out in my head. Maybe I thought about it before, in a far-off way. The same way I thought about visiting the Netherlands and trying some exotic dessert, it was all fairy tales. He didn’t love me, and I was trying not to love him. What’s this all about? We’re friends, remember?

But it was almost as if he was working it out in his head as well. Just feeling you pressed against me like that should normally be the zinger, but it was more like...

My mouth dropped open. Greg, you need to go.

I want to be with my best friend. Mentally I just don’t think I can get there. Sexually, I wanted you so badly, Liv.

He was having a whole conversation that I wasn’t having. A conversation that I refused to have. What am I supposed to be now, your fatphobia therapist? Greg! Get out!

He sighed deep and stormed out like he merely lost a lousy bet on his hedge fund investment.

I slammed the door closed, gawking after him, gratefully resting my back against the wooden door frame. Tears rolled down my face. Gawd, you weren’t supposed to break me. I slunk down to the floor. My phone clanging against the hardwood floors. You weren’t supposed to break me.

My phone tinged, and it was the only thing that managed to snap me out of her pity party.

Yet it wasn’t the notification that caught my eye, but the photo of my former crush in his military garb.

I clicked on his profile and read his first summary:

A buddy of mine recommended this pen pal service to me for soldiers in the military. He’s been doing it for three years. I think he secretly enjoys the hero worship. But he happens to be really great with words. I don’t have that same skill. And I don’t need anyone to think I’m perfect because I’m not.

I sniffled, and continued to read, thinking about how the engrained words had spoken to my very existence. When it comes to perfection, we had grown in vastly different directions. He certainly was no Greg, who walked around the office like he was the Adonis of the sports magazine industry.

He wanted to add me to his harem and then—

I finally decided to join on a whim. My station was being changed in the middle of an assignment that I felt was incomplete. I followed orders. Have you ever been really good at something, even better than your superior, and then because of work politics, simply made to fall in line? It’s difficult, to say the least. But I’ve never been so honored to do my duty and be entrusted with the secrets that I have.

On my last night, my serviceman Jaden Armstrong, took me to celebrate with my favorite girl, Farida, who was solely credited for keeping me sane. After the sad news was revealed, she got standoffish and spent the rest of our time together working the bar. I thought it was her poor attempt at handling the truth and was trying to smooth things over between us. She ended up sitting at the bar alone, accepting drinks from any Marine that wandered in. Her eyes never set on me again. When I tried to push the issue, she bit out that I needed to get away from her before any of the new guys got the wrong idea. I want to hate her, but I don’t see any point in it.

It wasn’t as if I weren’t warned about people like her. Women, men, kids. They see an American Marine and latch on for any benefits they might attain. It sounds deplorable, greedy even. But the world they live in is not ours and I fear what I would be doing if the roles were reversed, and I was in her place.

Some poverty sticks to one’s skin like a blistering boil.

This is the section where I’m supposed to say something cute about my favorite color, or sugary beverage, or how life was like in high school. It all pales in comparison to what’s going on in real life. I can’t smell the roses or taste lemonade. Neither can I get righteously angry that the sweetest woman I’d ever met feels the need to bed hop. For what? A few gifts, and enough money to put food on the table for her and her grandmother.

So why did I do this? A simple reminder that there is beauty in this messed-up world would be nice. I think I’d like to hear about meaningless runs for coffee, and complaints about TV shows as a nice change. I’m even missing seasonal weather. Never thought I’d get tired of the Sun.

I finished reading his profile, Greg almost forgotten, but only because a new sense of anger had replaced the one I had been feeling before.

The brief summary was incredibly insightful and well written. A tenderness to it that I never would have expected from Van Hayden. However, his words also touched on some naivety and an absurdness that frankly angered me.

I stood up and went back into my roommate’s room for some stationary.

Only to take it back to the desk in my room. Writing this letter was a disaster in the making, not to mention that it wouldn’t be necessarily prudent for the type of figurehead that I was at Charbonnier. Yet, I had something to say, and no way to voice it to a world-weary Marine who had forgotten what life was about. He was nursing a broken heart, brought on by some foggy life situation. Suddenly, dumb life slogans made sense.

There was no way I could relate to what he was experiencing now. Frankly, no pen pal really could. Van Hayden had been so full of life; it was hard to picture him in a job where cracking a joke was a health hazard in the wrong situation. A