Trivial Pursuits (Chicago On Ice Book 2)

TRIVIAL PURSUITS

Chicago On Ice Series #2

AVEN ELLIS

SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

New York

TRIVIAL PURSUITS

Copyright©2016

AVEN ELLIS

Cover Design by Christy Caughie

This book is a work of fiction.  The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher.  The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Published in the United States of America by

Soul Mate Publishing

P.O. Box 24

Macedon, New York, 14502

ISBN: 978-1-68291-061-0

www.SoulMatePublishing.com

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Books by Aven Ellis:

Connectivity

Waiting for Prince Harry

Chronicles of a Lincoln Park Fashionist
a

Surviving the Rachel

The Definition of Icing

The Aubrey Rules

Breakout

Trivial Pursuits

For Whairigail, Kayla,
and Simona:

Whairigail—I’m blessed with your friendship.

Thank you for being a part of my family.

Kayla—Thank you for letting me borrow your name.

And for being nothing like the Kayla in this book. XO

Simona—Thank you for being the lead WAG in this story.

Matthias couldn’t have chosen a lovelier wife.

Acknowledgements

First and foremost, thank you once again to Deborah Gilbert for believing in my talent and the quirky stories I love to write. You’ve never tried to change my style. You give me the freedom to tell my stories in my own way, and I thank you for letting me be m
e.

Thank you to my Beta Baes, the most incredible group of ladies on my beta team. These books would not happen without your feedback, ideas, encouragement, and love. Simona, Holly, Kelly, Whairigail, Jo, Emma, Kayla, Wendy, Heidi, Maryline, Derna, and Angie—I love you ladies more than you could ever know.

Thank you to the Lovelies who have provided support since that first draft. Love you girls!

Kristalyn, thank you for your willingness to read my messy drafts. You are a trooper!

Hockey blogging friends Dianne at Tome Tender, Anna from Annaberry Reads, and Aly from Reading Shy with Aly—you all are all kinds of fabulous.

My assistant, Alexandra—Thank you for always talking me off the ledge, for being a continual support, for pushing me when I needed a push. I love you.

Holly Martin, my Twinnie—I love you so much. You have always been my rock. I have published every book with you by my side, and I’m beyond grateful for that.

Lauren, Kristi, and Lynn—Thank you for years of encouragement and support. And for providing the wine, LOL.

Thank you Mindy Moore for being such a source of inspiration. I admire you so much!

Vicki Locey—Thank you for being such a supportive friend. I appreciate you!

Becky Monson and Kathryn Biel—I love you girls. Thank you for always believing in me. We’re so getting that bus.

Amanda and Claudia—How did life exist without you? Thank you for being a part of my life every day. I love you girls so much!

Jennifer DiCenzo, Jennifer Johnson—Tocheny, and Mary Aquilera—Thank you for your endless promotion of my books. You girls are AMAZING! Jennifer, an extra thank you for the coffee that got me through the final edits of this book, LOL.

A big thank you to all the book bloggers who take the time to read and review my books. You make all the difference when a book releases. Thank you for reading my words.

And lastly, a big huge thank you to my readers. To each and every single one of you who picked up one of my books and read it. Your free time is valuable. I appreciate you wanting to spend some of that precious time with my characters and their stories.

Chapter 1

TriviaPlayOrPass!

Who is the fourth president of the United States of America? DesignerA, play or pass to Scott921?

I stare at the blinking cursor on my cell phone. Embarrassing. I’ve lived in the United States my entire twenty-two years of existence, made A’s in history in both high school and at the University of Washington, yet have no clue who the fourth president of my country was.

Shameful.

Of course, it’s probably more shameful to admit I’m addicted to
TriviaPlayOrPass!
You know, that trivia game app that makes you feel smart because you know more than complete strangers do.

Focus, Livy,
I tell myself. I’m super competitive. I don’t want to pass this question. Who was the fourth president? Polk? Where was he? Washington, Adams, and then who? Who was third? Crap. If I don’t know the third president, I won’t know the fourth.

How is it
I can recite all the words to any song off any Taylor Swift album but not remember presidents? Although my musical knowledge has to count for something, right?

Oooh. Hopefully a question relating to Taylor will come up soon in Pop Culture. I’d crush those.

Beep! Player DesignerA play or pass to Scott921.

Damn it. I hit ‘pass,’ and know Scott921 will DM in a matter of seconds. Five, four, three—

Seriously? The American passes a USA PRESIDENT question to the Canadian? This should have been easy points DesignerA. You’re on notice. I’m kicking your ass this round.

I snicker. I knew that would be his response. I’ve only been playing Scott921 with this app for a few weeks, but I like talking to him. One, he’s a good trivia player, so I like a challenge. Two, he’s very, very funny. I’m a sucker for anyone who can make me laugh. He sent me a message on a question the first time we played, and we’ve been chatting during games ever since.

Of course, for all I know he’s some twelve-year-old boy sitting in his room up in Canada avoiding homework. Or married and sixty and living in Akron, Ohio. You can be anyone online.

Take me, for example. My real name is Livy, but of course I don’t want to use that online. Too many weirdos out there. Since I’m a jewelry designer, I go by DesignerA, with the A coming from my last name of Adams.

And I’m sure Scott921 has no idea he’s talking to an unemployed artist who exists on freelance design work and had to move back in with her parents in suburban Chicago the day after college graduation back in December.

Temporary setback.
That’s all this is.

But right now, I need to focus on my trivia match. And answer Scott921’s question.

My brain can only store so much knowledge. What’s up there has to be critical information. Besides, can you even name the 4
th
Prime Minister of Canada?

I hit ‘send’ and wait for him to answer. Ha, bet I stumped him with that one. Especially if he is an American living in Akron.

I can. Sir John Thompson. Died in office of a heart attack. And the first Catholic prime minister. How’s that for an answer?

Wow. He did know that. Okay, I’m removing American off the list of alternate identity options for Scott921. I reply.

Remind me never to pass
any historical questions to you ever again.

The screen on the phone pops over to the game, so now I can see if Scott921 got it right or wrong.

TriviaPlayOrPass!
Both DesignerA and Scott921 do not answer correctly. The 4
th
President of the United States was James Madison.

Madison! Damn it. I shoot a message to Scott921.

I should have remembered this. I feel like eating a raspberry Zinger to console myself on my woeful recollection of American presidents.

Scott921 responds.

I have the most random conversations with you. What the hell is a ZINGER?

So he might be twelve, or eighty, but I do get a kick out of talking to him. I’ve never come out and asked Scott921 for his story. Like how old he is, where he lives, what does he do for a living? He’s
online.
There’s no point to anything beyond our trivia matches, or our little exchanges, even though I’ve come to look forward to them.

Hmm. If only Scott921 lived in the Chicago area, was single, and looked like Landon Holder, the star defenseman of the Chicago Buffaloes, I’d propose marriage to him upon first sight.

But since that’s as likely as me remembering all the presidents of the United States and knowing all the prime ministers of Canada, I forget that plan and type a reply instead.

A delicious, prepackaged snack cake. Not on the clean eating plan.

I can see the ‘typing’ icon flash so I know he’s replying.

I don’t think I want anything called a Zinger, DesignerA. Hey, I gotta get to bed. Tired tonight. Rematch tomorrow?

I reply sure. I’ll send him a request late, because that’s when he’s usually online. I say goodnight and set my phone on my nightstand.

I glance at the clock. Eleven-thirty. I should get to bed, too. I have some bracelets I want to work on in the morning—custom cuff bracelets I was commissioned to do as bridesmaids gifts—and then I have my first day volunteering at an after-school program for children at a local elementary school.

I shut off the light and slip under the covers of my bed. I can hear the wind howling outside my window, and it’s snowing heavily this February night. It’s so cold. I have a mountain of blankets on my bed, and I’m still freezing. It got cold in Seattle, but nothing like these Chicago winters. I find myself having to adjust all over again since moving back home.

Anyway, I’m excited about my volunteer work. The program is designed for children whose families might not be able to afford after-school experiences for their children. I’m going to teach art tomorrow. Ironically, I’m doing an art project in honor of Presidents’ Day, which of course is celebrated this month.

At least I know what Lincoln and Washington look like so I can successfully teach the art project,
I muse.

I yawn, feeling tiredness wash over me. Definitely time for bed.

And new adventures tomorrow.

I park my Jeep Renegade SUV in the school parking lot and turn my windshield wipers off. I’m so eager to work with the kids today. Whenever I do a private art lesson, I have the best time teaching children. To see their faces when they create something, to watch them connect with the mediums of art and experience joy from the process—well, that brings me as much joy as it does them.

And while the weather outside is cold, snowy, and dreary, I feel the exact opposite inside. I feel bubbly, bright, and alive on this February day.

I tug on my gloves and put on my cream cable-knit cap, knowing full well my naturally blond platinum locks will be a static mess when I get inside, but better than soppy wet hair from the heavy snow that is falling right now.

I flip down the visor and check my appearance one last time. My pale blue-green eyes stare back at me. I see I have none of my tan-pink butter LONDON LIPPY lipstick on my teeth, and my nose isn’t shiny. An un-shiny nose is a complete victory at this time of the afternoon, I dare say.

I pop the visor back up and open the door, bracing for the brutal elements. Snow whips across my face, and I quickly yank my Deena & Ozzy geometric print infinity scarf up over my chin. Damn, it’s
freezing
out here.

I hurry around to the trunk and open it. I lift out my canvas bag of supplies, which is nearly blown out of my hand by an arctic blast. Maybe I should have stayed in Seattle.

Because this weather is
ridiculous.

I shut the trunk and head toward the front of the school. The children will be released in fifteen minutes, but I was told to get here early so I could sign into the front office as a visitor. I already had my background check completed, and I should be able to receive my volunteer ID today.

I step inside the building and wipe my black Wellingtons on the mat. I head into the office, where an older woman pauses her typing and stares at me.

For a moment, I’m distracted. Does she have a
perm?
Her dyed, jet-black hair is in tight, tiny ringlets all over her head. Her bangs look like mattress coils.

“Yes?” she asks, peering over the glasses that have slid all the way down her nose.

I glance at her name plate, which has an apple with a worm coming out of it and the words ‘Mrs. Martin, Receptionist’ next to it.

“Hello, Mrs. Martin, I’m Livy Adams, and I’m here to teach art at the after-school activity program,” I say, tugging off my gloves. “It’s nice to meet you. And I’m so happy to be here today.”

She studies me as if she has zero interest in anything I said. Good Lord, her nameplate should say, ‘Mrs. Martin, Beaten Down By the Job Receptionist.’

“Sign in,” she barks, nodding in the direction of the computer. “It’s self-explanatory.”

Then she pushes her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose and resumes typing. The phone rings, and she punches a button on her keyboard. “Morning View Elementary,” she says gruffly.

All right, so it’s not just me. Mrs. Martin obviously has no time for pleasantries, whether you’re standing in front of her or on the phone.

I move to the computer and follow the instructions for registering as a visitor. Another woman checks my driver’s license, verifies that I’m on the list for volunteer badges, and I should get it from the director of the after-care program today. I get my temporary badge and am directed to the cafeteria as the bell rings, signaling the end of school.

Suddenly the air is filled with the sounds of excited chatter, shoes and rubber snow boots squeaking against the tiled floors, and laughter.

I smile, remembering how much I enjoyed elementary school. I loved learning. And I lived for art class, where I was able to paint and use clay.

I see children heading into the cafeteria, and I follow them. Backpacks are slung onto tables, coats piled up, and snacks are being served by the after-school coordinators at the back of the room.

I make my way toward Darcy Reeves, the lead coordinator for the program here at Morning View.

She hands a little girl a bag of pretzels and a carton of juice and then glances up at me.

“Hey, Livy, so glad you could make it,” Darcy says, smiling brightly at me. “The kids are
thrilled
you’re here today.”

“I can’t wait to get started,” I say honestly, setting my bag and Longchamp tote down on the cafeteria table next to her. “I have some fun presidential art planned for them.”

“They love when young people come in,” Darcy says. “Be prepared to be mobbed.”

I laugh as I unbutton my coat. “I can deal with that.”

After I’m introduced to co-teachers Valerie and Sarah and given my volunteer ID badge, I slip out of my winter coat. I drape it on the table, over my tote. I hesitate for a moment. I should take off my hat, but if I do, I’ll show horrible static hair. Oh, well, it can entertain the kids if my locks are the equivalent of Albert Einstein’s crazy hair. I can say it’s artistic.

I remove my cable-knit hat and the charge instantly sweeps through my hair. Oh gosh. It’s standing up, I can tell. I try to smooth my hand over it, but I can still feel it sticking out.

I’m about to go to the restroom to see if I can spray it back into submission with hairspray, but then I hear children start yelling.

“Landy!”

“Landy’s here!”

“Landon!”

Wait.
Wait
. I only know one Landon. The star player for the Chicago Buffaloes hockey team. He goes by Landy. My best friend Aubrey is dating his best friend on the team, Captain Beckett Riley. So I’ve met him a few times, and while I know he’s the captain of
hook ups
on that team, I do find him incredibly attractive.

I wrinkle my nose. I’m being crazy. What on earth would Landy Holder be doing
here?
No. Different Landy.

“Hey, kids, I told you guys I’d be back, remember?”

Oh, I
know
that sexy, scratchy, like he’s-just-rolled-out-of-bed voice.

And I turn around and find myself staring into the vivid blue eyes of Landy Holder.