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I don’t even have time to fully process because she’s moving man to man, squeezing biceps, tapping pecs, and looking at their nether regions. At least the guys don’t seem uncomfortable. I’d hate to break her heart around all of this eye candy and tell her we have to leave.
“I have so many questions,” I whisper, pulling Gloria to my side.
“I’d ask if you know how to let loose and have a good time, but I’m pretty sure I know the answer.”
“Oh, come on. I’m not that bad.”
Her brows raise as she assesses me. “Have you even looked at one dick since we got here?” My mouth falls open in shock. I don’t know why I’m surprised, I really don’t. She doesn’t miss a beat, just chuckles and says, “Didn’t think so.”
She feels up a few more guys while leading us down a small hallway that opens up into a kitchen capable of giving me a wet dream. It’s all marble countertops, reclaimed wood accents, and two-tone cabinets. I’m in love, but before I can have the full orgasmic kitchen experience, someone runs in front of the island. Someone who looks very familiar.
“Gloria, was that Lincoln Dallas?” I ask, narrowing my eyes on her, and I swear to everything that is holy, if the hockey team is here, I will cause her physical harm.
I cannot, under any circumstances, face Foster right now, especially not in a fucking Christmas sweater with gloves grabbing my tits.
She simply shrugs. “I don’t know. What’s he look like again?”
And that’s when I know something’s up.
Gloria knows damn well what Lincoln looks like. She came over to watch a hockey game and drink ginger ale a few weeks ago, and when Linc’s face was plastered all over the Jumbotron, she virtually stalked him for the next four hours.
Four hours.
If Lincoln is here, that means the rest of the team isn’t far behind, which really makes me question who these other guys are and why the hell they’re here. Did someone kidnap a whole other hockey team?
“Gloria.”
“Calm your tits. I think my friend is down this hallway. Come on.”
She grabs my hand, and before I can utter a single protest, she pulls me down a dimly lit hallway. If she were trying to kill me, it would have been much easier to do it while I was face down in my apartment. This seems a bit extra.
“Gloria?” My brows draw together as she all but tosses me into a room and shuts the door behind me. I’m pretty sure she apologized, but it’s muffled through the door.
Foster’s here though, and I’m going to die on the spot. I’m going to be deceased in front of my ex-fake-boyfriend.
Gloria, the biggest traitor there ever was, is nowhere to be seen.
My heart rate doubles, and my breath stutters as he stands innocently in front of me. There are so many things I should say, so many questions I should ask, starting with what the fuck he’s doing here, but instead, when I open my mouth, garbage tumbles out.
“What are you wearing?”
He smirks and glances down at his sweater. It’s the same shade of red mine is, only his saysJingle My Bells, and I kid you not, there are actual bells hanging from the bottom; bells that he now jingles as he rocks back and forth. “Do you like it? Gloria gave it to me.”
“No.”
Of course she fucking did. Gloria is dead to me.
I turn around and I can’t help but take in the expensive looking white washed crib and matching furniture. A pang of jealousy hits me in the gut, and I push that shit away. I don’t need nice things to be a good mom. It’s just stuff, which only makes me question things more, so instead of leaving the room like I should, I turn back around.
“Whose house is this?”
Foster blanches, but looks around, pausing on the mobile made up of brightly colored animals that’s hanging above the crib. “Do you like it?”
“It’s gorgeous, but that doesn’t answer my question. And who the fuck are all those guys out there?” I cross my arms, covering my gloved breasts, and narrow my eyes.
“Lucy invited the football team.” He shrugs like it’s every day you invite an entire fucking football team to a party. Maybe it is for him. I don’t know what he does with his life anymore.
I’ve noticed he’s avoiding answering my question, and I can’t do this. I can’t stand in front of him and pretend to be okay, like he didn’t rip my heart out of my chest and leave me with a bloody, gaping wound.
