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“What makes you think something happened?”
“Please. I have six daughters; I know that look. Sit down and I’ll get you a ginger ale.”
And yes, she stocks my fridge with ginger ale.
With a sigh, I flop down onto my gray sofa and let myself sink into the cushions. With any luck, they’ll swallow me whole and I won’t have to sit through the inquisition. I’m not that lucky though.
Gloria comes back with two glasses filled with ice and a bottle of her favorite soda as I lean my head against the back of the couch.
This damn wig is starting to get heavy.
Reason number seventy-two for leaving the party early.
I take a long sip while Gloria gives me the stink-eye, and then put the glass on myDon’t fuck up the table, ceramic coaster.
“Where’s Paul?”
“He’s old and in bed. Don’t try to change the subject. You know I’m not going to give up until you share the tea with your poor old neighbor who doesn’t get any excitement.” She puts a hand over her heart, and gives me the saddest eyes she can muster.
I snort and toss my clutch on the large gray ottoman. “Last week you went to a toga party. Then there was the strip bingo at the senior night down at the club. You and Paul are banned from the pool because you went skinny dipping—”
“The only reason we got caught is because that old bat, Claudia, can’t keep her mouth shut.” She points her finger at me, and the frown is back. “Also, I don’t like your tone. You were saying?”
I sigh again, this time louder and longer. But the longer I stall, the more intense her gaze gets. “So, things did happen.”
“I knew it.” She claps her hands together and sips her ginger ale.
I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. Barely, but I manage.
Gloria listens intently as I tell her about my newish car breaking down, my brother not returning any of my calls and messages, and then having to message one of his teammates for help. I try to remain casual, but as soon as it leaves my mouth, her eyes sharpen.
“Is this the one you have a thing for?”
I cover my face with my hands and groan. “I don’t have a thing for any of them, but if I did, it might be him. If there is a crush, it’s trapped in a tiny box where it’s been secured with heavy duty packing tape and tossed in an attic somewhere to live out its days. You know my no hockey player policy.”
“Yes. Fuckface. Continue with your story. Did this hockey player come and get you?”
With a nod, I go into all the details of my rescue, making sure to include details on Foster’s outfit, like how tight it was and how tiny the shorts were. I paint a picture of the fundraiser, everything from the costumes to the décor, to the dancing and then….the kiss.
“Wait. He kissed you? The guy with the crush in a box?”
“Yeeessss,” I groan, dropping my head in my hands, but when the wig pulls on my hair, I sit back up. “I was minding my own business, walking by so I could go look for Rhett, and thenboom. He grabs my hand, pulls me back, and tells this chick I’m his girlfriend. You should have seen it, Gloria. She was looking at me like there was no way someone like him should be with someone like me, and you know what? She’s right.”
“And then he kissed you?”
“Yep. Right there in front of her. I don’t think anyone else saw or I’d be getting phone calls from my brother.” I shake my head and blow out a breath. “I just feel so stupid. I knew he was a player—I knew it—but I let myself kiss him back… and he made me have feelings.”
“He sounds like an ass.”
“He is. Did I mention he’s British? And hot as sin?”
“Well, that explains it.” She gestures my way with her free hand and grabs her glass with the other “My second husband was from England, and he was a fucking jerk. Selfish, self-centered, quick to anger. Loved the accent though. Out of all my husbands, he was also the best with his tongue, if you know what I mean.”
I knew exactly what she meant, and gross.
I don’t exactly want to picture anyone doing that to my sweet, sweet Gloria.
She drains her glass, and as she places it back on the coaster, she pats the blue fabric of my dress. “So what are you going to do?”
