"A mistake," Charlie adds, shooting a glare at Chance’s dad.
Silent and unflinching, Chance’s gaze drills into his father with a burning intensity no amount of manifestation panties or mimosas combined could give me the nerve to deliver.
"His ex-wife," Mr. McAllister finishes, giving Chance a look almost as cutting back.
Ex-wife.
My stomach bottoms out, the mimosas roiling. But worse than that is the betrayal. He had a while wife and I’m the only one who doesn’t know?
After I let him in and he held my hand? After trusting him with parts of myself I’ve never show anyone—he couldn't trust me with this?
I don't miss the way Chance snatches his knee from where he had purposely pressed it against mine.
Not that I care.
It's not like it was in the job description or anything.
Just like I definitely don't care that his type is apparently blonde and different and probably doesn't make bukkake jokes at breakfast.
Probably doesn't lie awake at night like a lovesick idiot, mapping his face with trembling fingers, either.
Sierra shifts uncomfortably in the doorway. "I should really go find?—"
"We should do something!" My mother chirps, either oblivious to or deliberately ignoring the tension. "Let’s start with that sleigh ride. Tonight, perhaps?"
"Can't," Charlie says quickly. "Nick and I have plans."
All eyes turn to me.
"Oh no." I hold up my hands. "I went looking for a man in finance, trust fund, 6’5”, blue eyes, and only found spreadsheets.”
What the hell am I saying?
“The kind of project your mother warns you against falling for.”
My. Fucking. God.
“Thanks to Taylor Swift, I can fix him. No, really, I can.”
Kill me now. I just blurted that word salad in front of the Bombshell Bukakke Queen.
Forget that return request, Santa. You’re probably just going to repossess.
My mother turns hopeful eyes on Chance while I try not to die on the spot. "Surely you're free?"
Surely he’s free?
Woman! Do you not see that he’s Hulking the fuck out here???
Technically, he’s free for now.
Give him an hour, and he might be facing the death penalty.
The weight of his silence speaks volumes. He hasn't said a word since his father dropped the Noelle bomb, and I hate that I notice.
Hate that I care.
Because I told him some seriously private shit, and he told me not one fucking thing.
