Chapter 30
Lexie
I think the little pink drinks went right to my head. I have no right to be upset with Gabriel. It’s not real between us. I continue to ponder about Gabriel and me as I wind and weave through the sea of guests in search of the ladies restroom. I really do need to ‘powder my nose’. When I finally find the restroom, there’s a long line of women waiting their turn.
As I wait, I feel someone press closely to my back. I scoot forward to make more room for whoever is behind me, but she follows. When I feel a breath on my neck, I step forward and turn back. As I prepare myself to ask her to step back, I see her. “Christine?”
“You remembered. That’s so sweet. That reminds me, I couldn’t help noticing you’re here with my fiancé.”
That reminds her?“He’s not your fiancé.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Christine. We shouldn’t be talking about this. It’s none of my business, anyway.”
“He says he’s not the father, but he is.”
“I know.”
“He says we didn’t sleep together, but we did.”
I don’t respond. What is there to say?
Ignoring my silence, she continues. “Well, if we didn’t sleep together, how would I know about the little heart-shaped mole on his left ass cheek and the two-inch scar on his right hip?”
I blink a few times trying to think. “I don’t know.”
“That’s right. Only someone who’s seen him naked would know those things.”
“I suppose.” Can that be true? Could Gabriel be lying about this?
“I suppose,” she says in a fake, mocking voice. Then in a deep, ominous tone, she adds, “Keep your hands off my man, fatty.”
I’m not sure what to say to that. On the one hand, I know this woman is on the higher end of the cray-cray spectrum, on the other, maybe Gabriel did get her pregnant. Before I can reply, I feel a breeze hit the back of my neck. I turn my head, and she’s gone. I guess she just came into the bathroom to warn me off.
“Oh, hells bells. Now what?” I murmur. Should I tell Gabriel about this encounter? Yes. I should definitely tell him but not here, not tonight. Dinner will start soon and then the awards. I’d hate to ruin his night by talking about Christine. “I need a drink,” I sigh as I finally enter a stall.
Back in the ballroom, the first stop is the bar. “Pink squirrel, please.”
“Huh? Pink what?” says the young bartender.
“It’s a sweet pink drink,” I giggle. Say that three times fast.
“I don’t know how to make that,” he shrugs. “How ‘bout a glass of white zinfandel?”
“Bummer,” I mutter. “Okay. Thanks.”
He slides a wine glass with about an inch of the pink fluid inside. “That’ll be ten fifty.”
“Ten dollars?”
“Ten-fifty, yeah.”
“Wow, this place isexpeeeeensive.” I open my little clutch to grab my credit card when a deep voice says, “I’ve got it.”
I turn and look up. “Brodie. You don’t need to do that.”
“Yes, I do. The prettiest girl in the place shouldn’t have to buy her own drink.”
