Page 133 of Biggest Player
What a liar.
There is no way he thought there was a chance we would get back together. No. Way. What a load of gaslighting bullshit. Ten years ago the conversation came up; we tried to be a couple when Wyatt was still a baby, but could never see eye to eye.
Some things aren’t meant to be ...
For him to weaponize those words? Appalling. I’ve never heard him speak to me that way, with that tone—condescending and patronizing—making me feel as though I could never date a man like Dex because I’m not good enough.
How dare he?
“What an asshole! Way to ruin my night.” I stomp through the living room, then into the kitchen, where I yank open the fridge and search the shelves for a bottle of wine.
“Wine, wine, where are you?” I mutter to myself because wine is exactly what I need, and it appears that I’m out.
Drinking away my worries is not going to happen—at least not tonight.
I slam the fridge closed. Leaning against the kitchen counter, I pick up my cell and tap open the web browser. Can’t hurt to poke around, right? Find out what Colton was so upset about?
Tap, tap.
Tap.
“And here they are . . .”
Pictures, links, and articles for the very same stories that brought Colton to my front door:
Dex Lansing Dates Single Mother
Dex and his date: The Mother of all Singles?!
Dex Lansing Domesticated?!Click for the full story!
The headlines glare up angrily at me, taunting me to click them with their bold, sensationalistic fonts. Dex Lansing, NFL heartthrob, domesticated by little old me? Imagine! Me, a single mother, dating America’s bad boy of football!
It might have been laughable had it been anyone else but me.
This wasmylife, my relationship, my privacy.
Headlines I can handle—I think. My ex-boyfriend and the father of my daughter getting pissed about it? Well, that makes the fantasy of dating Dex unravel faster than I can stitch it back together.
Tears sting as they threaten to spill over; I blink them back.I refuse to cry.
The audacity of Colton to show up at my doorstep and spew his self-righteous nonsense! Over the judgment of the media, who knows nothing about my life. My struggles! My heart!
Ugh.
I shove away from the counter and pace the length of my small kitchen, eyes on the sink Dex tried to help me fix—a tiny smile threatens to bend my lips.
I need to do something to distract myself from the chaos swirling in my mind.
Glancing around the kitchen, my gaze lands on the messy pile of dishes in the sink.
Perfect.
I roll up my sleeves and plunge my hands into the soapy water, scrubbing furiously. The monotonous task allows my mind to wander, the physical exertion a balm to my frayed nerves.
“Men,” I grumble, scouring a plate. “I swear.”
Bubbles cover my arms, water wrinkles my skin.
