Page 148 of Playing the Pucking Game
My eyes jump up and as I push the door wider, my entire world crashes around my feet.
My perfect boyfriend of over a year is standing with his back against that wall, his head tipped back, his eyes closed, and his cock is in some other girl’s mouth.
Tears burn my eyes as my hand lifts to catch the sob that wants to erupt.
Neither of them sees me standing there. They’re both too lost in the moment.
His moment with someone else.
I stand there for another two seconds in complete shock before I force myself to step back.
With my hand pressed against the door, I slowly let it close in an attempt to sneak away without being caught. The last thing I need is Seth realizing and coming after me.
I don’t want to see him right now.
Hell, I’m not sure I want to see him ever again.
He booked that hotel room for us.
For us to?—
A sob erupts as I run toward the elevator and jab my finger against the button over and over in the hope it’ll make it here faster.
Please be empty.
Please be empty.
I breathe a huge sigh of relief when the doors part and there isn’t anyone inside.
My hands tremble even harder as I descend back through the building, and I’m even closer to being sick now.
The image of him with his fingers twisted in her hair, the expression on his face, her on her knees with her lips wrapped around his dick, all play on repeat in my head like a nightmare that never ends.
I thought he was the one.
I thought that despite all the odds, we were going to make it.
I accepted my place at his college, for fuck’s sake. And what has he done for me?
He couldn’t even wait for me.
My vision is blurry as I race through the hotel foyer. I don’t know if I pass anyone from school; the only thing I can focus on is getting away.
With my floor-length dress tugged up so I don’t trip over it and break my neck, I run around the side of the hotel in search of somewhere to hide.
I spot a bench surrounded by tall bushes on the other side of the parking lot, and I make a beeline for it.
The second my ass touches the seat, I shatter.
Loud, ugly sobs erupt. My shoulders shake, and I fight to drag in the air I need as devastation threatens to drag me under.
How could he?
On our fucking prom night.
It was meant to be our night—a celebration of the past and a step into the future.
I don’t know how much time passes. All I know is that my throat is raw and my eyes are swollen and sore.
