Page 193 of My Rules

With one last lingering kiss, he releases me, and I make my way out of the ballroom and into the foyer to the ladies’ bathroom. I push through the heavy doors and look at my flushed face in the mirror. A surprised smile covers my face.

I look carefree and happy. I haven’t seen myself look this way for so long.

I float into the stall and sit down on the toilet. I hear the door bang as someone else walks in.

“Hey, did you see Blake on the dance floor just now with his date?”

My ears prick up. Are they talking about us?

“Who is she?” another woman asks.

“Oh my god, it’s so juicy,” the first woman replies. “She was married to his friend, and he stole her from him.”

My eyes widen. Fuck. They are talking about us.

“What?” the second girl gasps. “So they had an affair?”

“Probably.” The first girl snorts. “You know Blake—he always wants what he can’t have.”

I listen intently.

“He looks pretty smitten to me,” the second girl replies, and I hear the toilet flush.

“Ha, give it time,” she replies. “As if a washed-up divorcée could ever hold him. What idiot would throw away a marriage for a player?”

My heart sinks as I hear the tap turn on.

“Hey, it’s Blake Grayson. I would throw away everything for just one night with him.”

She laughs. “As would the entire female population.” I hear the paper towel dispenser turn on. “Your time will come; he’ll be single again in three months.”

“I’m totally making my move on him at Ally’s wedding.”

“Definitely.” I hear the door open. “Maybe I should call him before ...”

“You should . . .”

The voices float into the distance as they leave.

Wow.

My breath quivers as I try to hold it together, and hot, caustic tears well in my eyes as I stare at the back of the door.

As if a washed-up divorcée could ever hold him.

I angrily swipe the tears from my eyes.

She’s right.

What the fuck am I doing?

Chapter 20

I stare out the window of the cab as the nightlife of Cancún flies by. Blake is holding my hand on his lap and happily chatting away.

As if a washed-up divorcée could ever hold him.

He picks up my hand and kisses my fingertips, and I drag my eyes to meet his. He smiles softly. I swallow the lump in my throat, fake a smile, and go back to staring out the window. My heart is racing. I feel hot and clammy, and a million emotions are rushing through me at top speed.

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