Icebound (Boundless Players, #1)

by Meredith Trapp

What do we even have in common? He’s thirty-three. What if he still leaves voicemails?

I bet he’s left a trail of broken hearts all over the world, and mine will not be one of them. “Shit,” I mutter, realizing I accidentally watered the sheer-gray curtains.

“Calm down, Ro. I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” Wyn says on the line. “I’m fine. I got myself out. No record. Anyway, what were we talking about? Can I borrow your jersey for a Jocks in Socks frat party next weekend?” My sister almost gives me three aneurysms by the time she finishes talking. Every time I chat with Rowyn, I swear I age a decade.

“Yeah, that would be Isaac. The ex you met. We should probably leave them to it,” I mutter, crushing a sunflower petal between my fingertips as each wall thud reverberates through me like a bullet. “The woman he’s currently filming a Pornhub documentary with would be my older sister.”

I forgot there were people in the house. I forgot I was in a house. Don’t even ask me to describe a house because I’d probably describe Nina’s freckles.

Loud footsteps thump down the hall, and we jerk apart, but not before two massive men fill the bathroom doorway. The blond guy with an adorable baby strapped to his chest slaps one hand over his eyes, and the other over the baby’s.

Patty smiles, lifting one of Betty’s hands to wave. “Nina, meet my daughter, Elizabeth, but we call her Betty because Patty and Betty is the stuff daddy-daughter dance competitions are made of. She’s eight months, twelve days, and fourteen hours old, loves blueberries, and she finally smiles when you make eye contact with her. Watch.” He plays peek-a-boo, and Betty starts giggling. “She also does more than cry and shit now, so that’s fun,” Cruz adds.

Rhode hands me a glass. “Thanks,” I say, clutching the stem. I’ll dump this in a nearby plant later. They’re all fake, anyway. I checked.

They better cry when I give them the Puck Buddy cross-stitches I made.