Loving Miss Clueless (Wilder Series #3)

25. Miserable

Lynnex's POV

I practically sleep walk down the staircase and slowly make my way towards the kitchen.

It takes me a few moments before I am lazily dragging my feet into the over lit room.

"You look like an extra from the walking dead" a voice emotionlessly critiques

I glance in the direction that the voice came from only for my eyes to land on my mother.

She is dressed professionally in a white silk pantsuit and large statement necklace. For shoes she is wearing an expensive pair of pointed heels.

Hmm.

Cute shoes.

My tired eyes drift from her shoes only to immediately land on her hair that is being neatly held up by a white clip.

Oh, and the glass of mimosa in her hand.

Ugh.

It is too early for this.

I roll my eyes at the tipsy woman before making my way towards the refrigerator.

Usually I would just go to Isabella's house, but now I guess that I cannot do that anymore.

"Ouch," she sarcastically expresses as I open the refrigerator door

I ignore her and look through the giant cold box.

"And here I thought that we could discuss your date" she utters

My entire body freezes at this statement from her.

My date?

Is she talking about my date with Isabella?!

Obviously, she is the only person I have been on a date with!

But how could she know about Isabella and I's date?

Isabella and I are the only ones that know.

Did Isabella tell her?

What?!

No!

Isabella would never do that.

She respected my decision to keep us a secret.

And when she didn't want us to be a secret anymore she was mature enough to talk it out with me.

It makes no sense for her to turn around and tell my mother about us.

Plus I'm sure she's currently out of town like she said she would be.

Wait, shit!

I've been quiet for too long.

She probably thinks that I'm guilty.

Play dumb, Lynnex!

"What date?" I try to sound unbothered as I rest my gaze on a carton of milk

She hums with amusement at this, possibly taking a sip from her wine glass.

I nervous bite my lip with anticipated as I wait for her answer.

A few seconds pass without a word from her.

Ugh.

Why does my mother have to be so fucking dramatic?!

"The brunch date," she finally answers

I release a sigh of relief from her finally answering.

Wait.

Brunch date?

Isabella and I never had a brunch date.

I close the refrigerator door and turn to face the happily tipsy woman.