Faking it with the Grumpy NHL Alpha

CHAPTER 005

*DRUNKEN CHAOS*

Flora's POV

I stormed into the lounge bar like a possessed woman, the heavy glass doors swinging shut behind me with a dramatic thud that matched the chaos in my chest.

The place was dimly lit, filled with the sound of post-game chatter, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter that felt like salt in my fresh wounds. My heels—Lucille’s heels, technically—clicked angrily against the floor as I made a beeline for the bar.

“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,” I muttered under my breath for the umpteenth time. Rejecting Tyler’s ridiculous offer. One wrong decision after another, and now I was staring down a thirty thousand dollar hole and possible jail time if I didn’t fix this mess. Why couldn’t I have just swallowed my pride and taken the deal when I had the chance?

I slapped my palms on the polished wooden counter. “Two glasses of Vodka. Neat.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, which was pretty smart of him.

Before I could spiral further into self-loathing, Lucille slid onto the stool beside me, her mischievous grin already in full display. She looked far too amused for someone whose best friend was having a full-blown existential crisis.

“Damn, Flo,” she drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You walked in here like you were about to fight the entire Chicago Blackhawks roster. Should I start taking bets on how many glasses you break tonight? I’ve got twenty bucks on at least three.”

“Not now, Lucille,” I groaned, rubbing my temples.

“Oh, come on. This is prime entertainment. My bestie, usually the responsible one, turning into a vodka-fueled hurricane. I’m all down for it.” She flagged the bartender with a wink. “Make that two doubles, handsome. And put it on her tab—she’s feeling absolutely generous tonight.”

I shot her a glare, but there was no real heat in it. Lucille’s humour was her love language, and right now it was the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart.

The drinks arrived, and I downed half of mine in one burning swallow. The vodka scorched its way down my throat, matching the fire in my veins. Thoughts swirled like a storm,

Sean’s smug face, Tyler Sinclair’s arrogant smirk. And debt. God, the debt.

“Why is my life getting more complicated by the minute?” I muttered, staring into my glass like it held answers. “I should’ve taken the deal. I should’ve—”

“Taken the hot Alpha’s money and modeling contract?” Lucille finished, sipping her drink with exaggerated flair. “Yeah, babe, that does sound like a missed opportunity. But hey, at least you got to dramatically reject him first. Iconic.”

I was about to snap back when the background noise shifted—laughter, louder and sharper, cutting through the lounge like a knife. My head turned on instinct, and that’s when I saw her.

Sitting at a corner table with a small group, looking like she’d stepped straight out of a luxury ad. Classy and polished. The same woman from the interview. Sean’s new girlfriend.

She was stunning—long dark hair cascading perfectly, designer dress hugging curves I could never compete with, and an aura of effortless confidence that made my stomach twist with jealousy and rage.

My feet moved before my brain could catch up. I grabbed my glass, ignoring Lucille’s “Flo, wait—” and marched straight to their table.

The slam of my glass on the polished wood echoed louder than I expected, making her companions jump.

She looked up slowly, her expression cool and unbothered, like I was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. A small, polite smile curved her lips.

“Well,” she said, her voice smooth and laced with that rude, boss-b***h edge, like she was humoring a clumsy intern. “How can I help you, exactly?”

I couldn’t hide the frustration or the jealousy burning in my chest. “I’m Flora Morgan,” I spat. “Sean’s ex. You know—the one he publicly humiliated while parading you around like some shiny new trophy. You’re nothing but a man-snatcher, going around stealing other people’s boyfriends.”

Megan’s perfectly arched eyebrow lifted. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs with deliberate grace. For a moment, she just studied me, that chill aura making me feel even smaller.

Then she laughed softly—a low, mocking sound that set my teeth on edge.

“Oh, honey,” she said, her voice laced with bitchy sweetness. “You're the Flora.” Her eyes scanned me once again and she scoffed. “I must say, you look rather….”

“Mid.” One of the girls completed

“Ugly.” Another one added.

“How could Sean even settle for a dork like this?” The last one added immediately.

My heart slammed violently against my ribs, my palms trembling as I stood there, totally humiliated.

“Sean does have a good d**k, I’ll give you that. He's quite skilled in bed, really knows how to make a girl scream his name. Is that what this little tantrum is about? Missing out on the ride?”

She was baiting me.

Deliberately.

And it was working.

Her friends smirked behind their drinks. One of them already had her phone out, holding it up like this was prime content. “What’s up bitches, we’re live at the lounge after the Bears game,” she narrated with a nasty little giggle. “Y’all are not gonna believe who just rolled up acting crazy…”

Heat flooded my face as Lucille appeared at my side, “Oh, this b***h has balls the size of honey pucks.” She muttered.

“You took everything from me,” I hissed, leaning forward, voice shaking with frustration and jealousy. “Including the car. The BMW I bought him—I need it back. It’s the only way I can—”

Her laugh cut me off, sharper this time. She waved a dismissive hand, her expression dripping with superiority.

“Desperate, aren’t we? Gifting a man a thirty-thousand-dollar car? Really, Flora? That’s next-level thirsty. Almost admirable, in a pathetic sort of way.” She paused, sipping her drink slowly. “I do love the car, though. Handles like a dream. But since Sean gave it to me as a gift…sorry, sweetie. I can’t just hand it over. Gifts are gifts. You should know that better than anyone.”

That was it.

The last straw.

Red flooded my vision. Before I could think, I lunged forward, hand reaching out to grab a fistful of that perfect dark hair and drag her across the table.

My fingers were inches away when one of Megan’s friends shot up from her seat, chair scraping loudly, fists clenched and ready.

“Drunk w***e,” the friend spat, stepping between us like she was daring me to try it. The phone in her hand was still recording everything.

Lucille was faster. She grabbed my arm and yanked me back hard, her grip surprisingly strong.

“Let’s go, Flo. This b***h isn’t worth it. Come on.”

I twisted against her hold, still trying to lunge forward again, vision blurred with rage and vodka.

“Get off me, Lucille! I’m not done—”

Lucille pulled harder, wrapping an arm around my waist this time and dragging me back a full step. “Yes, you are. Walk away before security tosses your ass out. She’s not worth the jail time on top of everything else.”

I struggled for another second, heart pounding, but Lucille’s hold didn’t budge. We turned to leave, my feet stumbling slightly as the adrenaline mixed with the alcohol. The lounge felt like it was spinning.

Behind us, Megan’s voice rang out.

“Tell you what,” she said, her voice carrying that rude, authoritative snap, like she was done playing and ready to put me in my place. “I’ll make you a little bet.”

I stopped dead in my tracks, my heart pounding louder with every passing second.

“Seduce my brother,” she continued. “get him to kiss you and publicly announce you as his girlfriend before the end of the Seven Days match. If you win, you get the car back.” She paused, letting the words land. “But if you fail…”