Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 18799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 75(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 75(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
"You look like someone kicked your puppy," a voice cuts through, slicing the air around my brooding like a knife. I look up and there’s Mia, sliding into the booth across from me with the same careless grace she’s always had. She’s been my sister’s best friend ever since Harper moved here to take a job at Seattle General. “Come on, it can’t be that bad.”
She flashes a sly smile, eyes dancing. I feel a flicker of amusement despite myself. "You have no fucking idea," I grunt, staring into my untouched beer. "Team management is on my ass. They want me to find a girlfriend. Coach told me to date a monkey if I have to. Apparently, I’m a PR disaster."
Mia leans in, her eyes dancing with that annoying brand of sympathy. “Well, a monkey might be a hard sell for the fans.” She picks up my untouched beer and takes a sip. “But they have a point. You're the guy everyone loves to hate right now. And dating a local girl would help your reputation.”
Not what I want to goddamn hear right now. I rub my face with my hands. My palms are calloused, a map of every practice and every game. “I don't have time to fucking date anyone.”
Mia taps her chin, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "What if it wasn't a real girlfriend? What if it was someone who needed a buffer just as much as you do?"
I glare at her, too tired and pissed off to deal with bullshit right now. "What are you talking about?"
"My roommate," Mia says, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Her family is a pain in the rear end. They’ve been trying to set her up with every eligible bachelor in Seattle since she graduated. She’s desperate to get them off her back."
"A fake girlfriend," I say, the words feeling strange on my tongue. It sounds like a plot from one of those movies my sister used to make me watch.
"Think about it," Mia urges. "It’s a business transaction. You get the PR makeover, and she gets a reprieve from her mother's 'accidental' dinner guests. Everyone wins. No emotions, no mess."
I look at the condensation on my glass. A business transaction. That I can do. I can follow a playbook.
"Give me her number," I say before I’m able to talk myself out of this crazy scheme. The decision settles in my gut like a lead weight. It’s a risk, but the ice is already cracking under my feet. I have to try something.
Mia grins, already typing on her phone. "I'll let her know you’ll be contacting her."
Am I really doing this? Fuck. Desperation sucks.
"I'll send her a message later tonight," I say, standing up. “Thanks, Mia.”
“You owe me.” She laughs and reaches for my untouched beer. I walk out of the pub, the Seattle air crisp and smelling of rain. For the first time in weeks, the pressure in my chest eases just enough for me to breathe.
It’s a crazy fucking idea, but I’ve done crazier.
CHAPTER TWO
RORY
The smell of garlic and tomato sauce usually makes me feel like I’m home, but tonight it feels like a trap. My mother’s dining room in the Fox family home is a masterpiece of over-decorated intimidation, all lace doilies and candles that smell like a spa. At the center of the table sits Edward Vernati, a man whose personality has the approximate depth of a saucer of milk.
"Edward was just telling us about his collection of Xbox games," my mother says, her eyes gleaming with the terrifying light of a woman who has already picked out the bridesmaid dresses. She leans forward, nudging the plate of lasagna toward me. "Isn't that fascinating, Rory?"
I take a bite of pasta that suddenly tastes like cardboard. "Absolutely fascinating."
Edward smiles, and it’s a slow, creepy smile that makes my skin crawl. When did I get so desperate that my mother tries to set me up with the neighbor’s forty-year-old video game-addicted son? "I can teach you to play if you want." Ick.
“Maybe some other time.” Like when hell freezes over.
Across the table, my father and brother are watching the train wreck with matching smirks on their faces. They know the drill. They’ve seen me endure the tax attorney, the third-grade teacher, and the guy who spent forty minutes explaining the ethical implications of cryptocurrency. My mother is a force of nature, and currently, that nature is set to 'marrying off her old maid daughter.'
"So, Edward," I say, desperate to change the subject before he starts detailing his winning stats again. "Mom mentioned you just moved back to Seattle."
"I had to," Edward agrees, leaning a little too far into my personal space. I can smell his cheap drugstore cologne. "My mother needs help around the house."
I feel a muscle in my jaw jump. I need to find a way to get my mother to stop throwing every single man under forty-five at me. Sunday dinners have gotten to be about as fun as a root canal without anesthetic.