Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
I gulp, and now I do feel guilty. I’d thought I was including her in the truth, but I’m not entirely doing that. Wincing, I say, “We’re pretending for my teammates, but yes, cupcake, I do like spending time with Isla.”
There. That’s true.
Mia looks to Isla with question marks in her eyes.
“It’s the same for me,” Isla says, sounding…heartfelt.
My own heart feels a little fizzy over the way Isla’s being straightforward with my kid.
Mia nods a few times, seeming satisfied. “So he ‘fake-fired’ you,” she says to Isla, sketching air quotes.
“Which means I’m not dating a client anymore,” Isla adds.
Mia swings her gaze back to me. “And you’re lying to your teammates but it’s really a big prank. And I get to be in on it,” Mia says, then she beams. “I approve.”
That was harder than I’d thought, but easy, too, in the end. Mostly I’m relieved Mia knows as much as she needs to know.
We walk Isla to her car, and my matchmaker turned fake-holidate gives Mia a little boop on the nose. “Good night. And do an amazing job reading that chapter.”
“I will!”
I open the door for Isla, my gaze lingering on her chestnut hair, her flushed cheeks. I flash back to the patio, the way she fell apart, how we talked afterward. For a fleeting second, I’m wishing this thing weren’t pretend. But I let that wish drift away like breathing in cold air. “Good night, fake Christmas girlfriend,” I say, then what the hell. I drop a quick kiss to her cheek.
Her breath catches. “Good night, holiday boyfriend.”
She drives off into the night, and I watch her till the colorful lights disappear.
Funny, but those words—Christmas girlfriend—don’t rankle me like they might have a few weeks ago.
33
THE DATING WINGMEN
ROWAN
This isn’t foreboding at all.
I haven’t had a chance to text my friend and let him in on the ruse when a message arrives in the morning as I’m brushing my teeth.
Jason: Meet me a few minutes early? At Rudy’s. Something I want to discuss.
The back of my neck prickles uncomfortably. Does he know what we did there last night? Is he going to chew me out? I try to shake it off—this dumb idea that Jason somehow knows the full truth of what happened—but it sticks in my gut like a bad meal all morning, then as I head downtown with Mia while Wanda lounges back at the cabin.
We’re debating what might happen next in The Peppermint Patrol, but my brain is running two trains at once: the conversation with my daughter and this gnawing sense of dread.
“And that’s how I think they’ll solve the mystery of the missing Christmas stocking,” Mia declares, certain in her assessment. “What do you think?”
I’ve barely paid attention. I’m a bad, bad dad. But I muster an upbeat, “Sounds reasonable to me,” as I push open the door and find Jason waiting for me at the counter by the window.
I steel myself for whatever’s coming my way.
Like the other day, his kids are upstairs, so Mia joins them, and he pats the seat next to him.
“Bagel and a smoothie?” he asks. Is that maybe a prelude to why did you touch my sister?
“Sure.”
“Cool. Ordered it for you.”
“You trying to impress me?” I ask, playing things cool and casual.
“Maybe. Because…” He twists around and pulls up a bag next to him, fighting off a laugh as he hands it to me.
Tyler, Miles, and Wesley appear out of nowhere, circling us. What the hell? Where did they come from?
My stomach sinks. No way can I tell him now.
“Where the hell did you come from?”
“Great reflexes, Bishop,” Wesley says, then nods to a red couch in the far corner of the shop. “We were over there, but glad to see you missed us.”
“Makes it even more satisfying to give you this,” Tyler says, snagging the gift from Jason.
I groan when I see it. This time the wrapping paper is covered in crude illustrations of snow people. The catch? Each snowman’s getting his other carrot blown by another snow person. And the words in the thought bubble above him are: “Now that’s what I call a snowball fight.”
“Seriously?”
“Very serious,” Miles says.
“You made me come down here for a gag gift?” But then, this gift reinforces my fake-dating plan. One good prank deserves another.
You’re not fake-dating Isla for the sake of a prank. You’re fake-dating her because you can’t stop thinking about her.
“Who said it was a gag gift?” Jason replies.
I rip open the paper, then groan again. They gave me a T-shirt—a picture of Jim Carrey as The Grinch with a quote from the movie: “I guess I could use a little social interaction.”
“Wear it today, man,” Tyler tells me, “at the competition.”
Jason nods. “You better. Because that pic of you and your team winning the snowman fashion contest? Fucking gold.”