Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
This wedding sounds like hell.
“Why would anybody want all this shit?” I ask, despite knowing I should keep that thought to myself.
“Some people think it’s fun,” she says with a sexy little shrug and a smile that slays me. I take it some people includes her. This woman seems like the type of person who enjoys everything. Who loves her daily latte, the cute little hummingbird that stops at her feeder—because I bet she has one—and the sun that peeks through the fog.
I stay stoic though. “Well, I’ll do it.”
She studies me quizzically. “Are you sure you want to do all that?”
I don’t want to do any of it. But if it means helping her out and sticking it to her ex, I’m the man. “Yes.”
“It’s kind of a lot. But it’ll help me as I rebuild my side business,” she adds, then flips open the pink box and offers it to me. “That’s why I wanted to offer you something in exchange.”
“Is that the pink confetti flavor?” I ask, a little sheepishly.
“Mabel said it’s your favorite.”
I grab the box. “It is. Thanks.”
“But that’s not actually what I wanted to offer you. That’s just a little extra. There’s something else I want to do for you in exchange for being my plus-one.”
I peel off a section of the cupcake wrapper. “What’s your offer?”
A night to act out her greatest fantasies? No doubt that Jameson didn’t deliver in bed. I’d deliver anything she asked.
She lifts her chin and smiles, those ruby red lips all glossy and kissable. “As you may know, I have a side business where I plan huge romantic moments for people—proposals, engagement parties, anniversary dates, and just amazing dates in general. Of course, everything went horribly wrong when I attempted my own proposal. But if I haven’t scared you away with that mistake, I’d love to plan some dates for you. If you have somebody you’d like to go out with. Free of charge.”
She bounces on her toes. I stare at her like she’s lost her ever-loving mind. Has she?
She seems to take my silence as a cue to keep going. “Maybe you haven’t dated since…”
“Since my wife died,” I supply. It’s always a little strange to say, since Heather hardly felt like my wife at the end. Not that I can say that to anyone. But my failed marriage—a marriage that was breaking apart—doesn’t factor into it.
There’s only one reason I don’t want Remy to plan a date—she’s the first person I’ve had any feelings for in a while.
But I can tell she doesn’t want this plus-one wedding favor to be one-sided.
I contemplate a suitable response as I take a bite of the cupcake. Buoyed by the sweetness of the treat and also of her, I make a spur-of-the-moment decision and execute it like a fast play on the ice. “I can see why you’d want to plan some dates, but what I really think you should do is not take me as your plus-one.”
“Oh,” she says, her face falling. “Really? I thought…”
I put the cupcake back in the box, close it, and step closer to her. “I don’t want to be your plus-one, sweetheart. I want your ex, and everyone else, to think I’m your real date.”
She’s quiet for a long beat. Eyes flickering. Brow furrowing. “You do?”
That might sound fuck-all pushy, so I amend it. “Fake date.”
She tilts her head, a small, curious smile forming. “You’re saying you want to fake date me for all the wedding events?”
This makes perfect sense to me. A plus-one can be anyone—a friend, a rando, some guy who lives across the country and happens to be in town. But a date? That signals something important.
“What I’m saying is a plus-one is a cop-out. But being your new guy? That says your ex is a dumbass for losing you, and you’re moving the hell on like the fucking goddess you are.”
Maybe I’ve said too much with goddess, but the way her smile spreads is divine.
“Looks like you just got yourself a fake date then, mister.”
I inch closer, tuck my thumb under her chin, like I did the night I walked her to her door. Her breath catches. I slide my thumb gently along her jaw. “See you soon.”
“See you,” she says, all breathy.
I don’t leave yet though. When I let go, I ask, “Do you have a hummingbird feeder?”
She laughs, crinkling her nose. “No. Why?”
“You seem like someone who’d like hummingbirds.”
“What gives you that impression?”
I shrug. “Just a feeling,” I say, then turn around and take off since I need to hit the ice.
* * *
I finish the last of the pink confetti cupcake as I head into the locker room, like I’m walking on air. I ball up the wrapper, toss it into the trash can, then wing the cardboard box into a recycling bin.