Sharon is one of them.”
Ha! That was where Mom was wrong.
How did I know Sharon?
She and I had been in school together. Until I moved away to play on a junior hockey team, she’d been crushing on me, her binders covered with “Sharon + Eli = True Love Forever.”
And if that weren’t enough, she’d followed me everywhere and giggled hysterically whenever I’d glanced in her direction.
The last time I was in Copper Creek, she’d cornered me and told me that over two hundred years ago, a woman’s reputation would be ruined for something as simple as being alone with a man without a chaperone.
To save her reputation, the pair would have to wed.
I couldn’t get away from her fast enough after that.
When I was a kid, one of my cousins had an ant farm. I used to love watching the ants at work, building new tunnels, creating a new world. I thought they were lucky because they didn’t have to read or go to school.
They had a freedom that I didn’t have.
But that was nothing more than an illusion.
The ants were trapped in that plastic container with no chance of freedom—not unless someone let them free or accidentally knocked the farm over and it broke.
Relationships were a lot like that ant farm.
They meant nothing more than a loss of freedom.
A trap—as many a bachelor had discovered over two hundred years ago if found in a compromising situation.
And as I’d discovered with my ex-fiancée.
“I’m not going to the wedding with Sharon.”
“Why not? I swear this woman is The One. She’s perfect for you.” Mom’s voice held a nudge-nudge-wink-wink tone that only meant one thing—Sharon wouldn’t be my date for only the wedding. My mom and aunts would make sure she was stuck to my side the entire week I was in Copper Creek, Montana.
That’s right, it wasn’t just the wedding I’d be showing up for. Numerous other family-reunion events were planned for the week.
“I have a girlfriend,” I blurted before realizing what I was saying. And because I hadn’t found the brakes to prevent the train wreck from happening, I added, “She’s coming to the wedding with me. So I don’t think she’ll be too thrilled that you’re setting me up with someone.”
“You do? Why didn’t you say so to begin with?”
Because I hadn’t thought of the excuse until I’d said it.
“I’m looking forward to meeting her,” Mom said when I didn’t respond. “What’s her name?”
Her name? Shit.
I glanced around the parking lot as if a name would magically appear. When nothing like that happened, I blurted the first name that popped into my head. “Edith.”
“Edith?” Mom slowly enunciated the word as if trying it on for size. “Well, that’s definitely an…um…old-fashioned name.”
“She’s an old-fashioned girl,” I mumbled, doing my best not to bang my head against the roof of the closest vehicle. Great, now it sounded like my girlfriend was eighty years old. “And she’s looking forward to meeting you and the family.”
“Well, I guess I’ll have to break the news to Aunt May. Sharon will be disappointed, of course. But I know Aunt May will be thrilled.”
Me too—once I figured out where the fuck I was going to find a fake girlfriend for my cousin’s wedding.
There was always a chance I’d get lucky with the upcoming charity silent auction I was participating in. Logan Mathews’s friend—Kiera Ashdown—had organized it.
The prize I was giving away?
A date with me.
Initially, I’d been joking when I suggested it to Logan. Dating wasn’t my thing, but what had started as a joke became the real prize.
If I got lucky, maybe the winner would agree to be my fake girlfriend for the wedding.
And if that didn’t happen?
I was fucked. I’d have to figure out someone else to ask—except I didn’t know anyone who could fit those skates.
Landing one-night stands was easy. The women usually did the asking, which worked out great for me. But when it came to talking to women, I was, for the most part, what people referred to as socially awkward. Shy.
If the auction didn’t land me a fake girlfriend, maybe I’d get lucky another way.
Like one falling from heaven.
A man could always hope.
3
Nala
To-do List #549
Brainstorm names for the fashion line.
Order wedding invitation catalogs.
Do NOT think about the good-looking, blond hockey player at the hospital. It’s not like you can ask him out on a date (especially since you don’t know him). And I’m sure his team doesn’t usually send their players out on dates just because women want to go out