Page 7 of Checking It Twice
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” The word comes out rougher than he probably intended. “How old are you? Twenty-six? Twenty-seven?”
“Twenty-eight. And why does any of this matter?”
Instead of answering, he tilts his head, studying me with an intensity that leaves my skin feeling too tight. “Just wondering. You strike me as someone who has it all figured out.”
If by “figured out” he means spending Christmas Eve with a bottle of wine and a stack of romance novels while pretending I don’t care that my mom’s new family is probably having the perfect holiday without me, then sure. I’ve got it all figured out.
The holidays have always been complicated for me. Six days away from Christmas, and I’m already bracing myself for the annual wave of forced cheer and family obligations that never quite include me.
December used to mean magic—twinkling lights, hot chocolate, the promise of something special waiting under the tree. Now it just means another reminder of what I don’t have. When my parents divorced, Mom got remarried to a man with much younger children. Her step-kids are in their teens now and keep her pretty busy. Too busy for me, most times.
“I’m keeping it low-key this year,” I finally say.
“So... nothing.”
“I didn’t say nothing.”
“You didn’t have to.” His voice gentles, and somehow that’s worse than if he’d been mocking me. “Look, I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“Oh, this should be good.”
He straightens up, running a hand through his dark hair. The movement pulls his henley tight across his bicep, and I force myself to maintain eye contact like a functioning adult.
“I need a girlfriend.”
I blink. “I’m sorry, what?”
“For Christmas. I need someone to spend five days in Minnesota with my family as a, uh, fake girlfriend. You’d be perfect.”
For a moment, I just stare at him. Then I start laughing. “You’re joking.”
His expression doesn’t change. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
The laughter dies in my throat. He’s serious. Mitchell Drake, professional hockey player and owner of the kind of smile that probably makes panties drop across three time zones, is standing in my office asking me to be his fake girlfriend.
“Are you insane?”
“Probably.” He sits on the edge of my desk, close enough that I can see the flecks of blue in his gray eyes. “But I’m also desperate.”
“Desperate enough to proposition your PR coordinator?”
“Desperate enough to proposition the smartest woman I know.”
The compliment hits harder than it should. I shake my head, trying to clear the fog his proximity is creating in my brain.
“Let me get this straight. You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend. At Christmas. With your family.”
“That’s the general idea.”
“Why me?”
“Because you can handle pressure. Because you’re quick on your feet. Because my mother will love you. Plus, you’re gorgeous.It’ll be believable.” He pauses, and something vulnerable flickers across his face. “And because I know you won’t make it complicated.”
Won’t make it complicated. Right. Because I’m the safe choice. The woman who keeps her emotions locked down and her boundaries firmly in place. The one who won’t fall for his charm and make things messy.
