Page 12 of Checking It Twice
“Mitch—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I cut her off gently, standing to clear my plate. “It was just a thought.”
But as I walk away, I can feel her watching me. And for the first time since I came up with this insane plan, I think maybe—just maybe—she might actually say yes.
By ten PM, I’m sprawled on my couch with Chase’s book club pick in my hands, trying to give a damn about some second-chance romance bullshit. The hero’s pining over a woman who left him, doing all kinds of grand gestures to win her back.
I snap the book shut. Not in the mood to read about this shit.
The silence in my apartment feels heavier than usual. I keep checking my phone like some lovesick teenager, hoping Clare might text. Pathetic. She made her position clear at lunch—she can’t just up and go to Minnesota with a hockey player she barely knows.
Fair enough. Except the way she looked at me when I walked away suggested maybe she wanted to.
Or maybe I’m reading into things because I’m desperate.
My phone buzzes. For a split second, my heart kicks against my ribs before I see it’s just a notification from some app I forgot I downloaded.
This is insane. I’ve got options. I could call any number of women who’d jump at a chance to spend Christmas in Minnesota with an NHL player. Hell, Marissa from marketing has been dropping hints for months.
But I don’t want Marissa. I want the woman who looks at me like she’s trying to solve a puzzle, who gives as good as she gets in the banter department, who blushes when she thinks I’m not looking.
I want Clare.
My phone lights up with a text, and this time when I see her name on the screen, something in my chest loosens.
Clare: If the offer’s still open, I’m in. When do we leave?
I stare at the message for a long moment, not quite believing it’s real. Then I’m typing back before I can second-guess myself.
Me: Tomorrow afternoon. I’ll pick you up at noon.
Clare: That’s fast.
Me: Christmas waits for no one. Pack warm.
There’s a pause, and I can picture her, probably overthinking every angle of this decision.
Clare: This is insane.
Me: The good kind of insane.
I set my phone down and lean back against the couch, grinning like an idiot. Clare Johnson just agreed to be my fake girlfriend for Christmas.
Now I just have to figure out how to keep it fake.
Chapter Six
Departure
Clare
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, shoving another sweater into my suitcase. “Absolutely insane. I’m going to Minnesota. With a hockey player. To meet his family. And pretend to be his girlfriend.”
My bedroom looks like a winter clothing store exploded. I've packed and repacked three times. I'm torn between wanting to look effortlessly put-together and not wanting to seem like I'm trying too hard. The fact that I care this much about my wardrobe choices for a fake relationship is probably a red flag I should examine more closely.
But I don’t have time for self-reflection. Mitch will be here in five hours, and I still haven’t figured out what shoes to pack for fake girlfriend duties in small-town Minnesota.
My phone buzzes with a text from Bryn:Have you lost your mind completely or just partially?
