Page 20 of The Worst Pucking Deal

I cut her off by waving my hand in front of her. “I don’t need love or sex. Just a husband,” I clarify. “But I told my cousin I’m engaged. Even if I wanted to, I can’t go back on that now.” This is stupid. Remus knows I was lying. I need to let this go and stick to mentally berating myself for such a stupid lie.

Gail’s lips twitch and a wry smile spreads across her face. “Cool, cool. So how do you want to approach this? You could always have a one-night-stand and ‘forget’ the condom. Trap the guy the ol’ fashioned way.” I make a derisive sound while rolling my eyes. “Or we can troll the hospital’s amnesia ward to find someone handsome and single.”

“Really?” I say, dryly. “Those are your best ideas?”

“No,” she shoots back. “Those are my fucking desperate ideas. What the fuck, Luce. It’s not like you’re giving me a lot to work with.”

I’m just about to tell her I’m all too aware of how fucked up my situation is when a commotion near the bar steals my focus. “What the?” I ask, perplexed, when I see Sawyer Perry approaching the bar alone.

Gail turns in her chair, following my gaze. “Hey, isn’t that Sawyer?” she asks without looking back at me. “Speaking of, have you found his fake girlfriend yet?”

I sit straighter, immediately scanning the area to see if there’s a need for me to make myself known to Sawyer. He looks relaxed, but not drunk or like he’s done something he shouldn’t. I can’t help but notice the way his washed-out jeans hug his ass, and his dark shirt that looks like it’s working overtime to keep his torso contained. His shoulder length, curly hair is in a bun, and his beard is neatly groomed, emphasizing his chiseled jaw. There really is no denying he’s beyond ruggedly handsome. He’s sex on a pair of very long and heavily muscled legs.

“Hello… earth to Luce,” Gail says, snapping her fingers in my face.

“What?” I ask, only half paying attention as I keep my eyes peeled on the player.

“I asked if there was an update on Sawyer.”

“Umm…” I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “I don’t know. I wasn’t at work today,” I say, wondering how she could have forgotten.

Gail smiles shyly. “I know that. But Luce, if there was an update, wouldn’t someone have made sure you knew?”

“I guess.”

“Sooo… if there isn’t an update, couldn’t you… you know…”

It takes me a moment to catch on to what she’s saying, or rather, hinting at, since she’s being annoyingly vague.

“He only needs to fake date someone for the season,” I rush out. “I need someone for life. Well, not exactly. Just long enough to be considered a marriage.” This is why I didn’t want my name in the mix when Nick and I made the list of potential candidates to fake date Sawyer. I was adamant we kept my name away from the pool. But now… if I could… it’s not marriage, but it would be a relationship, and a steady one at that. Fuck, I really shouldn’t have turned down Nick’s idea of adding myself to the mix.

“But marriage would be good for him as well, wouldn’t it?” Gail continues. “Nothing says stability like being a loving and caring husband.” There’s no finesse, only urgency in her tone as she explains.

“Umm… say what?” I look at my friend with a puzzled expression on my face. “You want me to convince Mr. Anti-Relationship to get married?”

She shrugs. “Do you have any other options?”

“Plenty,” I shoot back.

Gail tuts. “Be real, Luce. You’re both in a desperate situation. So why not join forces since it’ll clearly benefit the both of you?”

Though I want to argue it’s a bad idea, I can’t. Yes, it is a bad idea, but it’s also the only idea. No matter how I look at it, the best way to go about this is to do it with someone that gains something from it as well. It would ensure we both stick to our part of the deal, and for Sawyer, it would look good.

Gail pushes another shot toward me. “Well, go get him, buttercup,” she says. Then she takes one for herself, and we clink the glasses together before downing the alcohol that now tastes like ash and regret.

The way I wobble has nothing to do with nerves, and everything to do with the copious amounts of alcohol I’ve consumed since getting here. Fuck, I almost think I’m… nope, strike that. I’m most definitely seeing double. I tell myself it’s for the best, because when the alcohol goes in, reason goes out. And I don’t need a sound mind in order to proposition Sawyer Perry.

Sawyer

It’s been a long fucking day. I’m not used to going entire days without practice and weight training with the guys. Sure, I worked out in my home gym, but that’s not the same. So by now, I’m going a little stir crazy. Thank fuck it’s Friday. Tomorrow I can return to the rink, and it can’t come soon enough. Tom said I could return yesterday if I wanted, but after my dinner with Soren and Mickey, I agreed it might be better to wait until tomorrow.

Fuck, I was so desperate for something to do that I even answered my mom’s call. The irony of me talking to the woman who’s directly responsible for making cheating such a hardcore trigger for me isn’t lost on me. One hour of agony while listening to her tells me how selfish I am for not calling enough, visiting enough, and that I don’t show an interest in her new family. Cry me a fucking river.

Just because she eventually married one of the guys whose dick was more important than our family doesn’t mean I have to be part of it. Especially not on Thanksgiving.

When I couldn’t take her whining anymore, I reminded her that I gave my half-brother a trust fund that basically covers his college tuition for his fifth birthday, and the house they all live in was also a present from me. You’d think that would earn me a thank you, right? Wrong. Apparently, that just shows how little I care.

She isn’t wrong; I don’t care. Those were obligation gifts and nothing else. A thank you would still be nice. But that’s not how my mom operates. She used the guilt as an excuse to try to make me come for Thanksgiving next month. Although I don’t see that fucking happening, I ended up promising I’d think about it. I suppose I’m keeping my promise since I am in fact thinking about it right now—contemplating when I should text her to let her know I’m not coming.

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