Page 17 of Fake Date with the Mountain Man

“Let’s see…you were playing football at the park, trying to recapture the glory days of your youth. But being out-of-practice and not nearly as good at sports as you believe yourself to be, you tried to throw a pass and accidentally hit me in the head as I was walking by, rendering me unconscious. I woke up in the hospital, suffering from amnesia and moderate brain damage. By thattime, you’d fallen in love with me. Despite my initial objections, you convinced me that we had been dating all along.”

I do my best to bite back a smile.

“How about if we keep it simple and just say we met at work?” I suggest.

“Okay, and how long have we been dating?”

“A few weeks,” I shrug, “Nothing too serious. That way it won’t be a big deal when I tell everyone that we broke up.”

“Because my brain damage was somehow reversed?” she smiles.

“Something like that.”

We’re both silent for a few minutes as the last bits of civilization fade away and the radio station stutters into oblivion. Marlow stares out the passenger-side window.

“What about rules?” she asks a while later.

“Rules? You do know we aren’t actually dating, right?”

She scrunches up her nose. “Obviously…that’s why we need to establish boundaries, so we know what we’re both comfortable with. Things like, it’s okay to touch me just enough to make it convincing, but don’t you dare grab my ass.”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” I say. “And that goes both ways. No trying to cop a feel if we have to dance together.”

“Right, because you’re so irresistible.”

“So, you think I’m irresistible…”

“I thinkyouthink you’re irresistible, yes,” she laughs.

If I’m not mistaken, there’s a bit of blush peeking out from under her oversized sunglasses.

“And no calling me Marl,” she adds.

“No calling me Ry-Ry.”

Now she’s definitely blushing.

“No hitting on other girls at the wedding.”

“No hitting on other guys,” I retort.

Marlow’s tone suddenly changes. All the humor drains out at once as she repeats, “I’m serious, no wandering off to hit on other girls. I’m fully aware that this is only a fake date, but it would really embarrass me to have people think my boyfriend is sneaking off with someone else right in front of me.”

She honestly thinks I would do that. This woman has the lowest possible opinion of me. I’m not sure what I did to make her think so little of me. Even the women I hook up with seem to think I’m pretty courteous and respectful, but Marlow Stephens? She thinks I’m a complete asshole.

“Understood,” I finally mutter.

By the time we arrive at the hotel, we’ve endured three-and-a-half hours together. I managed to shave twenty minutes off the drive by speeding down the highway.

What I didn’t account for is the fact that I just added an extra twenty minutes of time alone in a hotel room with Marlow.

I quickly change into my suit and leave Marlow with instructions to meet me at the hotel bar once she’s ready.

As soon as the bartender passes me a whiskey neat and a twenty-dollar tab, a woman slides into the barstool beside me. She’s a pretty brunette wearing a tight black dress and too much perfume. Before she even introduces herself, her hand is on my thigh and she’s practically licking my ear as she speaks. I know her room number before I know her name.

“I’m waiting for someone,” I say firmly.

The brunette makes a pouty face – one last attempt to capture my attention – and then walks away. Thankfully, she’s long gone before Marlow shows up.

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