Page 9 of Fake Date with the Mountain Man

Maybe I’m too drunk for this.

“Y-yes, we are on a date,” I say with an oddly triumphant flourish of my hand.

Yep, definitely too drunk for this.

Blair laughs again. I glance over at Ryan, but he won’t look at me. His jaw is set and he’s watching the woman carefully. Not like he’s admiring her though…more like he’s half expecting her to stab him.

“No, I mean for my wedding. You must be Ryan’s plus one,” she clarifies.

My stomach drops. Ryan stands stiffly beside me, making no effort to interject. Heat floods my chest and face. I know I’ve gone full tomato.

“Sorry, how do you two know each other?” I ask.

There’s a long pause.

“Blair and I used to date,” Ryan finally says, “and now she’s marrying my stepbrother.”

Another long pause. This has to be the most awkward situation in the history of the world.

When I was younger, I saw something on TV about spontaneous combustion. For whatever reason, I thought it was something that happened to everyone sooner or later. I lived in fear of it for weeks, until I turned in a seriously misguided report on it for science class and my teacher sat me down and explained that I didn’t need to worry about it.

It’s not real, she told me.

This is the first time I’ve thought to argue with that assertion. It certainly feels like I’m about to burst into flames.

“Right, well I should really get back to my friends.” Blair forces a smile as she glances back and forth between us. “But it was great bumping into you. I guess I’ll see you both next weekend.”

Blair trots off with her blonde waves bouncing behind her. Ryan downs the rest of his beer in a single gulp. He glances at me briefly without a hint of emotion on his face before he walks away.

I’m glued to my spot.

Part of me wants to go after Ryan and apologize, but I know it’s the wrong course of action right now. It would be more for my benefit than his. I’ve crossed the line from tipsy to drunk and I couldn’t possibly muster up the apology that he deserves right now.

Instead, I close out my tab at the bar and try to sneak out without being spotted. Fleeing seems like the smartest move at this point. Just as I’m about to step out of the bar, a hand catches my arm.

“Are you leaving?” Abby yells over the crowd.

“Yeah, I’m not feeling so great. I think I need to go lay down.”

“I can drive you,” she offers.

“No, don’t worry about it. I just live around the corner. I can walk.”

“Are you sure? Will you at least text me when you get home?”

I nod and step out into the cool night air. Noise from the overflowing bars spills out into the street. As I pass by a row of touristy bars, a group of men turns to check me out. Their drunken catcalls echo down the street, but I don’t acknowledge them.

The prank-gone-wrong plays on repeat in my head. Why did I think that I could pull something like that off? With Ryan of allpeople? We aren’t even friends, and now he probably hates me more than ever. At least he has a good reason for disliking me now.

A set of footsteps falls into line right behind me. I stiffen and glance backwards, expecting to see one of the cat-callers from a moment ago. But instead, it’s Ryan.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re drunk. You shouldn’t be walking home alone,” he says.

“It’s just a couple blocks.”

“Still,” he says.

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