Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“Thanks for…everything,” I tell the grandmotherly woman behind the counter.
She beams. “You’re welcome…Santa.”
I’m hardly the good guy in this Christmas story. But even so, I nod, and say, “Thanks.”
There are many places in town to have a snowball fight, but the town square is top among them. Along the way, we pass the mayor, walking her dog, who’s wearing antlers. She must be planning to go to the competition right after since she has that megaphone.
I stop her with a: “Good morning, Mayor Bumblefritz. Nick is looking festive today. Any chance I can borrow that to share a little Christmas cheer with my teammates?”
I deserve a gold star for buttering her up.
She gives me a quizzical look, then stares longingly down at the megaphone. “If you hurt it, you buy me ten new ones.”
“Deal,” I say, then take it and head to the town square where the clowns I play hockey with are pelting each other. A few other townsfolk are giving them a wide berth, probably trying to avoid getting hit by a stray missile.
Jason and I stand at the edge of the square. I lift the megaphone. “Listen up, trolls,” I say with all the affection the term entails.
Wesley stops with his arm cocked. Miles lowers his bomb. Tyler nails me with a snowball to the shoulder, and it smarts for a second. I don’t let on. Max is here too. So are Asher and Ford.
“I want to thank you all for your generous gift of a matchmaker. Good news—it worked so well in fact that I’m now dating my matchmaker and taking her to the gala. You’re welcome.”
I expect raised eyebrows. Scoffs. Trash talk. What do I get?
A fucking pile-on. They rush over to me, rubbing my hair, patting my back, high-fiving me.
“Know what this means?” Miles asks when we break apart.
“What does it mean?”
He turns to the other guys, a wicked smile on his face. “It means we’re going to help you,” he says. “Right boys?”
Wesley pumps a fist. Tyler shouts a hell yes. The other guys hoot their approval. “We’re not going to let you fuck this up,” Wesley adds, giving me a most serious look, like we’re going into battle on the ice together.
“That’s right. We’re going to make sure you romance Isla like no man has romanced a woman before,” Tyler says.
Miles snags the megaphone from me, and booms, “You just got yourself a team full of dating wingmen.”
Jason smothers a shit-eating grin.
What the hell have I done?
And the answer is…I’ve become a dating experiment.
I’m here at the sledding hill with Wesley, Miles, Tyler, Max, Asher, and Ford before the day’s contest begins.
“First,” Wesley says, rubbing his palms together, “no matter how her team does, you’re going to go up to Isla and say, ‘You did great, sweetie-pie.’”
I sneer. “That is not my nickname for her.”
“Well, you have one, don’t you?” Miles asks, hands on hips, staring at me like I damn well better have a nickname.
Snow angel. “Yes. And I’m not telling you guys what it is.”
As he turns to the others, Miles makes a show of rubbing his fingers together. “Told you he did. Pay up.”
I heave a sigh. “You bet on me having one?”
Miles grins. “Course we did. They said you wouldn’t. I had faith in you.”
“Assholes,” I mutter as the others press bills into Miles’s outstretched hand.
Once he’s collected, Tyler says, “Then you’re going to want to give her a kiss on the cheek.”
I roll my eyes. “No shit.”
Tyler snorts. “Don’t act like you knew that.”
“I’m not a rookie when it comes to dating,” I argue.
The sounds they make in response is like a horse laughing. Why did I think I was getting the last laugh? These guys are going to have a field day with me.
Like a coach prepping a boxer, Miles squeezes my shoulder. “Kiss on the cheek. Cute nickname. Squeeze her hand. Support her. You’ve got this.”
“And don’t forget,” Ford adds, “women love a little public affection.”
I picture Isla last night on the patio. That’s not the kind of PDA Ford means, but he’s not wrong. She’s got a bit of a danger kink. A let’s-get-it-on-where-we-might-get-caught kind of streak. Is that public affection? Technically. And I’ll take it. Oh yes, I will.
“Check, check, check, check,” I say, then take a breath. So far, Isla and I have been a private thing—stolen kisses and red-hot encounters. Now we’re leveling up with a public show.
But it’s no big deal. I just have to fake-kiss my fake girlfriend in front of my very real teammates and half the town like I mean it.
When Isla arrives with the other Sugar Plum Ladies, I stride over to her at the bottom of the hill, clear my throat, and say, “Hey, you,” with the utmost affection. I say it so warmly, so sweetly, and so clearly besotted that she tilts her head, perhaps a little thrown.