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Me: Which is why I’m sending the car. I’ll see you on the other side of the glass.
Baby Remie: I’ll be the brunette in the Remington jersey.
Me: We’ll see about that.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I can’t believe I agreed to fake date Foster Craig.
Actually, scratch that, I can. He’s paying me a shit ton of money to hang out with him for two months, and it’s letting me stay home with Mason and work on my novel for a lot longer than planned.
The only thing I need to do is make sure I protect myself and don’t go falling in love with a man who clearly wants nothing to do with relationships.
And this is where all of the romance novels fail me.
I’ve read enough of them to know Foster and I have the clear beginnings for a good fake relationship story line. But where every appearance they make as a couple twists their feelings together until they both fall in love, I’m steering clear.
He’s drawn the line in the sand, and I’m not going to be the one to cross it. He made it pretty clear that dating isn’t in the cards for him, and the last thing I need is to have another hockey player shatter my heart into a million tiny pieces while he walks away unscathed.
I’m in control of myself and my emotions.
There’s no way I’m going to let anyone—especially a hockey player—fuck that up for me.
“Is that British porn star coming to pick you up?”
Gloria walks into the living room, a ginger ale in one hand and pizza coupons in the other. Today's sweater saysPies Before Guysand features a large piece of pumpkin pie with eyeballs throwing a peace sign. She’s even rocking the fuzzy unicorn slippers.
She’s my kindred spirit, my sister from another mister.
Even if she is ridiculous and addicted to penises.
She’s unapologetic about who she is, and she doesn’t give a fuck about pleasing anyone.
Except maybe her husband, but even then, I’m not too sure.
“He’s not a porn star.” At least I don’t think he is. I didn’t actually google him—or the large appendage Gloria thinks he has. But now I need to know if there is a sex tape floating around that features a very important part of his anatomy. “Right, Gloria?” When she doesn’t say anything for several seconds, my voice goes up a few octaves. “Right, Gloria?”
“You think I would look up something like that?” Gloria does her best to look horrified at the thought, but I know she’s full of shit. She even shakes her head with atsk tskand waves her orange painted fingernail at me.
“Yeah, I think that’s exactly like something you would do. I know you looked. Out with it.” I hold up my phone, making sure the time is lit up on the display and point at it. “I don’t have time to look through the hundreds of thousands of amateur sex videos on the internet. The driver should be here to pick me up any minute. Any minute, Gloria, and I cannot go to that game wondering if there’s a video out there. I won’t be able to think about anything else.”
Not that I want to see him with another woman, but now that Gloria has speculated about the size of his package, there’s a side of me that’s curious to know if it’s true.
You know, for more research to see if things correlate.
And maybe also because I’m a pervert who hasn’t seen a nice dick in a while and needs something to fuel her fantasies.
There are things I may need to know as his fake girlfriend. Like his birthday. What his favorite food is. His favorite color. How big his dick is. When he started playing hockey.
It just makes me better and more prepared to do my job as the loving and doting other half of Cramington.
“I thought you didn’t have a thing for him?” She raises a brow, setting the ginger ale on the side table and flopping down on the couch in a very unladylike fashion.
“There might be something going on. Come on, Gloria. I’ll order pizza for you whenever you want.”
“If I lowered myself to look for something as wrong and as immoral as a sex tape—which I didn’t—I wouldn’t find anything.”
“No?”
