Sunlight stabbed through my bedroom window. I rolled over, groaned, and immediately regretted every decision that had led me to The Rusty Spur on a Wednesday night.
My phone sat on the nightstand, screen dark and judging me. Ten-thirty. Late for me, but considering I'd stumbled home around eleven, not terrible.
The bruise on my jaw throbbed. Right. Some guy had made a crack about Hudson's wedding—-or maybe about me, the details were fuzzy—-and I'd thrown at least one punch before getting tossed out.
Real classy, Massey.
Three aspirin and a scalding shower later, the fog started clearing. That's when the memory slammed into me.
The Uber driver. Pretty brunette with brown eyes and zero patience for drunk cowboys. I'd offered her five thousand dollars to be my wedding date.
"Oh hell." I said it out loud to my empty bathroom.
Had I actually done that?
I checked my phone. Sure enough, there was a new contact: "Dixie - Wedding Date" with a number I definitely hadn't known yesterday.
The memory sharpened. She'd been completely unimpressed by me. When I'd offered her money, she'd countered with five grand without blinking.
Five thousand dollars. One weekend of pretending.
I sat on my bed, phone in hand. Delete the number, pretend last night never happened. That's what the smart version of Hunter would do.
But the part of me dreading Saturday's Valentine's Day nightmare knew I'd meant every word.
I needed someone who wouldn't expect anything. Someone with no connection to my family or my reputation. Someone who'd walk away clean when it was over.
Dixie Lane was ideal for this.
If she'd been serious.
I stared at the number. What were the odds she'd even answer? Probably figured I was just another idiot who’d had too much to drink, making promises he wouldn't keep.
Which—-to be fair—-wasn't far from my usual MO.
But this time was different.
I hit call before I could talk myself out of it.
Three rings, then a cautious voice answered—like she'd been expecting a telemarketer.
"Dixie? It's Hunter. Hunter Massey. From last night."
A beat of silence. "The passenger who offered me five grand to be his wedding date?"
"That'd be me." I attempted a chuckle, going for charming. "Listen, I know this sounds crazy, but I meant what I said. About this weekend. About paying you."
More silence. Background noise filtered through—-dishes clattering, low conversation. She was at work.
"You're serious."
"Dead serious." I stood up, started pacing. "Look, I know it's unconventional—-"
"Unconventional." She laughed. "That's one word for it."
"But it solves both our problems. You need money. I need a date who won't make this complicated. Win-win. Easy-peasy."
"Nothing about this sounds easy."
