“Archie.” Her palm is warm against mine, soft skin and firm grip. I hold on to her hand longer than I should, startled at the sudden desire buzzing over my skin and straight to my cock.
“So, Archie.” She swivels slightly toward me, and the movement does things to her sweater that I’m trying very hard not to notice. Curves that would fill my hands perfectly. Hips that—
I reach up and rub the back of my neck, forcing my eyes to her face.
“What brings you to Velvet Arrow on a Monday?” she asks.
“Meeting my sister. You?”
“Decompressing.” She takes another sip of wine. “I like this place for people-watching. Everyone’s got a story, you know? That guy in the corner booth is definitely hiding from something, possibly his wife. The couple by the window just had their first fight, but they’re too new to know how to talk about it yet.”
I glance at the couple. The woman’s arms are crossed; the man is leaning forward, his eyes desperate. “How do you know it’s their first fight?”
“Body language. They’re both terrified the other one’s going to leave, but neither of them knows how to say, ‘I’m sorry, I was an idiot,’ yet.” She shrugs. “Give them twenty minutes. He’ll touch her hand. She’ll let him. They’ll be making out by the time they close their tab.”
I find myself almost smiling. “You do this professionally? Read strangers in bars?”
Caution shutters her expression for a second, but she doesn’t explain. “Something like that. I can read people.”
Before I can push further, the tavern door swings open again, and I hear my sister’s voice cut through the ambient noise.
“Archie!”
Margie’s practically bouncing as she crosses the room, her tan from Cabo making her look like she stepped out of a travel ad. But it’s not Margie that makes my stomach drop.
It’s the woman trailing behind her.
Blonde. Pretty. She’s wearing a hopeful smile and looking at me like I’m exactly what Margie promised.
Son of a motherfucking bitch.
My sister’s been trying to set me up for two years. I’ve dodged book club friends, coworkers, and her yoga instructor. I thought planning her own wedding would distract her for at least a little while, but apparently not.
Margie’s eyes are already sparkling with that look she gets when she thinks she’s being helpful. Ten minutes, tops, before she suddenly remembers an “emergency” and leaves me alone with this stranger.
I turn to Tessa, desperation overriding common sense.
“I know this is crazy,” I say, voice low, “but please, pretend to be my girlfriend.”
Her eyes widen,her eyes flicking from confusion to amusement. “You want me to do what?”
“My sister’s about to ambush me with a blind date. If you could just—”
“Archie!” Margie descends before I can finish, wrapping me in a bear hug. “Oh my God, I missed you!”
“Missed you too.” I hug her back, shooting a pleading look at Tessa over Margie’s shoulder.
Mischief sparks in Tessa’s eyes, and I have to shift in my seat to hide the fact that my cock has a mind of its own and wants to know exactly what kind of mischief I could get up to with Tessa.
Margie pulls back, gesturing to the blonde. “This is my friend Cecilia from hot yoga. Cecilia, this is my brother Archie, the one I told you about—”
“Actually,” Tessa interrupts smoothly, sliding off her stool and stepping close enough that I catch the spicy scent of her perfume. “I think there’s been a mix-up.”
She slips her hand into mine like she’s done it a thousand times before. Her fingers are warm, her grip confident.
“I’m Tessa.” She smiles at my sister, utterly convincing. “Archie’s girlfriend.”
Margie’s mouth falls open. Cecilia’s hopeful expression crumbles into confusion.
