“Let me,” Alex offers, outstretching his hand.
“No, it’s okay, I’ve got it.”
“Twist, Addie,” Colt says right behind me.
I almost jump out of my skin when I look over my shoulder to see him at the next table, less than three feet between us. It doesn’t slip by me that he saidAddie, apparently eavesdropping on our conversation from the start.
“Twist,” he repeats, using visual aids as he mimics the movement. “Don’t pull, you’ll spill it all over yourself.”
I’m twisting, but the cork doesn’t budge. Urgh, how strong is he to have shoved it in so deep?
“Never mind,” I huff, clunking the bottle down before focusing on Alex. “You were saying?”
“I’m a die-hard basketball—” He cuts himself off, glaring over my shoulder.
Colt snatches the wine, opens it with practiced ease, and fills my glass before pushing the cork back in.
“Thank you. Can you loosen it up a little so I can open it myself next time?”
“No. You need a refill; I refill.”
As soon as Colt turns to his date, Alex starts talking, every word like a fired bullet. I think he’s afraid he won’t get to say anything if he doesn’t speak fast.
“I’m a basketball fan, I work as a set designer at Pixar, and I like to sleep in.”
“Divorced?” I point at a pale line around his ring finger.
“No, absolutely not. I haven’t found one I could marry yet, let alone divorce. I wear a signet ring but forgot to put it on today. You’re very observant. What else did you notice?”
“Your watch runs two minutes late.”
He bursts out in soft, forced laughter cut short by the gong. “That’s our time almost over. This was fun. I look forward to the next date.”
“Me too.”Not.
“I’ll be back in an hour, Drey,” he tells my boobs.
I don’t bother correcting him that it’s either Audrey or Addie, never Drey. My brother called me Dr. Drey when we were little, and I hated it with a passion.
The next eight dates are as boring as the ones before Colt. A few guys fit my profile, but they’re so dull I couldn’t take an hour in their presence, let alone a week.
When the break kicks in, I stay seated, guarding my wine bottle. People filter past, heading downstairs to use the restroom or placing orders at the bar.
“How’s it going?” my best friend, Ruby, asks, taking the empty seat opposite, a glass of cosmopolitan clutched with both hands. “Any luck finding the prince that’ll charm your mother?”
“None whatsoever. I’d have more luck finding a suitable candidate outside the homeless shelter. At least I know those guys need money, and with their lifestyle, they wouldn’t be dull.”
“Seriously? Not one? There’s like a dozen dark-haired guys here.” She looks around, then leans over the table with a massive grin. “What about that guy who bought you this?” She gently taps the wine bottle.
“His watch is a Tag Hauer Monaco. If he can afford that, fifteen grand’s not enough.”
Felicity stops beside us, hands crossed over her chest. “What does it matter if he’s dull? You’re not getting married. As long as he follows instructions, you’ll be golden.”
“Lower the bar, Addie,” Ruby hums, covering my hand with hers to strangle my fingers. “You’ve been searching for two weeks and nothing. At this point you don’t have the privilege of picking and choosing.”
She’s not wrong.
I have less than thirty-six hours to find a fake boyfriend and prepare him for my mother’s inevitable inquisition. While I’d love a week with someone interesting, someone I could have at least a sliver of fun with, there’s no time to turn my nose up at anyone.
