Ria has a list of names—on Bristol board written in coloured markers, no less—and we go through them and make notes on each to help me remember.
I’ve already forgotten too many of the men.
“Is there anyone that you’re ready to rule out?” Rue asks after we finish that part. She’s making her own notes via iPad.
“About half of them,” I tell her as I yawn without covering my mouth.
“Seriously?” Her eyes pop open. “I thought this was a great group.”
“Sure, but I’d rather get rid of half of them. It would make narrowing them down so much easier.”
“Do you see potential with anyone?” Ria asks, marker poised like she’s about to put a star beside the names I give her.
“Basher seems fun.” She does star him. “Jon rubbed my feet.”
“Likes foot rubs,” Rue confirms as she taps on her keyboard.
“Rand,” I decide. “He made me laugh. So did Asani. But get rid of the drunk guy who slobbered all over me.”
“I thought that was Rand?” Ria frowns.
“Yes, but he was sweet about it. Drunk guy had too much whiskey. I don’t drink whiskey.”
“I think that was Luc C.,” Grayson offers.
“No, it was P.,” Rue corrects.
“Couldn’t you find more with different names?” I complain. “Two Luc’s and a Lucas— how did you get him here, anyway?”
“We contacted the school in Battle Harbour and asked for volunteers. We got about six of them, and after interviews, decided on Lucas.”
“I’m not sure I’d pick Lucas,” I admit.
“He said he always had a crush on you,” Ria protests.
“He also had a girlfriend three out of the four years of high school, so who’s he lying to?”
Rue makes a note. “We tried to get a brother’s best friend, but we were turned down.”
Brother’s best friend? That would be— “He—really? He said no?”
Utter desolation crashes over me like a hurricane-size wave and I blink away the sudden sting in my eyes.
Spencer saidno.
Of course he did, because he’s with Abigail. He doesn’t wantme, he’s never wanted me. He wants her.
I clear my throat twice before I can manage anything else. “Oh.”
Not much else to say.
There must be something else to say, because all three heads whip around.
“Jonathan McKibbon,” Grayson supplies. “That’s your friend Kate’s brother? He’s friends with Prince Kalle. I guess we could have used him asbest friend’sbrother, but he wasn’t interested.”
I let out a shaky laugh. Jonathan. Not— “Thank god for that,” I say with more emphasis than is necessary. It’s better that than letting the relief show that it wasn’t Spencer who refused.
Did they even ask him?
