When the invites were sent months ago, I might have checked “yes” to bringing a plus-one. I figured that was enough time to find someone to take with me. No problem! Except, here we are, a few days out from the big day, and not a date in sight.
“So pathetic,” I mumble to myself with a groan.
As if on cue, my phone starts ringing. The blaring music jolts me from my thoughts, and I rummage through my purse to grab it, answering on the last ring and probably sounding as frazzled as I feel.
“Hello?” I realize too late that I didn’t even check who was calling before I answered, and immediately regret my decision when my mother’s voice fills my ear.
“Cara darling!” my mother coos, making me cringe. She loves me, I know she does, but she shows it by being a little…overbearing. Critical, at times.
“Mom, I’m at work,” I remind her, hoping I can cut this conversation short before she can bring up the wedding.
“I won’t take up too much of your time,” my mom barrels on, not at all picking up on the context clues. “I just wanted to touch base with you about your sister’s wedding.”
I run my hand down my face, beginning to pace the length of the room as stress tries to suffocate me. I wipe my suddenly sweaty palm on my pants, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.
“What about it? Need me to pick something up or—-” I try, hoping I can distract her by offering to run errands so she won’t ask what I justknowshe’s about to ask.
Unfortunately, she forges ahead, undeterred.
“Well, we were going over the guest list, and I just wanted to double- and triple-check with you that you’re still bringing a plus one?” she asks, skepticism heavy in her voice. “It’s just you’ve never mentioned any man to us, and honestly, honey, it’s okay if you’re coming alone. But you need to tell us so we can make sure the table settings are right and the caterers are informed of numbers?—”
The pity in her voice makes me want to run and hide. I know I should admit that I’m coming alone. I know I should own up to the fact I lied in the first place.
But that’s not what comes out of my mouth.
“I’m still bringing a plus one,” I cut her off, my voice sounding a whole lot more confident than I feel. “Look, Mom, I’ve got to go. I’ll text you later. Love you, bye.”
I hang up before she can ask any more questions, like the name of my fake plus-one, how we met, or whether he has any dietary requirements. Because, God help me, I don’t have an answer for any of those things.
“I’m so fucked,” I mutter to myself as I set my phone down on the desk with more force than necessary.
“That’s not the tone I’m used to hearing women say that in,” a deep voice says from behind me.
I squeal, spinning on my heel. All the breath whooshes from my lungs when I come face to face with the man whom I’ve spent far too long researching online.
Not a single one of those photos, videos, or articles I spent hours looking at does him justice.
Jake Jones, center for the BlueHawks, stands in the doorway to my office, looking at me with a lopsided grin and sparkling blue eyes.
Two thoughts swirl through my head at the same time:
Oh my God, he’s so hot
And
He might just be the answer to all my problems.
2
JAKE
Idon’t mean to listen in to the new girl’s phone call.
Okay, well, maybe Ido,but only because the conversation is juicy as hell. And anyone who knows me knows that I can’t keep my nose out of other people’s business. It’s gotten me in more trouble than I like to admit, but learning my lesson has never been my strong suit.
Case in point: me being ten minutes late to practice despite coach yelling at me for it every single time. I promised to score enough goals in our first playoff round next month to make it up to him, though.
“I’m still bringing a plus one,” a frustrated, strong female voice insists from inside the small office.
