Wesley pumps a fist. Tyler shouts ahell yes. The other guys hoot their approval. “We’re not going to let you fuck this up,” Wesley adds, giving me a most serious look, like we’re going into battle on the ice together.
“That’s right. We’re going to make sure you romance Isla like no man has romanced a woman before,” Tyler says.
Miles snags the megaphone from me, and booms, “You just got yourself a team full of dating wingmen.”
Jason smothers a shit-eating grin.
What the hell have I done?
And the answer is…I’ve become a dating experiment.
I’m here at the sledding hill with Wesley, Miles, Tyler, Max, Asher, and Ford before the day’s contest begins.
“First,” Wesley says, rubbing his palms together, “no matter how her team does, you’re going to go up to Isla and say, ‘You did great, sweetie-pie.’”
I sneer. “That is not my nickname for her.”
“Well, you have one, don’t you?” Miles asks, hands on hips, staring at me like I damn well better have a nickname.
Snow angel.“Yes. And I’m not telling you guys what it is.”
As he turns to the others, Miles makes a show of rubbing his fingers together. “Told you he did. Pay up.”
I heave a sigh. “You bet on me having one?”
Miles grins. “Course we did. They said you wouldn’t. I had faith in you.”
“Assholes,” I mutter as the others press bills into Miles’s outstretched hand.
Once he’s collected, Tyler says, “Then you’re going to want to give her a kiss on the cheek.”
I roll my eyes. “No shit.”
Tyler snorts. “Don’t act like you knew that.”
“I’m not a rookie when it comes to dating,” I argue.
The sounds they make in response is like a horse laughing. Why did I think I was getting the last laugh? These guys are going to have a field day with me.
Like a coach prepping a boxer, Miles squeezes myshoulder. “Kiss on the cheek. Cute nickname. Squeeze her hand. Support her. You’ve got this.”
“And don’t forget,” Ford adds, “women love a little public affection.”
I picture Isla last night on the patio. That’s not the kind of PDA Ford means, but he’s not wrong. She’s got a bit of a danger kink. A let’s-get-it-on-where-we-might-get-caught kind of streak. Is that public affection? Technically. And I’ll take it. Oh yes, I will.
“Check, check, check, check,” I say, then take a breath. So far, Isla and I have been a private thing—stolen kisses and red-hot encounters. Now we’re leveling up with a public show.
But it’s no big deal. I just have to fake-kiss my fake girlfriend in front of my very real teammates and half the town like I mean it.
When Isla arrives with the other Sugar Plum Ladies, I stride over to her at the bottom of the hill, clear my throat, and say, “Hey, you,” with the utmost affection. I say it so warmly, so sweetly, and so clearly besotted that she tilts her head, perhaps a little thrown.
“Rowan?”
Was that too sweet? Too ungrumpy? Well, she’ll have to get used to the new public me.
“Just wanted to wish you luck,” I say, then I drop a kiss to her cheek.
She flinches for a second, but it’s fleeting. Then her breath catches. “Oh,” she whispers, clearly caught off guard—but liking it.
