He spins around and points to Miles, to Tyler, toWesley, to Max, to Ford, and to Asher. Somehow the dude gets all their attention at once.
Seconds later, they’re at his side. “Boys, Rowan needs some wingmen more than he’s ever needed wingmen before.”
I really do. But first I owe them the truth. No more pranking; no more trash talk. “Listen, Isla and I were fake-dating for the last week or so. She was going to come to the gala as my fake-date so I wouldn’t ruin your good times. Only, I miscalculated and fell ass over skates for her along the way.”
Miles stares hard at me. “So you lied.”
“You really lied,” Wesley adds, his expression stoic.
“You stinking lied,” Ford puts in.
“You didn’t just lie. You went full Santa Claus,” Tyler huffs.
“I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it.
Tyler shrugs. Miles grins. Ford offers me a hand to shake in forgiveness. Wesley claps me on the back. “You fucked this up, but we’re going to help you,” Max says.
“You’re not pissed at me for lying to you?”
Asher scoffs. “Not this time. Now, let’s do this.”
Time to win her back with a little teamwork.
53
HELP A GROVELER OUT, WILL YA
ROWAN
The thing about falling for a matchmaker-slash-dating coach is that you’ve got a roadmap for what to do when you screw up.
And I screwed up. Big time.
But in my defense—steel-trap memory right here—I’ve saved all of her dating tips in my head. I just need to put them into action. Fast.
Tyler offers to slip out with Sabrina and take Mia back home to my parents. I give my daughter a hug and a kiss on the forehead, and they take off.
The other guys huddle with me in the lobby.
“I know what I need to get,” I say. “But it’s going to be a lot harder than last night, when I ran out to a big box store that had extended hours. It’s eight o’clock on Christmas Eve. I’m pretty sure nothing is open.”
Wesley gives it some thought. “Yeah, you really missed the net on this one, big time. But here’s the thing—where there’s a hockey player who fucked up with a woman, there’s a bunch of guys who have his back. I know exactly what you can do.”
I make a beckoning motion with my fingers. “Serve it up.”
“I’ll do better,” he says—and he takes off.
He’s just gone.
Where the hell did he go?
But thirty seconds later, he’s back, and he’s got none other than Wilder Blaine with him.
“Mr. Blaine,” Wesley begins.
Wilder smiles, rolling his eyes. “Wilder.”
“Yes, sir—as I was saying, we were hoping you could do us a solid.” He explains what we need.
