Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“Are you for real? Or is this another way of you trying to trick me into fake dating you, like you’ve done from the start?”
His casual confidence is as convincing as any argument. “I mean it. I want lessons. I want practice dates.”
I arch a brow, trying to scrutinize him. “You truly do?”
“I do.”
I should say no to his offer, since we don’t have much time for this kind of…prep work. Rowan leaves for Evergreen Falls in less than a week. My goal was to match him before he left. But unfortunately, after the cookie swap fiasco, and considering his hockey schedule, that’s looking less likely. While I do have a few more women I want him to meet—including an ER doctor who hired me last week and has some dating challenges of her own—I’m staring down his upcoming trip to Seattle for a game in the middle of this week. And while I’ve been concocting a contingency plan for when he takes off to Evergreen Falls, I haven’t finalized anything.
This, though—practice dates—would delay it all further.
But his idea isn’t such a bad one. Maybe some practice for Rowan will actually help him stop…upending opportunities. Maybe some coaching is just what he needs. Some people are nervous or anxious on dates, and they need to learn how to feel calm. Some put their feet in their mouths, and they need to learn what to say.
Rowan though? He needs to learn how to, well, treat dating seriously. Stop acting like it’s a game he must win. “Will you be real on the date?” I ask him, looking him straight in the eyes.
“I will.” He sounds earnest. He looks earnest.
I’m committed to finding him a match so practice dates will help my cause, though I’m not sure I can afford to put off matching him for a week. I’ll deal with that later though. The other question is can I handle a practice date? But since I earned an A-plus today for resistance, I’m sure I can resist him over practice dates, too, as I help him.
I stick out a hand. “You’re on.”
“It’s a date then,” he says as he shakes, the corner of his lips curving up in a grin.
“It’s a date,” I say, but my gaze drifts to our hands. He’s holding mine for a bit longer than you usually do. His hand is strong, and I like the feel of it. The way his fingers curl over mine.
But then he lets go, and he’s quiet, but it’s the kind of silence that says he’s amused, he’s having fun, since his eyes are sparkling. “But really, it’ll be a few dates.”
With an amused huff, I say, “Rowan, don’t push your luck.”
He gives that familiar cocky shrug, the one that sends a traitorous shiver down my spine. “It’s a few,” he repeats.
Shaking my head, I smother a smile. There’s no point arguing with him right now. Instead, I dip my hand into one of the many bags he’s carrying, fishing around for a box of chocolates with peppermint. I hand it to him.
“I got this for you. Well, I guess you got it for you,” I say.
He takes it, regarding it with…almost wonder, then he meets my eyes as he swallows. “Thank you. For the gift. I don’t care who bought it. It’s just…nice.”
And it sounds like that means the world to this world-class grump—the grump I’m suddenly practice-dating.
18
JINGLE BALLS
ROWAN
I stride down the hallway at the arena a little later feeling pretty good. I can’t date Isla for real—it’d be bad for her and for me, given that little matter of her being my best friend’s sister. And my best friend knowing I’m bad news when it comes to romance.
But a few practice dates will break this inappropriate crush once and for all. We’ll go out, we’ll spend time together, and I’ll practice-date her out of my system.
Bye, bye crush.
The brilliance of my scheme. The sheer brilliance, I could cackle. Fine, timing is tight this week with the hockey schedule, but I’ll figure it out. I always do.
“Who’s the evil genius now?” I ask Wanda as I walk her down the corridor on a black vegan leather leash with studs on it. It matches her collar tonight.
She turns her floppy-eared head to me, giving me a yes with her eyes.
“Exactly,” I say with a swagger in my step. We stroll past pink-haired Rae, and I give her a nod as she snaps the suit walk pic of my little dog and me.
I’m still patting myself on the back when I drop Wanda off at the doorway of Dog Tails a minute later. Sawyer’s checking in pups on the tablet at the counter. “Make sure she has time to play fetch. She’s obsessed with fetching,” I say to Sawyer, as my teammate Ford’s dog Zamboni chases a stuffed armadillo an employee tosses her in the open playroom beyond the counter.