“Because dating is complicated. And messy. And I don’t do messy.”
“Maybe you should start.” Bryn leans forward, her expression gentling. “Clare, you’re twenty-eight years old. You have a job you love, you’re smart as hell, and you’re gorgeous when you’re not scowling. When are you going to stop punishing yourself for one asshole’s mistakes?”
The asshole being Erik Sorensen. Minor league hockey player, major league disaster. We dated for almost a year, and when it ended—when he cheated with an Instagram model and somehow made it my fault—the story leaked. Suddenly I was the PR girl who slept her way through the roster, and every professional relationship I’d built felt tainted.
I learned two things from that mess: hockey players can’t be trusted, and mixing business with pleasure is professional suicide.
But Mitchell Drake doesn’t feel like Erik. Where Erik was all ego and empty charm, Mitch has this steadiness to him. Like he sees people for who they really are, not just what they can do for him.
But it’s still dangerous. Maybemoredangerous, because the quiet ones are the ones who slip past your defenses when you’re not looking.
“This isn’t about Erik,” I lie.
“Everything’s about Erik with you. You’ve built your entire romantic life around avoiding another Erik.”
She’s right, and I hate that she’s right. I’ve been so focused on protecting myself from getting hurt again that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to want something. Someone.
“It’s a fake relationship, Bryn. It’s not like he’s asking me to marry him.”
“No, he’s asking you to spend Christmas with his family. To pretend to be someone he cares about. To let yourself be taken care of for five whole days.” She grins, wicked and knowing. “Plus, have you seen his arms? He looks like he could bench press a truck.”
Despite myself, I laugh. “You’re terrible.”
“I’m practical. And I’m right.” She finishes her wine and sets the glass on my coffee table with a decisive clink. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
I already know I’m going to regret this.
After Bryn leaves, my apartment feels too quiet. The fairy lights that usually feel magical now just highlight how empty the space is. How empty I’ve let my life become.
I pour myself another glass of wine and settle back into my chair, staring at the stack of romance novels on my side table. All those happily-ever-afters, all those women brave enough to take risks for love. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here alone, too scared to even fake it.
The truth is, I don’t have Christmas plans because I don’t want to face another holiday that reminds me what’s missing. My mom will send her obligatory text, probably sometime around noon when she remembers I exist between her stepkids’ present opening and Christmas dinner prep. My dad might call if he’snot too busy with whatever hobby has captured his attention this month.
Or I could spend time with an actual family. Could be part of something warm and real, even if it’s all pretend.
But it could also involve five days of trying not to fall for Mitchell Drake.
That’s the real danger here, and we both know it. The way he looked at me today, like he was seeing something I keep hidden even from myself. The way his voice dropped when he called me gorgeous, like it was a truth he couldn’t help speaking.
I grab my phone and pull up his contact info. My thumb hovers over his number for a long moment before I chicken out and set it aside.
Pros and cons. I’m good at those.
Cons: professional risk, emotional risk, the very real possibility that I’ll do something stupid like fall for a man whose job requires him to travel eight months out of the year. The chance that his family will see right through me and know I’m a fraud who doesn’t deserve their son.
Pros: five days away from my empty apartment and emptier holiday plans. A chance to be part of a real family, even temporarily. Christmas morning with people who actually want me there.
And Mitchell. Charming, complicated Mitchell with his stormy-gray eyes and the way he makes me feel like I’m worth choosing.
That should be enough to scare me off.
Instead, it’s exactly what makes me want to say yes.
Then again, I’ve already told him no. He’s probably already asked someone else. Maybe the busty Marissa in marketing. I’m sure she jumped at the chance.
The thought hits me like a slap, and I realize with uncomfortable clarity that I don’t want him to ask anyone else.
I don’t want him to take some other woman home to meet his family.