Chapter Two
Hunter
Iwoke up Thursday with a head full of hammers and the vague memory of propositioning my Uber driver.
Sunlight stabbed through my bedroom window. I rolled over, groaned, and immediately regretted every decision that had led me to The Rusty Spur on a Wednesday night.
My phone sat on the nightstand, screen dark and judging me. Ten-thirty. Late for me, but considering I'd stumbled home around eleven, not terrible.
The bruise on my jaw throbbed. Right. Some guy had made a crack about Hudson's wedding—-or maybe about me, the details were fuzzy—-and I'd thrown at least one punch before getting tossed out.
Real classy, Massey.
Three aspirin and a scalding shower later, the fog started clearing. That's when the memory slammed into me.
The Uber driver. Pretty brunette with brown eyes and zero patience for drunk cowboys. I'd offered her five thousand dollars to be my wedding date.
"Oh hell." I said it out loud to my empty bathroom.
Had I actually done that?
I checked my phone. Sure enough, there was a new contact: "Dixie - Wedding Date" with a number I definitely hadn't known yesterday.
The memory sharpened. She'd been completely unimpressed by me. When I'd offered her money, she'd countered with five grand without blinking.
Five thousand dollars. One weekend of pretending.
I sat on my bed, phone in hand. Delete the number, pretend last night never happened. That's what the smart version of Hunter would do.
But the part of me dreading Saturday's Valentine's Day nightmare knew I'd meant every word.
I needed someone who wouldn't expect anything. Someone with no connection to my family or my reputation. Someone who'd walk away clean when it was over.
Dixie Lane was ideal for this.
If she'd been serious.
I stared at the number. What were the odds she'd even answer? Probably figured I was just another idiot who’d had too much to drink, making promises he wouldn't keep.
Which—-to be fair—-wasn't far from my usual MO.
But this time was different.
I hit call before I could talk myself out of it.
Three rings, then a cautious voice answered—like she'd been expecting a telemarketer.
"Dixie? It's Hunter. Hunter Massey. From last night."
A beat of silence. "The passenger who offered me five grand to be his wedding date?"
"That'd be me." I attempted a chuckle, going for charming. "Listen, I know this sounds crazy, but I meant what I said. About this weekend. About paying you."
More silence. Background noise filtered through—-dishes clattering, low conversation. She was at work.
"You're serious."
"Dead serious." I stood up, started pacing. "Look, I know it's unconventional—-"
"Unconventional." She laughed. "That's one word for it."
"But it solves both our problems. You need money. I need a date who won't make this complicated. Win-win. Easy-peasy."
"Nothing about this sounds easy."
"Then let's make it so." This was what I did—-read people, find the angle that worked. "Meet me for coffee. We talk terms, work out details. If you decide it's too weird, we shake hands and part ways. No harm done."
She was silent for a long moment.
"Bitter Beans," she said finally. "One o'clock. I've got a few hours before my next shift."
"I'll be there."
"Hunter?"
"Yeah?"
"If this is some kind of joke, I'm going to be really pissed."
"It's not a joke." I meant it. "See you at one."
She hung up without saying goodbye.
I studied my reflection. The bruise on my jaw had turned a lovely purple, my eyes were bleary, and I was exactly what I appeared to be—-a hungover mess who'd just convinced his rideshare driver to meet him to hash out a plan of ultimate deception.
Hudson would be so proud.
BITTER BEANS WAS PACKED for a Thursday afternoon. Remote workers, high school kids ditching class, ranchers taking a break. I claimed a corner table fifteen minutes early, ordered black coffee I didn't want, and watched the door.
At 1:02, Dixie walked in.
Daylight was not playing fair. Hair down past her shoulders, catching the afternoon sun like polished wood.
Last night it had been pulled back in a ponytail.
Now she wore jeans that hugged curves I definitely hadn't noticed and a purple sweater that brought out the warmth in her eyes.
No makeup I could see, but she didn't need it.
She would've stood out in this crowd even if she wasn't looking for me.
When she spotted me, she crossed the room with purpose, and I had the strangest urge to stand up like we were on an actual date.
"You showed up," she said.
"So did you."
"I'm here for the coffee." She glanced toward the counter. "Let me grab something and I'll be right back."
"Wait." I stood. "Let me get it. What do you want?"
"I can get my own coffee."
"I'm sure you can. But I'm the one who asked you to meet me. My treat."
She hesitated. "Just a small coffee is fine."
"Come on. They've got all that fancy stuff here. Get whatever you want."
"How do you know I want anything fancy?"
"Lucky guess." I smiled. "If we're doing this deal, you can at least get a decent coffee out of it."
She hesitated. "Fine. The caramel macchiato. Medium. With extra whipped cream."
"There we go."
When I came back with her drink—piled with whipped cream and caramel drizzle—I sat down across from her. She wrapped her hands around it.
"Thanks." She took a sip. "Okay, you were right. This is way better than black coffee."
"Told you."
Up close, more details emerged. The way her sweater slipped off one shoulder when she moved. Small hands, no rings. When she tucked her hair behind her ear, the curve of her neck made me forget what I'd been about to say.
"So." She took another sip. "Let's talk so I can get back to work."
Right. Straight to the point. Even if that point was currently sitting across from me looking way better than any fake date had a right to.
"Here's the situation," I started. "My twin brother Hudson's getting married Saturday. Valentine's Day. Big wedding at The Hill Country Grand. Three-day nightmare of family obligations, forced smiles, and everyone comparing me to Hudson without saying his name."
Her gaze never left my face.
"My mother's been on me for weeks about bringing someone. Every woman I know would think showing up together means something. That we're heading somewhere serious."
"And you're not," she said.
"Nope."
"Ever?"
The question caught me off guard. "What?"
"Not interested in anything serious ever, or just not right now?"
I shifted in my seat. "I don't do serious. Not built for it." The lie came as easy as breathing.
"Uh-huh." She didn't seem convinced. "So you want to pay me five thousand dollars to pretend to be your girlfriend for three days."
"That's the deal."
"And what exactly does that involve?"
"Show up to the wedding events. Rehearsal dinner Friday, ceremony and reception Saturday, Sunday brunch. Act like we're dating. Hold hands, maybe some light PDA. Convince my family it's real enough they stop asking questions."
"Light PDA," she repeated.
"Nothing you're not comfortable with." I held her gaze. "This is business. We set boundaries, stick to them."
Those brown eyes assessed me. "Your family's going to ask how we met."
"We tell them the truth. Sort of. I called an Uber, you picked me up, we hit it off."
"And they'll believe that?"
"Why wouldn't they?"
"Hunter, you offered your Uber driver five grand to fake-date you. That's extremely weird."
"But they don't need to know that part."
The corner of her mouth lifted. "What happens when the weekend's over and you show up alone? Won't they ask questions?"
"We broke up. Mutual decision, no drama. We'll say we'd been seeing each other casually for a few weeks. Nothing serious, but bringing you to the wedding seemed fun. After the weekend, we realized we weren't compatible."
"And your family will buy that?"
"Why wouldn't they? Happens all the time."
She was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. So what do you need from me? Specifically."
"Friday through Sunday. You'll need formal wear for the rehearsal dinner and wedding. Black-tie affair, very traditional."
"I don't have anything appropriate," she admitted, her brow furrowing.
"No problem. We'll handle that today if you've got time."
"Today?"
"Rehearsal dinner's tomorrow night, wedding's Saturday. Not a lot of time."
She bit her lip. "Hunter, I can't afford—-"
"I'll cover it. That's part of the deal."
She didn't seem convinced.
"What about sleeping arrangements?" she asked.
"Separate rooms." Quick answer. "Unless that's too obvious. Might have to share a suite to make it believable, but I'll take the couch. Or request a two-bedroom."
She set down her cup. "Your family's going to grill me, aren't they?"
"Probably. Just keep it vague if they ask. They don't need your life story."
"What if they don't like me?"
"They'll like you," I said. "You're real, you call things like you see them. That's more than most people who orbit my family."
She studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly.
"One more thing," I added. "The wedding's going to be over the top. My brother's fiancée Kendall's from old Charleston money. This is her dream wedding. Hearts, roses, Valentine's everything. And my mother will absolutely ask invasive questions about our future."
"For five thousand dollars? I’ll do my best to handle your mother."
"So we have a deal?" I asked.
Her eyes met mine. Held them as though searching for something.
Finally, she stuck out her hand. "Okay. I’m in."
I shook her hand. "Deal. We should head out now if you've got time. Give us a chance to find what you need."
"My shift starts at four."