7. Tyson
seven
Tyson
Oh, I didn’t just do that!
My brain is bleeding!
That’s surely the problem with why I just did that.
Pressing a hand to my forehead, I apply pressure to the pain.
I scurry out the front door, intent on leaving this conversation behind.
That’s what I get for needing to use the restroom.
I had to go at the exact moment Lottie was barreling down the stairs, looking like she was about to cry.
My heart pounds like I just finished running a mile instead of having a very stupid conversation I had no business being a part of.
I could help you find someone to date!
What the actual—
Who does that?
I know who does that.
A guy who doesn’t have the nerve to ask the girl out himself.
What is wrong with me?
I scrub my hand over my face. It’s my turn to nearly run into someone as I storm across the porch on my way to the pasture.
Perfect.
It’s just what I need.
A witness to my unraveling.
Ham halts mid-step and squints at me. “Bruh, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I wish it was a ghost. I’d much rather be scared right now than mad at myself.”
He falls into step beside me as I stride at top speed away from that house. “What’s going on? Did my mom give you a hard time? She’s been a mess lately.”
“No, not your mother.” I let out a very manly exhale. “Not directly anyway. More like your sister.”
“Lottie?”
With my heart pounding in my chest, I keep moving, my stride purposeful, and I pull ahead of Ham.
We barrel past the goat pen, where Crunch is actively chewing on the fence post we just fixed.
Just like that I’m sweating through my shirt—and it’s not from the heat.
It’s from the fact I’m about to confess to Ham I’ve volunteered to set up his sister.
I abruptly stop. He almost crashes into me. “Okay,” I say, bracing myself. “I did something, and I need you to not punch me in the face.”
He gives me a slow side-eye. “I can’t agree to take punching off the table until I know what happened. What did you do to Lottie?”
“So, I know you’re protective of her—”
“Just say it,” he snaps, and his normally wide nostrils grow rounder.
I’m cooked.
I inhale and blurt everything out in one long breath, “Your mom came up with some garbage plan for Lottie to fake date for PR to get the media off her recent flub.”
Ham groans instantly. “Of course she did. It’s never her fault. She always wants someone else to fix things. Did Mom set her up with someone awful?”
“Well, she doesn’t have anyone picked yet, but it sounds like she has her mind set on Brett.”
“Brett?” He blanches. “Ew. That’s a hard no. He’s a creep.”
“I know!”
A beat of crackling silence passes while I picture what it’s going to look like when he punches me.
He’s not a hockey player. I doubt he’s thrown a lot of punches.
He probably doesn’t have much more than a right hook.
I can block that easy. When I take a peek at his hand, I find his palm flat against his side.
Sweet, he hasn’t even made a fist yet. I’m good. For now.
“So, what is it that you did?” he asks slowly as his eyes narrow on me. “You aren’t going to fake date Lottie, are you?”
“No!” I say, feeling my whole life crumble.
“That would be weird.” My voice squawks.
Suddenly, I’m grateful Lottie’s mom had that “no hockey player” clause.
That would make this conversation so much worse.
“I couldn’t do that. It’s Lottie. She’s like my sister, you know.
” I ramble as sweat pours down my lower back.
“And I just—look, I couldn’t stand there and watch her go into a full meltdown about being forced to date Brett.
So I said I could set her up with someone.
You know, vet a guy who’s—well—a good guy and doesn’t wear a bow tie. ”
Ham stares at me as a wall of judgment washes over his face. “You said what?”
“I said I could set her up.”
“With who?”
Gulping, I rack my brain. All the guys I know are hockey players, except Ham, and well, hockey players are off-limits. “I’m not sure yet. I’ll figure something out.”
“You’re setting up my sister with some dude you don’t even know yet?”
“Yes. Apparently, I agreed to something like that.”
He puts both hands on his hips like a disappointed gym teacher. “What is going on?”
“To be honest, I’m not really sure, I just couldn’t let her go out with Brett. You know he’s a creep.”
“This is Lottie we’re talking about.” He points aggressively at the house. “She’s been on, like, one date her whole life. She knows nothing about our species. Do you understand what you’re getting her into?”
“I DIDN’T WANT TO!” I yell, then wince. “Okay, that sounds bad. I mean, look, it wasn’t like a plan.
I’m not exactly in the matchmaking business.
I had this weird flashback of her at the bar with that jerk, Bow Tie.
I couldn’t let that happen to her again.
At least this way, if I vet the dude, we can make sure he’s not a creep.
” I drag my palms down my face. “Also,” I add miserably, “I think she agreed to it.”
Ham glares at me for a horrifyingly long moment. Then he sighs and rubs his jaw. “Be honest. Are you crushing on my sister?”
“No!” I lie, and, to change the subject, I add, “I also agree with your mom that the attention needs to get off how bad us hockey guys are, so it’s like my good deed to help my team. Since my team is playing for this country, it was the patriotic thing to do.”
He arches a brow, leaning in with a heated glare that feels more like a staring contest. I lose that contest in about three seconds.
“Okay,” I whisper, and then proceed to pour my heart out.
“I’m extremely into her and have been for years.
You can hate me, but that’s just where I’m at.
I won’t do anything to act on these feelings, but there’s no way I’m letting her run off into the sunset with some fake date.
I’ve seen how these rom-coms play out. The fake dates always end up married.
I’ll set her up with someone who’s a total dweeb and sabotage the whole situation.
It’ll be one fake date that doesn’t get a happy ever after. ”
A wave of crimson washes over his face, not stopping until his ears are flaming red. “Are you nuts?”
“Maybe.” I gulp again, as apparently this is my new fidget. “Are you mad?”
“Oh, I’m mad,” he says, pointing at me with a sharp index finger.
“But mostly because now I have to be involved in a fake relationship scheme, which is, like, my nightmare. And not just because it’s Lottie.
It’s my mom, and she won’t let it fail. You don’t understand my mom.
She has clearly seen all the rom-com movies too.
She knows if this is played well, Lottie will fall in love.
She wants this to be Lottie’s endgame .”
He just said the quiet part out loud. Endgame echoes through my body, making me go stiff, one limb at a time.
A wave of dread slowly creeps through me.
It’s exactly what I was afraid of. “Not if I can help it.” I wince and rush out, “Dude, I can’t let Lottie get set up with some dreamboat who sweeps her off her feet. You have to help me!”
“All right, I’m in.” Ham stretches his neck, cracking it like he’s gearing up for war.
“If you’re going to do it, you’re going to do it right.
Don’t make her look stupid, or it will screw this up.
And if you think you’re swooping in when she’s all heartbroken, so you can take advantage of her”—he taps my chest with his index finger, causing me to take a step back—“I will personally staple your clothes to your body.”
A joyless laugh slips out before I can stop it, but it’s drowned out by the growl—yes, a growl—he gives me, and I gulp, yes, again, and stutter out, “U-Uh, deal.”
Ham glances sideways at me. “For the record, I’m glad you saved her from Brett.”
My chest warms. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, but don’t you even think about touching her.”
“I won’t,” I quickly reply as I pull out my phone and open my contacts, scrolling right in front of Ham. “Now, help me make a list of the dweebs— I mean, harmless men —who we can set Lottie up with.”
Hiking a brow north, he gives me an angled stare. “So that’s your master plan?”
“I told you, I don’t have a plan!” I screech.
“Do I look like a man with a plan?” I urgently gesture to my phone, which only has hockey players in my contacts.
Even if her mom said it was okay for her to fake-date a hockey player, there isn’t a single guy in my phone I’d be okay setting Lottie up with.
The thought of watching her go on another date—even a fake one—makes my chest nearly convulse. I don’t know how I’ll survive this.
“I’ll tell you what to do,” Ham says thoughtfully as he squares his body with mine. “You need her to go out with someone who is single but still in love with his ex. Then you know the relationship won’t progress.”
“Great idea,” I mutter sarcastically while I scroll. “Let me put an ad out for that. ‘Seeking fake date who is in love with someone else, so he won’t fall for the perfect woman.’”
“Whoa, bruh.” Ham tips his head closer. “This is my sister, dude. She’s not perfect.”
“She is to me.” I barely get the words out.
I still can’t believe I’m finally honest with someone about my feelings for Lottie.
Sure, it’s not Lottie. But telling Ham is even harder.
Maybe if he has time to get used to the idea, he will eventually help me.
At this point, I’ll take all the help I can get.
I just can’t lose her now—not after all of these years.
“I don’t think the ad’s going to work.” I lower my phone, giving up on my list of contacts.
“I need to be creative and take her somewhere to meet some dweebs in person.”
“Oh, yeah?” He hikes an eyebrow at me. “Do you know such a place?”
Scratching the back of my head, I rack my brain.
Jocks are clearly not safe. I need to avoid any and all gyms, parks, or places where sports are played.
I don’t want anyone staring at her, so we will also avoid beaches and pools.
No serial flirts either, which means no bars or restaurants.
I need to go full-on pocket protector for this operation.
Engineers would be a dream, but it’s not like I can walk into an engineering firm and start chumming it up with the nerds by the water cooler. They are too hard to get to.
Nah. I need somewhere public, packed full of dorks like a library or museum.
I look to the side as an idea forms.
I’ve got the perfect place!