Chapter 3
Three
Mitch
I spent so much of the night fantasizing about Allison’s lush curves that I didn’t get a lot of sleep. She has a bridesmaid dress fitting this morning and then we’re having a quick lunch—a debriefing; her words, not mine—so she can fill me in on the inner workings of her family.
In the meantime, I’m researching orthopedics. If I’m supposed to pretend to be a doctor instead of a mixologist, I need to at least know some of the terminology. But with so little sleep, I can’t stop yawning as I read an article about treatments for scoliosis.
Maybe Allison’s right, and I don’t really need to know much about this.
I’d much rather daydream about all the things I’ll get to do to Allison as her fake fiancé this evening. My mouth waters as I think of tasting her, devouring her, later tonight.
Just kissing her was amazing. I knew we’d be compatible, but holy fuck, that was awesome. I have a feeling she’s already ruined other women for me. Once I’ve had her, I won’t want anyone else.
It’s a thought that should scare the shit out of me, but for some reason, it doesn’t. I know very little about her, but short of finding out she’s a serial killer, I can’t imagine there’s anything that would make me not want her with every fiber of my being.
My fiancée. If we’re going to make this thing look real, she’s going to need a ring.
An hour later, I’m standing in Mercury Ridge Jewelers, gazing at engagement rings. This is quite the twist to my holiday plans.
I know it’s crazy to spend money on an engagement ring for a woman I’ve just met. Cubic zirconia or a white sapphire could pass as a diamond and would be a lot less expensive. But I don’t want to cheap out on Allison. She deserves the best.
And I have the money. I make a lot in tips at Mercury Slice, but I make even more with my private mixology business.
I create custom drinks for weddings and parties, and I provide bartending services for most of the local venues.
The only venue that doesn’t hire me is the fancy mountainside lodge where Allison’s sister is getting married. They have their own bartending staff.
I point to a ring in the case. It’s a cushion-cut diamond set in a delicate platinum band. “May I see that one, please?” I ask the jeweler.
He hands me the box. As I am examining the ring, my phone chimes with a text from Allison. Still meeting me for lunch? Or do you have cold feet?
Smiling, I type out a message of my own. I’ll see you in a couple of hours. By the way, what’s your ring size?
Size 6… but I don’t need a ring. We can just say it’s being resized or something…
No way. We’re doing this thing right. With allllllll the perks.
I hand the box back to the jeweler. “I’ll take this one. Size 6, please.”