“And I lied about Alyssa,” Sinclair said, of their daughter, whom Wyatt didn’t know he was the father of until a few months ago.
“Okay, so you had some baggage that got in the way. But if it were two people who didn’t give a fig about each other, I bet it would be a cakewalk,” Trina said.
Sinclair rolled her eyes. “Except the idea of a fake marriage is for people to think it’s real. People in love act like they love each other. It’s not easy to fake that.”
Trina pursed her lips. “Sure, it is. Just make googly eyes at each other.” She looked at me and batted her eyes.
I went along with it and pretended to swoon.
She continued on, “Hold hands. Call each other pookie—”
“Pookie?” I quirked a brow.
She shrugged. “All I’m saying is that it wouldn’t be that hard to fake a marriage.”
Personally, I was siding with Wyatt and Sinclair. I knew it wasn’t easy for either of them, although I suspected the fact that they were lying to each other—him about his feelings, and her about their daughter—played into it. Even so, I couldn’t imagine pretending to love someone that I didn’t have feelings for.
Even so, I decided to play along and see if I could manipulate the situation so that Trina would have to put her money where her mouth was. I could totally be fake married to Trina, because, of course, my feelings weren’t completely fake.
“I agree. How hard could it be? Like roommates, really, right?” I wiped down the bar beside Trina as two regulars stepped up to the bar.
Trina’s eyes widened in surprise that I’d agree with her. I wanted to remind her that she was the contrarian one, not me. The two men ordered beer, which I served.
“If it would get you something you really wanted, it couldn’t be that hard to pretend to be a couple,” Trina said when I returned to them.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sinclair said, taking a large swallow of her drink.
“I totally think it would be easy,” I said.
“Seriously, how would you know how to fake a relationship? Have you ever been in one?” Wyatt asked.
“Ouch,” I said jokingly, although I wasn’t totally joking. Yes, I knew about my reputation as being a player, but it wasn’t earned. I wasn’t a Lothario, despite my vast dating experience, which I blamed on Trina. It was all her fault. If I could stop liking her, I could move on. But each time I tried seeing another woman, I couldn’t stop thinking of Trina. It wasn’t fair to the woman to see them while pining for Trina. I always felt like a douchbag when I imagined Trina naked and calling my name to make myself come while I was fucking one of them.
So after each failed attempt to move on, I’d have to end it. Last year, I gave up, and let me say, going without sex—real sex with a woman—wasn’t easy. If I couldn’t get Trina to change her mind about me, I was going to end up celibate and alone except for my hand and dirty thoughts about fucking her tits.
I shrugged like the comment didn’t bother me. “I just think Trina is right in this case. But if it was hard for you when you were in love with my sister, and she clearly had the hots for you, well then, who am I to say otherwise?”
Wyatt gave me a glare and then drank his beer.
Sinclair, never one to back off from an argument, a trait I was counting on to help me in my fake marriage quest, continued, “I bet you couldn’t do it.”
I could feel the wind changing in my favor. She was on the verge of suggesting I give it a try. If I played this right, she’d suggest that I have a fake marriage with Trina, which would give me the opportunity to spend time with her and hopefully find out what bee got up her bonnet to make her hate me, and entice her to see that I could be the man for her.
2
Trina
Sometimes I didn’t understand Sinclair. I mean, really! Why was she fussing about her fake marriage to Wyatt? He was handsome, totally, one-hundred percent infatuated and devoted to her and Alyssa, and what had started out as a fake marriage was now real. And not once did either of them thank me, since it was my idea that they get hitched to solidify his claim to his family’s farm and work to keep that billionaire bastard Simon Stark from taking farmland to build a prison. That was gratitude for you.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, what a hardship that must have been for you to live with the father of your child,” I said to Sinclair. Then to Wyatt, I said, “For you to live with the woman you loved. Yeah, real hard. You two have no reason to complain. You kept your land. Stark isn’t building a prison. You probably have sex everyday and twice on Sundays. Your marriage is real. Win-win. You should be thanking me that I’d come up with such a great plan.”
“She’s right,” Ryder said, as he reached for a bottle of whiskey and poured a shot for a man sitting two stools down for me.
I looked at him suspiciously. It never felt right when he and I were on the same page.
Sinclair shook her head and laughed. She patted my hand, making me feel like I was missing something. “You’ve been my best friend forever, but you’re remembering this wrong. Yes, it was your idea, and perhaps I do owe you a little gratitude—”
“A little?”
“We do have a lot of sex,” Wyatt admitted. “Even when it was a fake marriage. Remember under the tree and on the table—”
Sinclair’s cheeks reddened. “Wyatt!”
“Should I beat him up?” Ryder asked, but it wasn’t real. Ryder hadn’t been bothered that his best friend and sister were together. Ryder never seemed to get upset at anything, which was another thing that made me suspicious of him. Affable people had something wrong with them. It just wasn’t right to go through life without a care in a world.
“The point is, the idea was hairbrained. I’m still shocked it worked.” Sinclair shook her head. “Happy, but shocked.”
I pressed my hand to my chest, feigning offense. “The idea was ingenious. You’re jealous you didn’t think of it yourself.”
Wyatt laughed.
“You knew it would work,” I said pointing my finger at him.
He shook his head and held up his hands. “I went along to try and win the girl.”
Ryder reached over the bar and put his hand on my shoulder as he looked at his sister and best friend. “You all shouldn’t underestimate Trina.”
I shrugged his hand off, not liking the zap of awareness that zinged through my body at his touch. It never made sense to me how I could find him so fully annoying, and at the same time, sinfully sexy.
“I don’t need you to defend me,” I said. “The proof is in the pudding, right? Look at them. Saccharinely happy. By their own admission, they’re having lots of sex. I can’t buy that fake marriage was any hardship for you.”
“Okay, so why don’t you prove that me and Wyatt weren’t a fluke?” Sinclair said, arching a brow in challenge.
I could only stare at her, not sure where she was going with that.
“I bet you couldn’t be fake married to someone for even one month. In fact, I’d be surprised if you made it a week without running away screaming.” She smirked and held up her beer as if to put an exclamation point on her comment.
I scoffed. “It would be a cakewalk if I had a good reason, like you two did.”
“Even if your life depended on it, I don’t think you could do it.” Sinclair finished her beer.
“I know I could, and I’d prove it except there’s no one crazy enough to try it, especially for nothing in return.”
Sinclair turned to me with that look in her eyes that told me I should probably back off. That look was usually followed by a dare that got me or her or the both of us in trouble.
“Okay, let’s make this interesting. If you can’t stay fake married for a month, you have to give my speech at the Harvest Day concert,” she said.
My guts roiled at the image of standing up in front of the county and talking. To me, public speaking was worse than death. There was so much that could go wrong. I could blank on what
I was supposed to say. I could forget to get dressed and end up standing in front of everyone naked. The audience could boo, or worse, laugh at me. Nope. Public speaking wasn’t in my future.
So the answer should have been no. And yet, there was no way I could lose this bet. How hard could it be to live with some man for a month in a fake marriage? Even I, who didn’t tolerate fools or assholes, could do a fake marriage. Seriously, who couldn’t do that with the right motivation?
“That’s a bit one-sided. What do I get if I win besides not having to do your job for you?” I knew Sinclair didn’t have anything I wanted bad enough to goad me into this bet.
“I’ll give back the book.”
Ah, hell. I chanced at glance at Ryder. He and the book and my humiliation over the last ten years were all entwined. Luckily, he was setting a glass of wine in front of another customer and didn’t hear her.
“If you win, I’ll give you back the book and you can destroy it like you want,” Sinclair finished.
“What book?” Wyatt asked.
“When I first learned I was pregnant—”
“Stop. You must never talk about the book.” I practically pressed my hand over her mouth to shut her up.
“What book? What did I miss?” Ryder asked, returning to us.
“We don’t talk about it.” I glared at Sinclair, who smirked as she passed her empty beer glass to Ryder who took it and refilled it.
God, I’d do anything to get that book back. I wanted to burn it. Get rid of all evidence that it ever existed. Even just thinking about it viscerally brought back the heat of anger and humiliation at Ryder’s using the book to embarrass me. He’d earned my eternal scorn for that.
But no. A fake marriage to get my book back? The idea was crazy. Of course, I couldn’t admit that. I had to come up with a good reason why I shouldn’t have to take this bet.
“There’s still no one crazy enough to participate in this test,” I said. For once, my reputation for being a ballbuster would work in my favor. There wasn’t a man in Salvation who’d want to be married to me, even if it was fake.
“I’ll do it.”
My head swung around to Ryder. Of all the people, the last person in the world I wanted to spend time with, much less be fake married to, was Ryder.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I waved his comment away, wishing he’d go somewhere else.
He shrugged affably, but I saw a flash of annoyance in his eyes. “Just trying to help you get your book back.”
“Of all the people to live with for a month, there can’t be anyone easier than Ryder,” Sinclair said.
She was wrong about that.
“He won’t care about which way the toilet paper needs to go on the roll or where to squeeze the toothpaste. He’ll get off on all your lists, I bet.”
“There’s a right way to hang the toilet paper?” Ryder asked deadpan.
“You’re being crazy,” I said, wishing I had a glass of whiskey. Hell, I wanted the whole bottle.
“I remember saying a fake marriage was crazy when you proposed the idea to me and Ryder. What’s the problem? Too hard to be fake married after all?” Sinclair taunted me.
Dammit. I was proving her point. Surely there was someone else I could do this dumb bet with. I quickly scanned the room, but the bar didn’t show any prospects. Most men were married. Others were too old.
“Ah, leave her alone,” Ryder said.
For a moment, I was ready to thank him for coming to my rescue.
“She’s too uptight for a game like this,” he finished.
I gaped. “Uptight?”
He nodded. “I mean that in a good way.”
My jaw clenched. “Good way?”
“I think what he means is that you’re serious. You don’t like frivolous or spontaneous things,” Sinclair said, in a clear attempt to help her brother out.
“You don’t think I’m spontaneous?” I turned my glare onto her.
Ryder snorted. “No. Or fun.” He said the latter under his breath as he moved down the bar to help someone else.
My eyes burned, because the quip hurt and yet they weren’t wrong. I was serious. Life was a disorderly mess that needed serious, focused people to keep it from spinning out of control.
“You know, maybe if you were more serious, you wouldn’t be stuck tending bar and strumming your old guitar in Salvation,” I called out to him.
“Now why are you picking on ole Ryder, here?” Mr. Bigalow said as Ryder poured him his usual scotch.
“Don’t get mad,” Sinclair said. “You know how he likes to poke at you.”
“You think I’m not fun? You think I should go through life like him?” I jerked my thumb toward Ryder. “Not a care in the world? No plans for the future. Is he going to be eighty years old, still tending bar and plucking his old guitar because he can’t afford to retire?”
Sinclair pursed her lips. “They’d be perfect for each other,” she said to Wyatt.
“How so?” he asked.
“Yes, how so?” I demanded.
“Well, you’re right, Ryder could use a little focused planning for his future, and you’d offer him that.”
“What he needs is a kick in the—”
“But you’re too far in the other direction. You’re so obsessed with order and control, you’re missing out on the joy of spontaneity. He could help you with that.”
“I can help with what?” Ryder asked, returning.
“You two could balance each other out,” Sinclair said.
He grinned, looking intrigued. “Oh really? What are you going to balance for me, Katrina?”
Why was he using my full name? “Your face?”
“You two are opposites. She could make you more serious in life and you could help her have fun.”
“I know something about fun,” he said, winking at me.
Grr. “This is the dumbest idea.”
He leaned forward. “What are you … chicken?”
I leaned into him. I could see the irises of his blue eyes. “You’re an ass.”
His gaze dropped to my lips making me shiver. He looked into my eyes again. “And you’re full of shit.”
3
Ryder
“Okay, play nice now, children,” Sinclair said in response to my comment to Trina. Maybe what I said was a little over the top, but Trina, for all her vim and vinegar, was being a coward. Sure, this dare was silly, but it also revealed how uptight and lacking in humor she was. She couldn’t experience the basic joy in doing something crazy.
“This is nuts. The idea is nuts. You’re all nuts.” Trina glared at each of us and then took a long gulp of her beer.
I shrugged and straightened, reaching for Wyatt’s glass to refill it. “You’ve just proved their point,” I said to Trina.
“I did not,” she snapped.
“Sure, you did. Your point is that it’s easy to pretend to be married, but you’re coming up with excuse after excuse, because in truth, you can’t do it. It’s too hard for you. I guess it’s not that easy after all. You have to put up or shut up.” I was feeling triumphant as I gave Wyatt his refill back.
“And you think you could do it?” Trina smirked at me.
“Sure, I could.” I gave her a smile that said it would be a piece of cake. Okay, a piece of cake might not be accurate. Trina was a prickly woman. I was sure it would be a challenge to pretend to be married to her. But it was a challenge I was eager to meet.
“You think you could live with me for a month?” she pushed.
“I know I could. You don’t scare me, Katrina.” I loved the way her blue eyes flashed with surprise each time I called her by her real name.
“She scares me sometimes,” Sinclair murmured into her beer.
“What?” Trina’s head swiveled toward Sinclair, who shrugged.
“Maybe she’s not up to the challenge. It’s not like her farm is at stake,” Wyatt offered. I wasn’t sure if he was goading Trina or helping her by letting her off
the hook.
“So you did marry me for the farm?” Sinclair said to him. “I thought you said you fake married me to get me.”
He smiled at her and rubbed his hand up and down her back. “I did fake marry you to win you, because yes, fake married plans are crazy. But clearly Trina isn’t head over heels for Ryder, so she needs a bigger incentive.”
Sinclair turned her attention to me. “What’s your incentive?”
I considered telling the truth: to get Trina to see me in a new, more positive light. And maybe give me a chance to show her how much I wanted her. But I was sure that would scare Trina away from this bet.
Before I could respond with anything, Wyatt said, “If he can do it, I’ll give him my grandfather’s old steel guitar.”
I whistled as the deal just got even better. I’d coveted that instrument since I first set eyes on it as a kid, one of the few times that I played over at Wyatt’s house growing up.
“It definitely deserves a home that will love and respect it,” I said. “It’s a fucking tragedy that it’s collecting dust.”
“And what if he loses?” Trina asked. I smirked at her, knowing she was wishing for some sort of medieval torture.
“How about he has to write a song and tell us about how wrong he was,” Sinclair said. “He could sing it at the Harvest Festival.”
Trina rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t sound like a punishment.”
“Some might say living with you is punishment enough,” I quipped.
Wyatt and Sinclair made an “ooh” sound.
Trina glared at me.
“Not me though. I look forward to it.” I winked at her and then sauntered off to the other end of the bar to refill drinks. I couldn’t decide if we were still debating a hypothetical fake marriage or if we were negotiating terms. But I was a patient man, and I could continue like this until either Trina admitted she was wrong about how hard a fake marriage could be, which seemed unlikely, or she agreed to the bet, which also seemed unlikely. I was curious to see which side won. Hopefully, the bet did. I could potentially win the girl and the guitar. Who thought such an opportunity would drop onto my lap on a quiet weeknight at Salvation Station?
Accidental Baby: Ryder & Trina's Story (Fake Marriage Romance Book 2) Page 2
