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?
When I finished serving the patrons at the other end of the bar, I returned to the group. “So, what was decided? Are we getting fake married, Katrina?”
She looked at all of us like we’d grown third eyes. “You’re all crazy. I can’t believe we’re really talking about this.”
“Hey, you’re the one that came up with this idea,” Sinclair said, holding her hands up in surrender.