My Super-Hot Fake Wedding Date

“I’m great.” I smiled hard at her, making sure to flash the dimple.

She shook her head. “That’s not very convincing.”

“I’m working on my delivery. Isn’t that what this weekend’s all about?”

She stopped walking. “Why don’t we just forget about this and get out of here? My mother told me she accosted you again. I’m sure you’re feeling more than a little fed up with all of this.”

“Nope. I’m fine.” I headed directly to the court, even though I could tell Maddy didn’t

want me to do what I was about to do.

But fair was fair. Art had been right—I’d kept my poker face intact when we’d played before. But now it had slipped. Like Maddy had said, my act was no longer very convincing. And what was so bad about that? Why did I care so much about what these people thought?

I didn’t. When I’d thought I was doing Maddy a favor, it was one thing. When I’d thought there might be some sort of a future for us, it was another. Now that both of those doors had closed, I had no more fucks to give.

I patted Frank on the arm. “Are you ready?”

“Are you kidding me?” he cried. “I’ve been waiting for your call for thirty years!”

I smiled a real smile as I bounced the ball and Frank stretched.

Art came out by himself.

“Where’s Lucas?” I asked. “I thought we were playing doubles.”

“Lucas is benched.” Art smiled at me. “I brought in a more senior member of my team.”

At that, Tyler stalked out onto the court.

“Ah, you’ve got to be kidding me.” I scrubbed a hand over my face.

“Hey, I know you.” Tyler pointed at me. “You didn’t tell me we were playing Mr. Puke, Art!”

“This guy?” Art jerked a thumb at me. “He’s a puker?”

“Oh, it’s bad.” Tyler laughed. “He gets airsick.”

Art shook his head, his chewing gum visible as he smiled. “You’ve had a tough weekend, haven’t you, son?”

I smiled tightly. “I have a feeling it’s about to get better.”

The fake-friendly look disappeared from Art’s face. “We’ll see about that.”

Frank served first. We went game for game in the first set. Tyler was a tough opponent, a much better player than Lucas. He and Art were up after two sets, but when Frank and I had the serve again, we made them pay.

“Dammit!” Art threw his racket after he missed a return that I sent close to the edge of the court. Frank and I smiled at each other as he bent down to get it. “I saw you two just now!” he bellowed. “I am going to make you regret disrespecting me on my own court!”

I grinned. “I doubt it. Sir.”

We kept playing, the midmorning sun beating down on us. Frank and I caught up and were finally ahead. Tyler’s next serve was a wicked ace that was just out of my reach. He fist-pumped when he got the point.

“Good work, but we’re still down,” Art barked.

I smiled at Tyler. “Tough going.”

He looked pissed for a second, then recovered into his usual smug form. “That’s all right. That’s okay. You’re going to work for me someday,” he chanted.

I grimaced. “That’s very mature of you.”