Description
Getting engaged wasn’t on my Santa list. I wanted cocoa, fuzzy socks, maybe eight hours of sleep. Not a fake fiancé with forearms that have their own fan base and a smile that ruins common sense.
My grandmother’s will said, “Engaged by New Year’s or lose the twelve-million-dollar trust.” So I do what any not-panicking, rational woman would do: I proposition my coworker.
Enter Wesley Kane — defenseman, Alaska’s favorite son, walking thirst trap. He needs a fiancée for Christmas revenge. I need one to keep my inheritance.
Perfect.
The rules: lots of PDA, one bed, absolutely no follow-through. It’s good to set intentions.
Ten days. Way too much mistletoe. A small-town holiday where everyone thinks we’re in love. But somewhere between “no follow-through” and his hands on my waist, something slipped.
And now I’m not sure if we’re lying to them…or to ourselves.
Fake dating, hockey, small town, holiday romance