Page 17 of The Pucking Wrong Man

“One day, Mimi,” I told her before I glanced at her suspiciously. “You didn’t bring any third wheels on our date, did you? Wouldn’t want them getting jealous when I give you all my attention.”

Geraldine and all her friends happened to be obsessed with matching me up since they couldn’t marry me themselves—their words. And I couldn’t even count all the times I’d gone over to help one of them with something and there’d been a smiley, dressed-up girl trying to get a ring out of me.

Geraldine’s smile grew, and I became even more suspicious.

“Gerald—” I began.

She tsked, cutting me off. I’d always wondered what that word actually sounded like in real life, and there it was. “I would never surprise you like that.”

“The fact that you actually sound legitimate when you say that is terrifying, Mimi.”

She was giggling like a far younger girl as we got to our seats, and I helped her sit down.

Her blue eyes were bright with excitement as she stared around at the crowd and the empty stage. We were here for some kind of dance performance—I had no details beyond that. All I knew was that I was in for a boring night. I just couldn’t seem to say no to Geraldine when she asked me for a favor.

Glancing down at the program someone at the door had handed me, I tried to find something that would get me excited.

There wasn’t one word. Not one.

Taking a quick glance at Geraldine to make sure she was distracted, I pulled out my phone and sent off a text to the guys.

Me: SOS

Ari: Sexy Ombre Sausages.

Me: What? That’s what you came up with?

Linc: I don’t know him.

Ari: Look at this guy. Pretending he could think of something better.

Linc: I don’t have to come up with something better. It already has a meaning.

Walker: It’s an international distress signal.

Ari: The simp would say that.

Me: I think we missed the fact that I sent an International distress signal in the first place.

Linc: Are you dying?

Me: I hope that I would say something better than SOS if I was dying.

Ari: ...

Linc: ...

Walker: ...

Me: I hate you all.

Ari: You’re on a date with a seventy-five-year-old woman with dentures. How much trouble could you be in?

Walker: Good point.

Ari: That was very good simpage, Disney. I approve.

Walker: Why is it that any time I agree with anyone, I’m “simping”? You guys agree with me on things all the time.

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