Page 4 of Misadventures With My Fake Fiancé

I looked Jane in the eye and burst out laughing all over again. The phone rang and I answered it. “Goldilocks,” I said as I tried to pull myself together.

“I'm calling for Veronica,” a man replied. I didn't recognize the voice, but it was deep and appealing.

“She's not working today. May I help you?”

The man sighed. “This is her friend, Mike. I'll just try her cell phone.”

My heart wentkerthunk. I knew that voice, after all. And other parts of the man as well. “Oz?” I asked. Mike Ostranski was a close friend of my sister and a one-time lover of mine. Literally, one time. As in the night of high school graduation. Back then, I'd called him Oz, but hadn't since. Not that I'd seen him all that much. Even after all that time my blood pressure skyrocketedjust picturing him in my mind. It was a very good picture: six feet plus of ginger-haired male perfection.

There was a pause. “Yes.”

“It's Violet. Veronica's in Florida. I'm filling in for her now that school's out.”

Mike swore. “Sorry, Vi.” I heard him chuckle, but it was a bit strained. “I should have known it was you. You're the only one who's ever called me that. I really needed Veronica for something.”

“Is there something wrong?” Just hearing his deep, sexy voice set my heartbeat into stroke territory. We may have only crossed paths a handful of times since we'd clumsily given each other our virginity, but that didn't mean I wasn't concerned. Or didn't continue to lust after him. Okay, I was mad at him for loving and leaving like he had, but a girl could still lust.

“No one's sick or anything. I just have a problem. I need a woman.”

My mouth fell open, not sure what to say. Now, more erotic images of the guy who'd filled—and fulfilled—many of my teenage fantasies jumped into my head. Mike, needing a woman? As if. He could have any woman he wanted. “Um...”

Mike chuckled again. “I mean...shit...it’s not like it sounds.” He paused and I could just picture him running his fingers through his red hair. I remembered how thick and soft it had been beneath my fingers. “I'm in Alaska at my uncle's house and there's this crazy neighbor woman who has decided I'm her future husband. Nothing I can say or do will get her to leave me alone.”

Goldie had gone to help a customer in the bachelorette section and Jane was rearranging the condoms in the free basket, which meant she was occupying herself pretending not to eavesdrop.

“Did you try telling her you were gay?”

“Yes,” he answered. “She didn't believe me.”

“Who would?” Shit. Had I said that out loud?

Mike Ostranski was Paul Bunyan personified: tall, brawny and frequently in a flannel shirt. He had gorgeous red hair, muscles that rippled and bulged in all the right places. And another bulge that I would never forget. He oozed testosterone from his pores and women were drawn to him like bees to honey. I knew that all too well.

To top it off, he was a doctor. Smart, hot, and sexy all rolled up in one. He was easily Bozeman's most eligible bachelor. Many women I knew thought so. He was a podiatrist and dealt with people's feet all day, which didn't hold much appeal for me. On the other hand, I dealt with kids who ate paste and, on occasion, wet their pants, so it was all relative.

“A woman fawning over you? That doesn't sound like a bad thing for a guy. In fact, it sounds like every man's dream.”

“Yeah, you'd think so. But no. This is a total nightmare. She's talking marriage and arctic-reared children. I've only known her for four days. Wedding bells? More like looney bin.”

“How much longer are you up there? Can't you just hold out a little longer until you have to leave?”

“Another week. Violet, the woman was naked. In my bed.”

A slice of jealousy ripped through me, even if he'd only been mine for one night. I didn't even want to think about how many women he'd been with since. “I still don't get it.” I tucked my slippery hair behind my ear. “What man complains about a naked woman in his bed?”

I felt Jane's eyes boring into the back of my head. I couldn't blame her interest. The conversationwasintriguing.

“In this case? I do. When I want a woman in my bed, I promise you, she'll know it.”

“Oh, I know it all right,” I grumbled, well aware my time with him had been short-lived, so short in fact that he'd quicklymoved on. I could have said it had been a summer fling, but it hadn't even been that. We'd grown up together, been only boy and girl for a stretch, then boy and girl who were attracted to one another but were too nervous to do anything about it. One summer night when we were sixteen, we'd made a pact. A pact that said we'd sleep together on graduation night if we were still virgins.

Since deep down, I had only wanted Mike, it was a pact I'd easily made and eagerly anticipated being fulfilled. I'd been a virgin when we graduated from high school. Mike must've felt the same, or hadn't had the moves to get into a girl's pants, because he had been one, too. So we had one night. One time when we'd been something to each other. To show how much we'd felt for each other, how much of our feelings we'd saved up. Kept special just for each other. Our firsts.

He'd left the next week to be a counselor at the sleep-away camp in Idaho he'd attended every summer since he was seven. From there, he went directly to Stanford, then on to medical school, residency and life.

I'd spent the summer before college alone and hurt before heading to Tulane, then four years later had come back home to teach at my elementary school.

I'd seldom seen him since that fateful night. Mike had been in school and then at hospitals around the country for years and years, rarely coming home. And when he did, I heard about his visits from my sister, who had somehow remained friends. The reason could've been that he hadn't slept with her. She hadn't connected with him the same way I had. Hadn't had one night that I recalled—and relived—frequently.

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