Page 21 of The Guy Who Fake Dated Me

“Nothing. Gotta go. Good luck. Bye.”

I rolled my eyes and put my head back. As soon as I did, my phone buzzed again.

I’d hoped to see Victoria’s name on the screen, but the elation deflated when I saw my mom’s number. Probably something more about their party. I swiped it aside and leaned my head back.

Most people idolized their parents. But I never wanted a relationship like my mom and dad’s. My hand went to my pocket, and I drew out my wallet.

I’d never carried pictures, but I did have a single piece of paper that had resided in every wallet I’d owned since high school. The frayed edges hissed as I pulled it out, and the creases crackled as I unfolded it.

This was one of the only things I’d never told anyone else about. Partly because, without context, it painted me as a colossal jerk.

A list written in different degrees of faded pen filled most of the small page. The title read, “My Requirements for a Wife.”

Number one was that she couldn’t have an annoying laugh. That had come from all of Crystal’s friends in high school hanging around me, giggling in a pitch humans could barely hear but that would eventually drive a guy insane.

I’d scratched out number two, which had been that the girl couldn’t be blond. For a while any woman with light hair had reminded me of Crystal and my mom, and since I didn’t want a wife like them, I’d stayed away. After a year in college, I’d gotten over that one.

Number three was still in. She had to be confident enough that she didn’t need constant reassurance about the way she looked or the things she did. My first girlfriend in college had put this one on the list. I’d quickly learned that if I didn’t compliment every single thing she was wearing, how she did her hair, and her choice of lipstick, she’d go into a funk for days at a time because she didn’t think she was good enough. I was all about lifting people up, but I refused to be responsible for a woman’s self-esteem.

She couldn’t be too good for potty humor. Over the years, I’d found that a woman who couldn’t laugh at a fart joke wasn’t for me.

She had to be able to handle the fact that I was probably a better cook than her. Not to mention that I liked interior design as well as cleaning. There had been a few girlfriends who had legit become insecure in the fact that I’d make a better wife than them.

Victoria checked off all of the boxes up to this point. She had a great laugh, was comfortable in her own skin, hadn’t seemed to mind me taking over some of the design stuff from Shane’s dad’s house, and once in a while, she was the one giggling and saying, “You said doodie” after I’d said the word duty.

I stared at the next item and creeping worry clawed its way up my throat.

She had to be willing to live in Big Bear.

I hadn’t asked Victoria about leaving California, but she’d never once brought up the topic of moving out of Oakland for any reason, let alone to come to our cold, cloudy town to live.

I shouldn’t be pining over her because this is probably where we’d fall apart. I lived and owned a thriving business in Big Bear. I had even bigger plans for the town that I hadn’t started on yet. Leaving wasn’t an option.

And yet, since meeting Victoria, I’d thought about it once or twice. Briefly.

I loved Big Bear. If Victoria loved Oakland like I loved my hometown, then who was I to disturb her life and drag her away from the place she’d always lived?

Plus, she seemed petrified of animals, and at home, the wild animals far outnumbered the people.

My phone vibrated, and I licked my lips when I saw Victoria’s number on the screen.

Victoria:Did you make it out of the airport?

There had been an incident with a pack of older women in wheelchairs that made it impossible to get past them. It had taken me at least twice as long as it should have to arrive at the baggage claim, and I’d given Victoria a blow-by-blow of it until I’d seen an opening. Frankly, I think they’d done it deliberately, and I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them wasn’t related to Mel. I grinned as I typed.

Logan:I managed to distract one of them with flattery about her hair (which was quite squished on one side, probably from sleeping on the plane) and break free.

Victoria:Mocking old ladies? You’re going to the bad place for that.

Logan:Probably.

Mel glanced at me in the mirror again. “Are you talking to her?”

“Who?” I asked innocently.

“Her.” He put a great deal of emphasis on the word.

“Maybe.”

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