Page 13 of Tight Spot

“Considering the couch made you look like you were about to pass out, how about we sit at my desk and talk for a bit?”

I could do the sitting. It was the talking that made me want to swallow a cup full of glass shards.

I went straight to the leather-backed chair opposite her desk and collapsed into it. Not a moment too soon. It was possible my legs wouldn’t have held me up much longer. The desk was better anyway, kept everything more professional.

As she slid into the chair across the desk from me, she grabbed some kind of band and did a quick flip with her red hair. In seconds it was up and off her shoulders in some twist thing.

The move to be casual helped me slightly.

“So, I know we spoke on the phone last week, but maybe you should tell me a little bit more about what you’re looking for.”

I went through the exact spiel I told her on the phone, the mild threat from our GM I hadn’t shared before. Since she was married to a professional athlete, I figured she’d understand that this time. After, we went through a list of questions. What kind of woman I was usually attracted to, what I wanted this girlfriend to look like. Height. Hair color. Eye color. Body shape. Career. For me, the only preference I had was the taller, the better. I was six-four. Anyone shorter than five-six felt too small next to me. I didn’t need to bend in half to give someone a kiss or a hug. The rest, I couldn’t give two shits about. Curvy, thin, athletic, blue-eyed, brown-eyed, I had never narrowed down my type of woman to one small niche. Didn’t need to, considering I wouldn’t be spending much time with any one woman ever.

When I was done, she tapped her pink pen on her desk. “You have to realize this puts me in a difficult position. I’ve made a name for myself finding long-term relationships for people that have often ended in marriage. If anyone finds out I had a hand in this ruse, and it failed…well, there goes my reputation.”

“I’ll ensure that doesn’t happen. Outside my three teammates, I have no plans on telling anyone else I’ve been here. No offense.”

“Very little taken.” She smirked and grabbed a binder from the bookshelf behind her desk. Filled with relationship books and a few that mentioned personality assessments. The rest of the shelves were filled with framed wedding photos.

The binder landed in between us on her desk with a heavy thump.

What was this? Buy-a-Bride?

I didn’t want a bride. I needed to get our GM off my ass so I could play next season.

End of. I shoved it back toward her.

“I understand the position you’re in.” I did. No one wanted a reputation they’d worked hard for to be ruined. But this was mutually beneficial because we both wanted to keep this private. “But I promise you, I don’t want long-term. I need someone willing to fake it.”

She quirked a brow and grinned. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard a man wanting that from a woman.”

Oh, the ginger had jokes. Funny.

“Not orgasms,” I all but growled and as I did, her eyes flared. “I can make any woman come as many times as I want. That’s not my issue. What I don’t want is an actual relationship. Can you help me or not? Because I’m willing to pay a boatload of money for this, but if you can’t help me, I don’t want either of us to waste more of each other’s time.”

This was what I’d been reduced to. Begging. Desperation. Crystal and Rick were going to give me a heart attack before I was thirty.

“Hmmm.” Her pink pen tapped the binder. Of course the matchmaker used a pink freaking pen. Probably doodled hearts in her sleep. “I might have someone, at least, if what you’re saying about the orgasms is true.”

“They’re not on the table. I need a fake girlfriend, not a prostitute.” What kind of business was this?

I never should have trusted Davis or Mason’s Google abilities. Yeah, they were my teammates, but they were idiots. I’d always suspected. Now it was confirmed.

Assholes. All of them.

If I played defense, I’d lay their asses out for this. Maybe I could invest Carr’s help. But that’d involve talking. Explaining. And being grateful for the help.

No thanks.

That pink pen kept tap, tap, tapping.

I was about ready to rip it out of her slim, long fingers and snap it in two.

“Okay. No orgasms. Disappointing. For her, I mean. But I still think I have someone.”

“Great.” I curled my hands around the edge of the armrests and went to stand.

“You’ll need to text her by Monday. I’ll send you her contact info via email shortly, and I’ll let her know to expect you. If this doesn’t work out, let me know, but I think you’ll like her.”

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