Page 8 of The Wild Card
“Well, not to get ahead of ourselves here, but let’s just say this was a veryproductiveaudition,” Vespa says. She winks, which looks ominous paired with the purple lipstick, but I dredge up a smile.
“Wonderful,” I say.
Terrible, I think. Looks like I actually took the spool of thread and tossed it out of an airplane before leaping out behind it.
Kelvin holds open the door, and I exit the trailer in a daze, immediately thrown back into the heat of the day and the bustling activity of the festival.
Of course—thefestival. There are thousands of people here.
How hard can it be to find one man willing to be my fake boyfriend for the next hour or so?
Like some kind of mirage appearing in a sun-soaked desert (if the desert were a festival celebrating cake and all things deep-fried), I spot a perfect pretend boyfriend.
I notice him first because he’sbig. Taller than most of the people having to walk around him since he’s standing in the middle of the path. Dark hair, slightly messy like he’s been running his hand through it or maybe just took off a hat. Warm skin that looks like it gets a healthy dose of sun and a dark beard emphasize the rugged look. His gray athletic T-shirt hugs a physique clearly borne from hours in one of those gyms where they throw tires and things.
But it’s not the looks or his proximity that make him perfect.
It’s the giant stuffed unicorn in his arms. I see it and I justknow. This man is fake boyfriend material. He’s even got the perfect prop! Unless he won the unicorn for a girlfriend.
But he’s totally alone—looking a little lost and sad, actually—and my feet are already moving. He seems slightly familiar. Maybe I follow him on social media? There are so many accounts and people who flash through my feed that I don’t always remember. Or maybe he just has one of those faces that looks familiar to everyone.
Before I can tell myself not to dig a deeper hole, I’m touching his arm and asking, “If you’re single, can I borrow you for an hour or so?“
CHAPTER 3
Collin
Now
She doesn’t remember me.
Molly Douglas, a woman I’ve met atleasttwo times before who’s currently dragging me past a stand selling roasted corn and keychains shaped like pieces of cake, has no idea who I am.
And I’ll be completely honest—it chafes. Like a cactus in the dungarees, as my dad would say.
Great. Now I’m using Tank’s hokey old sayings.
But not being recognized while I’m in the middle of an existential and admittedly melodramatic crisis about my identity hits me hard. It’s real-world confirmation outside my head that I’m the invisible Graham. Forgettable. Insignificant.
Though I do have a beard now. Maybe that threw Molly off? I’m not sure the facial hair constitutes a disguise, but apparently it works well.
To be fair, I didn’t recognize Molly immediately either.
I’m going to blame that on the distracted headspace I was in when she walked up combined with the giant unicorn obstructing my view.
The hair color change also threw me. The brown suits her, highlighting her creamy skin and deep-blue eyes. But it at least gives me a tiny excuse for the slight delay in me making the connection.
Molly: sister to Chase, who is married tomysister.
Which doesnotmake Mollymysister-in-law. Or any kind of sister. I know this thanks to a very serious discussion Pat and I had when we first met Molly at Harper’s wedding.
It’s an important distinction because, to put it mildly, Molly is hot. Notmildlyhot. All the habaneros hot.
Normally, I’m not one to outright objectify a woman, especially when that someone is the sister of my brother-in-law. Tank taught us better. But this is lessobjectifyingand more anobjectivestatement of fact.
In any case, Molly’s objective hotness is why Pat and I got into the discussion and then turned to Google. Because even if it’s not a blood relation, hitting on a woman who has any sisterly title seems wrong.
While Pat and I were discussing Molly’s official title in relation to us—it’s co-sister-in-law, for the record—and agreeing one of us could ask her out without breaking some kind of cultural or societal norm, James moved in first, the sly dog.
