The Christmas Wedding Swap. Allyson Charles
Allison chuckled. “Judge Nichols. Can you believe it? That would be my luck.”
Silence filled the receiver.
“Isn’t that funny, Camilla?” she prodded.
“Well…he is single.”
Allison spluttered. “What the hell are you talking about? I can’t flirt with Judge Nichols. He’s old enough to be our grandfather!”
“He’s single, of legal age, and wearing black boots,” her sister said, recalling the terms of their agreement. “You promised you’d flirt with the first man who fit that description. Online dating hasn’t gotten you anywhere. I don’t get your thing with boots, but those were the conditions we laid out.” Something clattered in the background. “I knew I should have made you sign our agreement in blood,” she muttered.
“We need to add some more parameters to our deal. It’s the judge—”
“You are thirty-three years old and still single.” Her sister’s voice was stern. “You always have an excuse. Either the guy’s too old, too hipster, doesn’t like cheese—”
“Hey,” Allison said, objecting. “That wasn’t Keith’s only problem.” Just the main one. What man couldn’t enjoy a nice crumbly Stilton? Especially on a cracker with chopped pecans and dribbled with some honey… Damn it. Now she was hungry. “And you didn’t like him either.”
“Can you really afford to be so choosy?” Camilla ignored Allison’s interruption. “At least you know Judge Nichols has a good job.”
Allison opened and closed her mouth, at a loss for words. “I’ve got to go,” she finally said. It was no use arguing with an attorney, especially when that attorney was nuts.
“Promise me,” her sister said, warning in her voice, “the very next man who meets your criteria, you’re going to ask out on a date.”
Allison sulked. “You can’t sue me for breach of contract if I don’t.”
“No, I can do worse. I’ll tell Molly to call you every day to talk about how much she wants that stupid doll. You’ll be begging for mercy.”
“Fine,” Allison muttered. “I promise.” Maybe. She didn’t care what her sister said—she wasn’t going after the geriatric division.
They hung up, mutually annoyed. Pulling her coat closer around her, Allison looked down the street for the next store she should hit, unenthusiastic about the prospect. She should try the toy store in the next town over, but her body was telling her that she was done for the day. And if the other toy store sold out of the doll before tomorrow, well, there was always the internet. She stood and headed for her car.
The gods of the buy-local movement must have heard her thoughts—and disapproved.
Her sneaker hit a patch of ice, and she went airborne.
She managed to twist so that she landed on her hands and her hip, a sharp pain arcing down her side bringing a sting to her eyes and a filthy word to her lips. Her shopping bags landed upside down, scattering cellophane bags of pastel-colored Jordan almonds and boxes of white votive candles onto the cold concrete.
Perfect. Just flipping perfect. Resting her head in the crook of one elbow, she sank back on her haunches. She rubbed her hip, knowing that a bruise would be forming. If that just wasn’t the cherry on this craptastic morning, she didn’t know what was.
Until a pair of worn black motorcycle boots stepped in front of her. Then she knew that as bad as turfing it on the sidewalk in the middle of downtown was, it didn’t compare to being caught ass up by the next man she was supposed to flirt with.
He squatted, the faded denim at his knees pulling tight and exposing another inch of the pair of sexy boots. Two straps of butter-soft leather held a round silver buckle in place at the ankle. Small scuff marks were etched around the squared-off toes. She loved the squared-off toe on men’s boots.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice a soothing rumble and genuine concern lacing his words. “Do you need me to call an ambulance?”
Allison sat back on her feet, and sighed. She wanted nothing more than to retreat to her restaurant and grab a bag of ice for her hip and a shot of whiskey from the bottle she kept in her office. But a deal was a deal. Time to get her flirt on. “I’m fine. I just…” Her eyes caught up with her mouth, and she froze. He was beautiful, the hottest man she’d ever seen in person. Eyes the color of spring grass glinted at her over high cheekbones. His hair was a little darker than honey, lighter than caramel, and it looked as though it had gone a couple of weeks past its trim date. The tousled locks and stubbled jaw tempered any prettiness, making him appear a bit rugged, a little wild. The black leather bomber jacket stretched across a broad chest didn’t hurt either. The only imperfection in an otherwise symmetrical face was the slight crook in his nose, hinting at a misspent youth.
She would never bitch about her sister and her interfering ways again.
“You just…” He raised an eyebrow. His gaze drifted down her body before returning to her face.
And that’s when she remembered just how bad she looked. Kneeling next to an Adonis, face-to-face, the contrast was as stark as ground chuck to filet mignon. A chill seeped up from the concrete through her sweatpants—baggy, burgundy sweatpants with a mark from last Wednesday’s chili on the left thigh that her stain remover had been no match for. If she was lucky, that splotch would draw attention away from the ugly red Christmas sweater her youngest sister had given her as a gag gift. It had been the only clean top in her closet when she’d dressed that morning. Add in well-worn sneakers and a pea coat that had seen better years, and all in all she was one red-hot mess—which only mattered to Allison when faced with a drool-worthy hunk, one she’d promised her sister she’d ask out on a date.
Her face heated until she knew it matched her sweater. Perfect. “I just need to pick up my things, and I’ll be fine.” She opened the shopping bag and started pitching her purchases inside, reaching over the curb into the street where some boxes had landed, giving him another up close and personal view of her round bottom.
She scuttled around until she faced his direction, humiliation sinking like a lead ball in her stomach. The sexy biker gathered up bags of almonds and placed them in her sack, keeping his eyes focused anywhere but her body. Her hideousness had managed to embarrass a stranger. Just flipping perfect. But she could hear Camilla’s voice in her head. Just because she looked like a frazzled mess didn’t mean she could weasel out of her deal. Allison pulled up her metaphorical big-girl panties.
She clawed her fingers through her hair, her pinky getting stuck in a knot, and pasted a smile on her face. “Are you new in town? I’m sure I’d recognize you if you’d been here awhile.”
“Just passing through.” He didn’t meet her eyes.
“Passing through Pineville, Michigan. Sounds like a bad country song.” Leaning forward she squeezed her arms tight to her sides, the surefire move to give her cleavage a little oomph—and remembered she was wearing a shapeless sweater with Rudolph plastered across the front. She didn’t have the girls to help her out with this one.
“If you say so.”
“There are some sights you should definitely hit before you leave town.” Allison searched her brain for something that would interest a sexy biker. “And you know, if you need a tour guide…”
His eyes widened. In fear, most likely, at what she was offering.
“Well, there’s always the tourist bureau two blocks over,” she quickly amended. Jesus, no wonder she was single. She was crap at flirting. It used to be simple: an interested smile, a coy line. It had been easy when she’d wanted nothing but a bit of fun. But now that she was determined to find the one, her gift for teasing banter had deserted her.
She set her jaw. One more attempt before admitting defeat. “And everyone here is real friendly. If you want a more personal