Queen of my Double-Wide Trailer: A Sweet Southern Romantic Comedy, Paperback

I need a green light on a green card ASAP.

My solution? Propose a marriage of convenience to a friend. And by friend, I mean more of an acquaintance.

Liam may be a little rough around the edges, but he doesn’t think like your average guy with a closet full of camouflage—and that’s a good thing.

He’s American-born and raised, and I need citizenship. Also, his trailer is condemned, and he needs a place to live.

You may not can buy love, but it turns out you can buy a temporary husband . . . by buying him a new double-wide.

Chapter One

Liam

“Oh, I’m not a member.” I give
Bambi a lopsided grin.

Yes, that’s her actual name, or at least the name she goes by in school.

She tilts her head toward the frat house, then at me.

“You said we could go to this party when I asked.”

“And we can. Several of my buddies are members.”

She crosses her arms. “My big
sister said I’m supposed to find a guy from one of our fellow fraternities to take to the mixer.”

I shrug. “Okay, go find one.”

Her eyes bug.

“What?”

“You just took me out to dinner.”

“And?”

She bats her eyes, and her long top lashes catch in her blond bangs. I may as well end this now, since there’s no way I’m paying to sit through her chomping a salad again. Between the nonstop talking and heavy makeup, she reminds me way too much of my Aunt Misty.

“You don’t care if I go in that
house and look for a new date?” Bambi chokes out.

“Since I don’t meet your
qualifications, I’d be a fool to hold you back from someone who does.”

She pouts until her lips resemble a fish face. I start up the porch to the house, and she catches my arm. “Where are you going?”

“The party.”

“Without me?”

I throw up my hands. “Look, you
asked to come here, so I brought you. Do you want to go or not?”

Her eyes trail across the front of the house like she’s pondering what’s inside. I shake my head and brush past her, through the front door.

Kenny Chesney echoes across the room just loud enough for me to make out the lyrics above everyone talking. A mechanical bull is set up where the coffee table usually stays. Three girls in tight skirts attempt to straddle it. One makes it on, then falls off on the first spin. Another falls down laughing at her and spills her White Claw. I let out a long breath and head for the kitchen.

Partying has never been my scene. Maybe I’m an old soul, but I’d rather spend my weekends in a tree stand than
doing a keg stand. But I have enough friends here to know where they keep the good stuff.

I reach past a couple making out and open the refrigerator door. In the very back, hidden behind all the alcohol, is a gallon of Milo’s sweet tea. I pull it out and smile when I notice
the untouched lid.

Nobody’s tinkered with it yet,
which means it’s not spiked.

I find a red Solo cup and pour it
full of tea. Then I set the jug on the counter since the kissing couple has plastered themselves in front of the refrigerator. Best not chance accidentally touching the girl and getting myself in trouble.

That’s usually how things go for
me.

I like to flirt and tease, but I
never mess around. I’m all bark and no bite, but somehow that comes back to bite me in the butt.

I chug my tea and head out back to find my friends. If Bambi needs a ride when I’m ready, I’ll gladly drop her off. Then I’ll never give her a ride—or a date—again.

She’s just another name on my long list of disappointing girls. I was told college would have plenty of smart, ambitious women. So far, I’ve only attracted the type hunting a good time or a Mrs. Degree.

That’s not really a thing, though
I’ve overheard plenty of girls say they came to college to find a husband. Good luck with that.

I scratch my head and survey the lawn full of drunken cowboys and semi-preppy country boys. None of them look remotely interested in finding a wife, myself included. Though I admit I wouldn’t mind having a girlfriend.

“Liam!”

A thin arm swings around my chest, jerking me back. I steady my cup to keep from spilling my tea before turning around. A tall girl with braided hair smiles and giggles.

I recognize the face, but a name doesn’t come to mind.

She attempts to straighten her
Christmas headband, but makes it worse. A tiny bell at the top jingles as she fumbles with it.

“I’m wearing mistletoe.”

“Actually that’s holly. Mistletoe
is white.”

“Oh, silly.” She swipes her hand
down my chest.

I take a step to walk away, but she grabs the collar of my shirt and pulls me to her. She presses her lips to mine before I can shake her loose.

“Liam!”

How is she yelling and kissing me at the same time?

I hear my name again and open one eye. Bambi is behind us. I jump back, causing the girl who doesn’t know mistletoe to stumble.

“How could you on a date with me!”

“I thought you ended our date.”

Bambi’s blue eyes turn ice cold.
“When did I do that?”

“When you went to look for other guys.”

“I never said I was done with you.”

“I’m sorry, she just attacked me.” I point to holly headband, who isn’t amused.

“Attacked you? You kissed me back.”

“I . . .” Both girls stare daggers at me as I back away.

My buddy Tiger walks up in a Santa suit. He’s holding a black trash bag in one hand. Maybe that’s his Santa sack. You never know with Tiger. He swings his arms around the girls’ shoulders.

“Ho, ho, ho, who wants to sit on
Santa’s lap and tell him what y’all want for Christmas?”

Bambi snarls at the trash bag
beside her and the braid girl rolls her eyes. They both cut loose and go separate ways.

“Thanks.” I smirk at Tiger.

He looks ridiculous drowning in
that suit. Not to mention he’s wearing a cowboy hat and no beard.

“Must be the suit.” He sniffs his
sleeve. “Stephen picked it up at a thrift store.”

I laugh and drink the rest of my
tea.

“What was that catfight about?”

“They’re mad at me over nothing, as usual.”

He holds his belt and lets out a
mock Santa chuckle. I notice he’s wearing one of his rodeo belt buckles. Figures. I rarely see him without one. But if I rode bulls, I might be the same way.

“I didn’t expect to see you
tonight.”

“I was on a date with the blond,
and she wanted to come here after supper.”

He lifts his chin.

“There was a bit of a misunderstanding as to when the date ended.”

He nods. “Been there.”

Tiger starts walking, picking up
trash along the way. I follow him across the backyard and under a volleyball net. He stops at a cooler and grabs two waters, handing one to me.

“Thanks.”

We stand at the edge of the
property and stare into the road. It’s that crazy time of year when everyone is done with finals but nobody has gone home yet.

I stare at Tiger’s ridiculous outfit as he chugs his water. His eyes bug and he points toward the road, shaking his hand wildly.

“What?”

He spits some water and gasps.
“Ain’t that your truck?”

I crane my neck to find my taillights dimming as the truck turns down a side road. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I take off running.

Even though I’m running back for my intramural flag football team, steel-toe boots and a belly full of sweet tea don’t
do me any favors. I whip my arms back and forth to gain momentum. I spot a blond head in the driver’s seat right before I catch up to it.

Bambi turns her head, sees me, and gasses it.

I run about another block before she screeches the tires and heads for a different area of campus. I bend with my hands on my knees to catch my breath, then pull out my phone.

“Ho, ho, hello?” Tiger drawls out
his words like the crazy cowboy Santa he is.

“Tiger.” I pause and catch my
breath. “Come get me. I’m halfway to the stadium. I lost the truck when it headed toward town.”

“Dude, I’ve had a margarita.”

I sigh. “Just one?”

He hesitates. “You know I’m a
lightweight. Anyhow, Conner made it.”

Enough said. It was probably ninety percent alcohol and big as a cow trough.

“All right. I’ll get an Uber.”

I hang up on Tiger and go to the Uber app.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” All the Uber drivers are backed up, and based on how everyone looked at the party, Tiger was my best shot at a sober ride.

I scroll through my contacts.
Everyone I know here was at the party . . . except.

There’s one person I’m certain
isn’t at a party, because she doesn’t go anywhere that’s fun. I’ve never asked her for a favor before, and we’re not exactly friends, but she’s the most
dependable person I know. The ideal choice for when I need someone sober and sane enough to drive me around to find my truck.

I hover over her name for a second before clicking the call button. My ear tingles as the phone rings. I’ll likely get a motherly speech about how I shouldn’t leave my keys in my truck. If I get my truck, however, it’s worth it.

“Hello?”

“Carmelita, it’s Liam.”

“Liam who?”

Great.