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Dalton

“Oh shit.” I kneel down beside the woman I just knocked over. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even see you. Are you okay?”

She groans softly and lifts her head. I instinctively put a palm on her shoulder. “No, stay down. Don’t try to move.”

She turns over and gets on one knee. “I have to go. Farrah--”

“Sit.”

She meets my gaze, defiance flickering in her hazel eyes. But she does sit still.

“Can you follow my finger with your eyes?”

She does, gingerly rubbing one of her knees. Guilt stabs me in the chest. I had no idea she was there, but that doesn’t excuse what I did. I obviously hurt her, and it’s even worse that I did it horsing around with JP.

“Okay, that’s good. Now follow my finger up and down.”

“I’m fine.” She pushes up on a hand, trying to get up. “I have to get my boss her lunch.”

“You could have a concussion.”

She scoffs. “I said I’m fine.”

She’s pretty. Her eyes are a mix of green, brown and gold, framed by thick, dark lashes. Her hair is pulled back at the nape of her neck and she’s wearing plain jean shorts and a T-shirt, but it’s impossible not to notice she has a great body. She’s a natural beauty.

I don’t recognize her, and I’ve looked up every contestant on the show I’m not familiar with.

When I stand up and offer her a hand, she lets me help her into a standing position. At six foot one, I’m a solid seven inches taller than her. I keep holding onto her hand, furrowing my brow.

“I’m really sorry. I’m Dalton, by the way.”

“Alice. And don’t worry about it.”

She releases my hand and I instantly miss the soft, warm feel of her skin on mine. As she walks over to the bags that flew from her arms, she limps slightly. I cringe, knowing her knee hurts and it’s my fault.

“Here, let me,” I say as she bends to pick up a bag.

I hurry over and get it for her. It’s heavy as shit and looks like it has glass bottles of water in it. There’s a plastic sack on the ground that was underneath the other one, and I hand her the lighter one, keeping the heavy one in my hand.

She opens the sack and takes out a brown paper container that’s smashed flat. When she flips the lid up, she groans and glares at me.

“Great,” she says in a sulky tone. “There’s no way she’s eating that.”

“I’ll replace it.”

Her eyes widen with frustration. “Can you replace it within five minutes? She’s already hangry.”

“It’s only...” I glance at the container. “Two pieces of sushi. Or it was, I guess. Now it’s more like pureed sushi.”

My grin gets me nowhere with Alice. She ignores me and reaches for the other bag on the ground.

“And the lavender is smashed, too.” She looks at me, her eyes narrowed in a death glare.

“I’ll replace it all,” I assure her. “But first, we need to figure out what’s going on with your knee. There’s a doctor on call. Let me figure out how to reach him.”

“Hey, Lorenzo!” JP calls out from the other side of the lawn. “We’re supposed to get inside for a meeting with the producers!”

“You go ahead!”

“You’re not coming?”

“I’ll get there when I can!”

I can’t just leave Alice here by herself. I’m texting a production assistant about reaching the doctor the producers have on call when I notice her walking away from me, still limping.

“Hey, wait,” I call out.

“Just find someone to leave the water in the kitchen for me.” She turns back to look at me, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. “I have to go get more sushi and lavender.”

“No, let me do that.”

Her lips curve up in a smile. “Trust me, you won’t get the sushi order right. And you’re a contestant on the show. You can’t just leave.”

I sigh, aggravated. Even though I must look like a douchebag to her right now, I’m actually not. I don’t knock women to the ground and leave them injured and alone.

“Let me Door Dash the stuff.”

She turns around and starts walking again. “That won’t work.”

“At least let me pay you for it!”

Alice calls over her shoulder. “It’s Farrah’s money. Don’t worry about it.”

She has to be talking about Farrah Reed. Maybe Alice is one of the show’s production assistants.

“Dalton!” Ben, who definitely is a production assistant for the show, is waving me over to the house’s main entrance.

I look back at Alice again and then jog over to Ben.

“They’re waiting on you so they can start the meeting,” he says.

My mind is still on my run-in with Alice.

“Does Alice work for the show?”

He wrinkles his brow, confused. “Alice? I don’t know of anyone named Alice.”

I gesture to the woman walking away from the house. He squints, trying to make her out.

“Oh, her. That’s Farrah’s assistant.”

My brows shoot up. “Farrah brought her own assistant?”

“So I’m told. But listen, you have to get into the meeting. Let’s go.”

I shake my head. “Listen, I was playing catch with JP and I ran into Alice. I think her knee is hurt. I want a doctor to look her over.”

“Yeah, we’ll take care of it.” He puts a hand on my back. “Seriously, you have to get to this meeting. We plan to start shooting tonight and we can’t afford to fall behind.”

I glance over my shoulder at Alice, who’s passing a security guard, still limping. I’ll have to check in on her later. Ben leads the way to the meeting, and I follow.

“For the rivalry between you and JP, we want it to be lighthearted. Little barbs between the two of you. I have some examples if you need them.”

I keep my game face on as Alex, one of the producers of Celebrity Love Malibu , tells me about the plans producers have for this season of the show.

“So this show is...scripted? My agent didn’t tell me that.”

Alex waves a hand, dismissing my concern. “Nah, it’s not scripted. We just have some directions we like to lead you guys to make for better television. It would be boring if everyone liked each other, right?” He laughs. “We like to keep the tension as taut as a swimsuit model’s stomach. We have what we call a Three-Legged Stool of Tension.” He lists them off on his fingers. “Chemistry. Love Triangles. Rivalries. You and JP will fall into the rivalry category, but it'll be a passive-aggressive rivalry. We have to keep your team owners and fans happy, and we respect that.”

I blow out a breath. I should have known this show wouldn’t be all fun and games. When my agent told me about it, he said the producers of the show had approached the executives in charge of pro hockey and asked them to recommend a player who met the criteria they were looking for.

I assumed the criteria were one, single and two, willing. But now I’m not so sure. The woman in charge of public relations for the league came to Minneapolis, my team’s home city, last week to meet with me and the PR people for the Mammoths, my team.

Rita was clear about her expectations for my appearance on the show. I’m supposed to be likable and charming. Make viewers see hockey players as good guys they can root for. The league expects to see correlations between my episodes of the show and way more people following and checking out pro hockey’s social media pages.

“I’ll talk to JP and see what I can do,” I tell Alex.

“Great. But don’t rehearse anything. We want this to all seem organic.”

Organic. Right. The producers had a meeting with all sixteen contestants where they hit a few high points about the filming schedule for this week, and then they started taking us one and two people at a time for other meetings. This is my first one, and I’m already not looking forward to the others.

Alex looks down at the iPad that has his notes on it. “As far as partners, we’d really like to see some initial chemistry between you and June Calloway.”

I suppress a groan. “The TikTok influencer?”

Ugh. I looked her up when I got the cast list. She talks nonstop and looks like a high school kid.

“Right. June is twenty, so she can’t legally drink. It would be great if you’d bring her a virgin cocktail tonight at the party.”

I just stare at Alex for a few seconds. “Dude, I’m twenty-nine. I don’t date women who aren’t old enough to drink.”

He smiles. “No, it won’t go that far. No sex or anything. We just want to see a spark, you know? It works a lot better when viewers see connections happen, but then, in subsequent shows, there’s chemistry with others. We want them talking on socials about who should be together and why. It’s best if they’re guessing until the end.”

I shift in my chair, one of about a dozen arranged around a stone firepit outside the beach house. “So this isn’t about who I actually have chemistry with?”

He shrugs. “It could be. We have contestants who met on this show and ended up dating afterward. We even had a couple get married. But no, we can’t just leave things to unfold on their own, or it wouldn’t be good television.”

I nod, cringing inside at the thought of flirting with a twenty-year-old who’s obsessed with herself. June’s videos are all about her skin, her face, her body, her nails...even her fucking pores. Apparently she’s not a fan of them. But Rita made it clear that I have to do my assigned job on this show, so I will.

“Questions?” Alex asks.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay, so go shower and get changed. Mallory is your wardrobe person. You can get your clothes for tonight from her. Then, report to makeup. We’ll start shooting the cocktail party at six fifteen sharp.”

“Makeup? And I can’t wear my own clothes?”

A flicker of annoyance passes over Alex’s face. “The makeup won’t show. It’s just so you aren’t shiny or blotchy on camera--every contestant has to do it. And not all clothes look good on camera. Just trust the professionals to handle this stuff, okay? The actors are all used to it. I forget that the athletes aren’t.”

I scrub a hand down my face. “Yeah, okay.”

“Great. Remember, lots of smiling tonight. Lots of energy. Give me wistful and hoping to fall in love vibes.”

I force a smile. I was really just hoping to have a good time here, have some beach house sex and maybe come out of it with a famous girlfriend I like a lot. But they won’t be filming us the entire time, so hopefully, I can still get what I really want when the cameras are off.