Page 16 of Rule 2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show

“Where’s your mirror?” he asks instead, and I lead him to my bedroom.

His gaze flicks to the bed, and his face is even paler than before, which is weird, because my face feels redder and heat swirls through me. I feel embarrassed and awkward, like I’m fourteen again.

Melissa McCrune. She took me to Junior Prom when I was a freshman then took my virginity.

My friends were happy for me.

I was confused.

“Come.” He waits for me by the mirror, and I stare at him and at his reflection. That’s probably why he seems to fill the room.

I join him, but I don’t not notice the slight grimace he makes. He moves toward me quickly and professionally, and maybe I imagined the wariness in his gaze.

He stands behind me and ties my bow tie around my neck. I inhale some fancy cologne that’s nothing like the soap Troy and I use. It smells expensive, and I try to name the notes, but then he moves back, and I realize I’m inhaling and maybe that’s not something I’m supposed to do.

“See, you hold it like this,” he says in his tenor voice. “Then you cross it and fold it.”

He makes the moves slowly, and I try to focus, even though it’s strangely difficult. He’s three inches shorter than me, and when his cheeks brush against mine, he inhales sharply.

“Sorry,” I say.

He gives a tight smile. “You’re, um, good.”

His long lashes flicker downward, and I note at this close angle how the light hits his cheekbones.

He moves slowly, because I’m sure he doesn’t want to have to do this for me every time I have to dress up, and he bites his lower lip in concentration.

In Ashcove High some of the people used to call him pretty, but he’s only gotten prettier now. His blue eyes are wide-set, his features symmetrical like a Russian-painted doll.

I look down, my heart beating harder, even though my heart rate is normally pretty tame.

But I guess normally I’m not about to meet loads of women and be on television. Maybe one of them will become my wife, and we’ll live in happily ever after bliss.

My mind drifts to Sebastian again.

His fingers are long and narrow like his body, his fingernails are perfectly groomed, his skin soft when it accidentally touches my neck. My nerve endings zing, clearly as nervous and as on edge about this first filming as every other part of me.

Finally, his hands leave my neck, and I shiver, even though the room can’t possibly be much colder.

“The limo is downstairs,” Sebastian says, not looking at me. “The driver is circling.”

“Right.” I nod more times than necessary. “Super.”

“Uh-huh.”

I glance at the mirror. The tie is perfect. “Thanks.”

“All in a day’s work.”

“Okay.” I smooth my hair again, then yank my hand down when I see my fingers shake.

“It will be fine,” Sebastian said. “You’ll be great. They’ll love you.”

We leave the apartment, and the limo pulls over.

God, I can’t seriously be going to be in a limo waiting to be taken to meet ten women.

“This feels surreal.” My neck burns where Sebastian’s fingers touched me, and I have to stop myself from reaching up to trace the path they took.