Page 19 of Say Yes to the Nemesis

“Yeah. Whatever you want.”

I push away from the sidewall and skate into the center, dropping the pucks and controlling them with my stick.

I’m a defenseman for the Atlanta Ice Storms, so I don’t even know if slapping pucks into the net is a good representation ofwhat I actually do. But Rich is pretty insistent on people needing to see pucks in goals.

Rich wades out onto the ice behind the cameraman. Neither of them moves like they’re comfortable out here. This is their first time shooting on location at a hockey rink. This show isn’t about hockey players in general.

I slap the puck toward the net. It hits the back of the goal cleanly. I skate around the cameraman and Rich in a wide circle.

“So, Ryan,” Rich calls, “go ahead and explain why you’re onThe Last Kissthis year. What are you looking for in a relationship? Your goals romantically, etcetera.”

I knit my brows as I skate. The ice is smooth, perfect, like it is just before a game.

How the hell do I even begin to answer that?

“I’m onThe Last Kissbecause I want to find my soulmate.”

Okay. That’s a little bit of a lie.

I barely keep a straight face. If I really believed in soulmates, I wouldn’t be here. I’m here for one reason: money. Security. Making damn sure I never end up back in that shitty apartment with no power and nothing in the fridge.

But nobody’s really asked me that outright.

The lines come easy. They’re not mine, but I’ve said worse things with a smile. I’m not looking for love. I’m looking for survival. And a little less silence in my apartment.

I suck in a breath. “I would like to meet my soulmate. I’ve dated a lot, and so far, I haven’t found the one I’m meant to be with forever. But I think I have a real shot here.”

At what, though? Fame? Faking it? Getting clipped into some girl’s dream montage before we ever even have a real conversation?

Stopping near the pile of pucks, I grab another and move it down the ice toward the goal.

I know I need to recite the lines Rich has been drilling into me. He’s not just a showrunner, he’s a coach, my coach, in a way. Helping me craft the perfect answers.

It feels phony saying most of it out loud, but that’s what I’m getting paid for. These lines aren’t mine. They’re scripted. Manufactured. A real relationship? That’s a hell of a lot messier. I know, because I’ve never actually had one that didn’t crash and burn.

I shoot the puck into the net and turn, lifting my hands in the air like I just won the Cup.

“Yes!” I exclaim.

Rich grins. “You’re looking good out there, Ryan. Can you talk a little about your expectations? How do you feel about meeting the bachelorettes? Nervous?”

I skate in another wide circle.

“I’m excited,” I say. “You know, I have a little bit of a reputation as a ladies’ man. But that’s the old Ryan. I want to settle down. Hopefully, one of the women I’m going to meet today makes me want to get down on one knee.”

It’s a half truth. I’m not excited about the spotlight or the contestants or the weekly eliminations. But there’s one thing I can’t stop thinking about. Or one person, perhaps. And that’s very much not a part of the script.

If Wren sees this, she’ll roll her eyes. Call it a performance. Maybe it is. But I’m not lying about everything.

“Tell us a little about your family, Ryan.”

My jaw tightens. I skate back to the pile of pucks, separating one and controlling it with my stick as I loop the rink.

“Well… Ellie’s my little sister.”

I flip the puck upward and catch it on the blade, then dribble it a few times. It’s pure showboating. I know that. But I can’t help myself.

“Ellie’s my whole world. We’re extremely close. I’m lucky to have her in my life.”