Page 2 of Say Yes to the Nemesis

“Let me guess.” I spread my hands wide. “You want me to go easy on her.”

He chuckles. “Look, I know that you and Wren can’t stand each other. But do me a solid as your best friend of many, many years. Not to mention I’m your next-door neighbor…”

“You’re laying it on pretty thick, Jay.” I roll my eyes.

“Do me a solid. Don’t make a big deal out of Wren being on the show. Please don’t tell her I asked you, but look out for her. She keeps swearing that she’s saving money to move out of my house.” He puts his hand over his heart, admitting, “I can’t help but think of all the ways she could be mistreated. She’s my baby sister, Ryan. Wouldn’t you want me to look out for Ellie if the roles were reversed?”

He knows just where to slip the knife in between my ribs to make me roll over and die. I close my eyes, thinking of my little sister. I would do anything to protect her. The question is, can I transfer some of that protective, loving feeling to Wren, a girl who openly hates me?

“Fine.” I sigh and open my eyes again. “You got me when you mentioned Ellie.”

“I figured.” He grins. “Thanks, Ryan. Wren will be appreciative. Besides, she won’t be in the way. They’ll probably stick her in the back with a clipboard or something.”

“She’ll manage to be her usual self. Combative and snobby.”

“I won’t argue with that.” He leans back with that shit-eating grin he’s perfected over the past eight years of friendship. “Now that you agreed to my demands, let’s change the subject. Remind me how you ended up on this dating reality show? Because last time we talked, you were bitching about your endorsement deals. Now apparently, you’re signing up to have your dating life turned into prime-time entertainment. What gives?”

I run a hand through my hair, already dreading this conversation. “I didn’t volunteer for this circus. My business manager landed me this late-minute deal after I spent three months complaining about how my sponsorship portfolio looks like a garage sale.”

“Ah yes, the eternal struggle of being a hockey player in a city that thinks icing is something you put on cupcakes.”

“I’m one of the highest-paid guys on the team and still somehow invisible,” I say. My frustration bleeds through. “I get recognized more in the damn TSA line than I do at the grocery store. Atlanta’s not exactly a hockey town.”

Jay takes a long pull from his beer. “So your solution was to whore yourself out on reality TV?”

“My solution was to let my manager handle my career while I focus on not getting my teeth knocked out during the season.” I shrug. “This show isn’t about love, Jay. It’s about brand growth and national exposure. With hot tubs and champagne and whatever other bullshit they think makes good television.”

“But you’re kinda hoping for a hot girl with half a brain cell to rub against you in said hot tub?”

The question hits closer to home than I want to admit. I stare at the condensation ring my bottle’s left on the scarred wood table, tracing the edge with my finger. “Yeah. I mean, sure. I wouldn’t mind meeting someone who doesn’t feel like she’s auditioning for something every time she opens her mouth. Someone who surprises me.”

What I really want? Someone who doesn’t feel like she’s selling something. Someone who doesn’t look at me like a prize to be won or a trophy to be displayed. God, I don’t even know what that would feel like anymore.

Jay’s grin widens. “Look at you getting all soft and romantic. I predict that you’re gonna cry on week two.”

I grin and shrug. There isn’t much that Jay doesn’t know about me. Ever since we were assigned as roommates in college, we’ve been through thick and thin. He knows all my secrets.

Well, most of them, anyway.

“I’m not ruling it out,” I say, mostly in jest. Kind of. I do want to meet the future Mrs. Haart eventually. I’m just not sure reality TV is the place I’ll find her.

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the kind that only comes from years of friendship and shared bad decisions. The Tin Shed Pub hums around us. Neither of us speaks. We have that rare connection where we don’t need to fill every second with conversation.

I don’t even have that with Ellie, my beloved little sister. While I’m filming, nights off are going to be hard to come by. I’m going to miss hanging out with Jay as often as I do. He might not be on the hockey team, but we do live next door to each other and hang out all the time.

A movement across the bar catches my eye. I see a blonde woman waving at me from a high-top table near the windows. She’s got that look. The kind of smile that says she remembers more about our night together than I do. I wave back because I’m not a complete asshole, then lean toward Jay.

“Is that… tequila girl?”

Jay follows my gaze and snorts. “That’s Claire. She’s a middle school teacher.”

I screw up my face. “That doesn’t help.”

“She’s one of Calla’s friends. You met her here? She made you French toast the next morning.”

Calla is his bubbly raven-haired wife. That does help; I have a vague memory of Calla introducing me to a blonde. But when I pulled my usual shit and never called the number my hookup left for me, Calla scolded me. Something about not breaking teachers’ hearts.

My bad. It was just one night…