Page 34 of Say Yes to the Nemesis

For a second, neither of us moves. Her fingers are curled against my shirt. I can feel the stutter of her breath. She’s staring at me like she’s not sure whether to punch me or kiss me.

It’s a disaster. My brain short-circuits. She’s right there, breath shallow, eyes wide. For a second, I forget we’re on a date. I forget there are cameras. All I can think is, don’t let go yet.

Then she shoves me back. “I will be so happy when this date is over.”

I smirk. “You’re fun when you’re mad.”

The rest of the skating is chaos in every direction. JacqLyn grabs both my hands and twirls in a full circle, laughing likethis is the best moment of her life. Mei films a slow-motion reel of herself doing one very hesitant spin, then yells at me not to ruin the lighting. Wren clings to the wall like she’s negotiating a hostage situation. Every time I skate past her, she glares like I personally invented ice just to ruin her day.

I live for it. The glares. The huffing. The fact that she’s clearly thinking about me. It’s better than silence. Better than being ignored. I’ll take her anger over her absence any day.

After the rink, we head over to the cozy setup. Firepit, faux fur blankets, hot cocoa in glass mugs with little gold spoons. The producers really went all out. It’s cheesy. Romantic. If you ignore the ten cameras lurking around the edges, it almost feels real.

JacqLyn grabs me first for solo time. We sit by the fire. She’s got that easy, breezy charm down pat. Cracking jokes, making increasingly filthy innuendos. Somehow managing to flirt and roast me at the same time.

“You’re not bad at this,” she says, sipping her cocoa. “I figured you’d be boring.”

“Some offense taken,” I say. “But you’re not wrong.”

She winks. “Don’t worry, Haart. You’ve got that broody ex-frat boy thing going for you. It’s like catnip.”

They’re funny, they’re flirty, they’re perfect for TV. But I’m only half listening. Because Wren’s sitting ten feet away, arms crossed like she’s trying to hold herself together. I want to go to her. I do.

Mei’s next. She slides in beside me, phone already out, her energy buzzing. “Okay, we’ve got to talk brand strategy,” she says. “Are you going family-man Ryan or reformed bad boy?”

I blink. “Depends on the edit.”

She points at me. “Good answer. Honestly, I think you’re tracking complicated but lovable. Very season six energy.”

“Season six?”

“The one where the guy fakes a breakdown but ends up married. Classic.”

Mei trips me out. She’s so busy looking at her own reflection that I’m not even sure she clocks me as a person. I’m just a prize to her, something she wins along the way on her journey to influencer fame. It’s unsettling to say the least.

The producers have saved Wren for last. I feel oddly heavy as I head over to where she is perched. What is she thinking about as she stares off into the distance?

She sits stiffly on the edge of a bench near the firepit, arms crossed like she’s trying to shield herself from more than just the cold. Her knees are pressed together, feet tucked to the side like she’s ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. Or me.

I flop down next to her.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

She doesn’t look at me. “For what?”

“For giving the producers what they want.”

She finally turns her head, glaring. “You picked me because it makes good TV. Congratulations. We’re probably already in the preview trailer.”

She’s talking about my persona, the mask I wear. It’s a role. The cocky hockey player. The safe bet. I lean into it because it’s easier than letting anyone close enough to see what’s under it.

It shouldn’t sting. In my line of work, I’ve had worse shouted at me. But coming from her? It feels like she took a scalpel to my chest and smiled while doing it.

“You think I’d risk your brother’s wrath just for ratings?” I lean in, lowering my voice. “If I wanted easy TV, I’d be making out with JacqLyn in a hot tub right now. But here I am.”

Wren huffs, but doesn’t say a word. I push it a little further because I can’t help myself.

“You’re the one who makes good TV,” I say. “You glare like a girl with a vendetta.”