Page 3 of You’re The One (Saints Hockey #2)

THREE

“Kiss, kiss, kiss!” I chant, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“You do realize this is a housewarming party, not a wedding, right?” Mia snips, quiet enough for only me to catch. She’s standing awfully close for someone who supposedly hates me.

Logan leans down and captures Hannah’s lips.

I give Mia a look that says told you so , and she rolls her eyes.

We’re all here to celebrate their new home, as if we didn’t all know the moment she moved in, it was a forever kind of thing. Took them a while to catch up, but hey, it’s a good excuse for a party.

And a perfect opportunity to share my news with my teammates and friends.

“I know this is your day,” I announce, “but do you mind if I steal the spotlight for just a minute more?”

Logan arches a brow, amusement in his eyes.

“Oh, now you ask…” Mia mutters under her breath.

I shoot her a look, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the camera crew enter the yard through the newly installed gate between our properties.

I shake out my hands, trying to expel an unexpected rush of nerves.

My impulsive decision to search for love on national television is starting to feel way more real, as the cameramen from You’re The One take their places around the space, covering every angle.

It won’t be my first time on TV. In fact, I’m on there multiple times a week during the season. But I’m playing hockey, one of the few things I’m good at.

Love? That ranks pretty low on my list of strengths. But the show made it look so easy, I figured even I could pull it off.

I clear my throat, steeling myself. Confidence hasn’t failed me yet. “If it weren’t for Hannah and Ryan introducing me to my favorite show, You’re The One , I wouldn’t be standing here and telling you all that I’m going to be their next bachelor.”

The crowd erupts into a mix of cheers, laughter, confusion, and dropped jaws. Volk, our goalie and the grumpiest bastard on the team, slaps me on the back. “Another one bites the dust.”

“I’ll always be a Sinner, don’t worry, bud,” I joke.

Ada and Natalie giggle from their corner of the yard, and Volk shoots a pointed glare at Natalie. Some might find it concerning, but it’s basically his love language.

Mia, still next to me, looks like she’s seen a ghost, but the shock fades quickly into a familiar, sour expression. Not surprising.

It’s not like I’m looking for her approval.

“To finding your one true love.” I raise my glass toward Lo and Hannah. “Looks like I’m next.”

Mia coughs, and I turn toward her with a wide smile.

As the crowd disperses, breaking into groups and picking up previous conversations, I’m greeted by no less than five cameras, each with someone holding them, along with a producer named Emile, whose accent is similar to Volk’s, and a “handler”—whatever the hell that means—who looks more like a professional surfer than someone who works in Hollywood.

“I’m Bodhi. You probably don’t know what a ‘handler’ is… Think of me as your assistant. I’m here to guide you through the process and make sure you get where you’re going and on time. This one”—he gestures toward Emile—“is a stickler for punctuality.”

Okay, we’re diving straight in.

“Got it,” I manage, temporarily overwhelmed by having all the lenses trained on me.

Emile nods, turning to the cameramen and barking out directions.

Bodhi must sense my discomfort. “I know it’s hard, but you’re the star of the show. We want you to look good, so odds are everything that airs will be complimentary.” He chuckles. “Just don’t do anything salacious. Not gonna lie, they’ll air that, too. For the ratings, you know?”

Except, I don’t really know. “Like what?”

He tips his head from side to side. “Let’s not worry about that now, yeah? Just be yourself. Enjoy the party and pretend we’re not here.”

“Got it,” I repeat, silently telling myself to get it together. I slip into the mask I wear for interviews and public appearances: unbothered, charming, personable. I want the women to see the real me, but none of them are here today.

My focus drifts until a welcome distraction shows up in the form of King, our captain, with Helm, our rookie and my linesman.

He plays right, with Lo at center forward.

King pulls me into a conversation about his new cat—of all things—and how his injury recovery’s going, while Helm fills us in on his summer plans, which involve picking up women and getting up to all kinds of nonsense.

The guys call him my mini-me, and honestly? I can’t argue. I laugh, realizing he’s exactly like I was a decade ago… and I’m still not the best at staying out of trouble. Hopefully, he fares better with age and experience.

The rest of the afternoon drags. Emile occasionally jumps in with questions from off-screen and pulls my friends aside for what look like interviews— they better be singing my praises .

But he’s gathering more than that. Clips of me laughing with the guys.

Wide shots of the house. Whatever filler they need to make me look like the perfect bachelor.

All the pieces for that cheesy “introducing the bachelor” montage in the first episode.

They haven’t asked me to film a shower scene. Yet. I doubt I’ll be spared from that embarrassment. Every season includes the slow pan of a guy’s abs, water dripping dramatically down them.

At least my abs are up to snuff.

Bodhi sticks by my side, like some kind of emotional support dog. I don’t mind it. His carefree beach-bum vibe helps keep my nerves in check. But when he’s not with me, his attention drifts to Mia. Every time he disappears, I find him talking to her.

I head their way with a refill for Mia in hand. Her laughter grows louder the closer I get. When I touch her elbow, she startles, but Bodhi looks delighted by my interruption. I get the sense it takes a lot to rattle this guy.

Mia takes the beer and hands me her empty. “Having fun?” I ask.

“Yeah, bro. This place has great energy,” Bodhi answers, like I was asking him.

Mia’s lips twitch around the bottle before she takes a swig. “Great energy,” she echoes, her tone mocking, though Bodhi doesn’t catch on.

“I haven’t seen you around.” I’m convinced she’s switched up her morning routine just to steer clear of me.

“That’s probably because I’ve gotten better at avoiding you,” she confirms.

God, this woman. She’s either pretending I don’t exist or chewing me out. I think I prefer the latter.

“That’s a shame. I’ve missed you,” I tease, giving her my widest smile.

She returns it with a scowl. “The feeling isn’t mutual.”

We stand there, silent, but holding eye contact.

Bodhi laughs. “Oh, you guys are a hoot. This’ll be?—”

“Congrats are in order,” Mia cuts him off. “What are you going to tell your current roster of women? I’m sure they’ll be disappointed you’re off the market. Or maybe you’ll keep them around. That’s what your type does, isn’t it?”

I finally get a smile out of her, but it’s biting, not sweet. She couldn’t be more wrong, but I don’t correct her. “I’m flattered you’re worried about me, but rosters are for hockey, no?”

Her jaw ticks. “They should be.”

“Do you have any tips for me?” I ask, not ready for our conversation to end. There’s something satisfying about getting under her skin.

“On finding love?” she huffs. “No, definitely not.”

“Maybe love is around the corner for you, too.”

“I very much doubt that.”

I shrug.

She hands the still-nearly-full bottle back to me. “Right, well, I’ve got to get going. I told my dad I’d be back tonight?—”

“You’re not staying for the fireworks?”

“Why you thought fireworks were necessary, I’ll never know…”

“Everyone likes fireworks. And I won’t be here for the Fourth of July,” I reason.

“I’d rather not be around when you’re handling explosives.”

“Wait.” I stop her, not even sure what I’m trying to say. “You’re not driving, are you? You’ve been drinking,” I point out needlessly, the bottle in my hand serving as proof.

Her brows scrunch together. “No,” she draws out the syllable slowly. “I took the train here, and that’s how I’ll get back.”

“You’re not staying here anymore?” I gesture toward her brother’s house behind us.

“I have to go home before… I just have to go home,” she snaps.

“All right. All right.” I lift my hands in surrender. “Want a ride? I can take you.”

Why the hell did I offer that?

I leave for Malibu tomorrow, but I’m not ready for her to go. I was hoping for at least one more verbal lashing. What does that say about me? Do I have a degradation kink? Christ, no. I shake off the thought. It’s the challenge I like. The kind most people don’t give me.

And this is my last chance. I’ll be filming for the next eight weeks… looking for my future wife.

There’s a good possibility I’ll be coming back engaged . The word still feels weird in my mouth.

“No thanks.” She pats my chest, the gesture almost condescending, before turning to hug Bodhi. Apparently, he’s deserving of one.

“We’re all good?” she asks after they separate, and with his nod, she moves off to say her goodbyes.

“What was that about?” I question Bodhi once she’s out of earshot.

“Oh, that.” He clears his throat. “She told me she’s planning a trip out to the West Coast. We made plans to meet up when she’s out there. Cool girl.”

My stomach twists, which I blame on all the junk food I’ve eaten today.

I’ll have to let Logan know. He won’t be thrilled about his little sister meeting up with some random dude halfway across the country.

And I’m not sure I am either.