Page 9 of You’re The One (Saints Hockey #2)

NINE

I’ve offered roses to twelve of the eighteen women staying, purposefully skipping Mia’s name. She picks at her dress, standing on the second row of the platform between Summer and Emma. Both already have roses in hand.

If she wants to play games, so can I.

Mia shouldn’t stand out among the others in their more elaborate and colorful dresses, but somehow, she does. She’s in a black dress that defies gravity… We already know my thoughts on the back, but the front dips nearly as low. With her modest chest, it’s sexy but not over the top?—

Why the hell am I checking her out again? Fuck.

My gaze darts to her face, and what started as disinterest, then transformed into annoyance, now holds hints of uncertainty.

I’ve made her sweat enough. Lucky number #13. My jersey number.

“Mia,” I call.

She steps down, careful to lift the hem of her floor-length gown so she doesn’t trip. The other women part for her as she makes her way toward me, hands clasped in front of her.

I clear my throat. “Mia, will you be one of my eighteen? Will you continue this journey with me?”

She doesn’t answer right away, and for a second, I wonder if she’ll actually say no. With the cameras rolling—one of them circling to catch every angle—there won’t be a thing I can do to stop her. And admittedly, I don’t like the idea of her leaving. I need her help.

Her eyes twitch with the effort not to roll. “I’d love nothing more,” she says, way too sweetly.

“Thank you.” I hold out the flower, and she takes it—but I don’t let go. I wrap my hand around hers.

“Do you know what kind of flower it is?” I taunt.

My eyes drop to the stem we’re gripping a little too tightly. I asked the producers to find one as soon as I knew I was keeping her.

She glances down. “You couldn’t just give me a normal red rose like everyone else?”

“This one’s better. It’s a Hellebore. Blooms in winter, when most things don’t. Figured that suited you.”

Her brows pull together. But just as quickly, she shakes it off and straightens her spine.

“Thanks.” One word, sharp as ice.

She tries to pull back, but I keep my hand around hers.

“So, we’re in agreement?” I ask, softer, though I know the mic will still pick it up.

She lifts her brows, clearly unimpressed that I’m putting her on the spot. But after a beat, she nods.

“Say it,” I murmur.

“Deal,” she practically spits, yanking the flower—and her hand—from my grip.

I open my arms, and she steps into them, reluctantly, though there’s a little less resistance than last time. I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face.

Who knew a hug could feel this satisfying? Like scoring on Hellebuyck—hard-earned, and all the more rewarding.

Before she pulls away, I lean in.

“Oh, and wash your hands,” I murmur, tipping my chin toward the bloom. “It’s poisonous.”

Her eyes widen slightly before she drops it and steps on it without missing a beat. “Oops.”

Emile mutters a curse from across the room, and Bodhi just shakes his head.

I tip mine back and laugh.

The rest of the ceremony goes off without a hitch. I send home six women—the one I kissed included—which turns out to be easier than I expected.

Honestly, the hard part was picking eighteen I’m actually interested in. A few sparked genuine curiosity, but that instant, intangible thing I was hoping for? Still missing.

I’m hopeful now, though, that I’ll find it. With my little matchmaker’s help.

Bodhi appears at my side. “Ready to see your temporary home?”

It’s nearly midnight, and after meeting that many women in one night, I feel like I’m about to turn into a pumpkin. I’m an extrovert, but even I have my limits.

I say goodnight to the group, everyone except Mia, who practically sprints out of view the second a producer yells “cut.”

Figures.

I follow Bodhi out of the mansion and into the back of a black SUV.

“Here.” He hands me a spiral-bound notebook. “I made this for you.”

I glance at the cover, then back at him. “Hey, how far away is this place?”

“Oh, just down the street. You could probably walk there if you really wanted.” He shrugs, then gestures to the notebook in my lap. “Anyway. That.”

I flip it open, thumbing through the pages.

Photos. Names. Notes. Bios.

“What is this? A roster?” I’m reminded of Mia’s previous comment. I guess she wasn’t far off about that, at least when it comes to this show.

“Pretty much. I know it’s hard to keep track of so many new people. And you’ve got a lot of decisions coming up. This’ll make it easier.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” I murmur, still flipping.

“So, you’ve got a smaller group date tomorrow with six women, a one-on-one, and then a larger group date to close out the week. Any idea who you want for the individual date?”

“Not really,” I admit.

“What about the group date tomorrow?”

“Mia,” I reply automatically. We need a chance to talk strategy, after all.

He taps something into his phone. “Who else?”

“Umm…” I flip through the pages, pointing to women I remember from the night but couldn’t name without Bodhi’s cheat sheet.

“Good. At least we’ve got that settled, and I can prep the date card. Think on the one-on-one tonight, yeah?”

I nod, but I’m counting on a little insight from Mia to help make that call.

The car pulls into a driveway leading to what looks like a bungalow, but in an ultra-modern style. All glass exterior, clean lines, dark wood accents.

I huff a laugh. Figures. The thing that feels inexplicably wrong about my “home” follows me here. But he wasn’t kidding. It’s maybe a dozen houses down from the mansion where the women are staying. Which I appreciate. I mean, if I’m meant to keep an eye on Mia, I should be close, right?

Bodhi follows me to the front door. After unlocking it, he hands over the key.

“Let me know if you need anything. Per your contract, there are no cameras or mics inside. But if the women stop by, production will follow them?—”

“Are they allowed to do that?” I’m not sure what answer I want. Actually, I do. Which only makes it more confusing. But then again, I’ve never liked people in my space unless they’re friends or my dad.

He shrugs. “Technically, no. But it wouldn’t be the first time someone has broken the rules.”

“Got it.”

“If you need anything, there’s a call button on the remote that notifies me.”

“Christ, I sound like a senior citizen with Life Alert.”

“Just a bachelor without a phone. Safety still matters.” He offers a smile. “If you’re all set, I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He heads back to the car, and I’m halfway through closing the door when he calls out, “Oh, wash your face! You still have makeup on.”

Shit. I forgot about that.

I raise a hand in thanks, then shut the door and flick the deadbolt.

And for the first time all day, I let myself take a deep breath.

Tomorrow will be better. I’ll reset. Regroup.

And I’ll have my first group date.