Page 9 of You're The One
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.
HELLEBORES IN A HANDBASKET
NIGHT 1
FOUR
The bristles tickle my nose,making me want to sneeze.
“Is this really necessary?”
“Believe me,” Margie, the makeup artist, says, “no one looks good with a shiny face.”
“I’ll take your word for it. I assume the arena lights are more forgiving?” I wink.
“I’m just glad I have such a pretty canvas to work with.” She runs her knuckles down my cheek, then gives it a pinch. “When they told me our next bachelor was a hockey player, I thought I’d have my work cut out. But just look at you.”
Her eyes hold a humorous glint. I only met her an hour ago when she was tasked with getting me camera-ready. Apparently, that involves a lot of fussing over my face. Margie reminds me of my aunt: probably in her late fifties and dressed like she belongs in an ‘80s hair band, with cheetah-print pants, a Def Leppard concert tee, and fire-engine-red hair. She clearly subscribes tothe higher the hair, the closer to Godphilosophy.
I can already tell I’m going to like her.
But this whole television-star thing is not at all what I expected. For one, I never imagined I’d have someonepowdering my nose. The closest I’ve come is our team’s trainers patching cuts with butterfly bandages mid-game.
The guys would have a field day if they saw me now. Thankfully, my Saints teammates aren’t around to give me shit, though their company might distract me from the anxiety of dating on national television.
Of dating in general.
My friends were a nice buffer during the first day of filming, but today is when the real fun begins. I’m about to meet the women. All twenty-four of them.
While I’ve never exactly been a one-woman man, dating multiple women simultaneously wasn’t ever on my wish list. Hell, until last season, I wasn’t looking to date at all, let alone settle down. I wonder—not for the first time—if love is contagious, and I’ve caught the monogamous bug.
Ever since I moved next door to my best friend and his girlfriend, one-night stands have lost their appeal. So instead of my usual off-season routine—spending my days on a beach with a woman rubbing sunscreen onto my back and my nights with her rubbing… other places—this summer, I’m looking forthe one.
I flinch as a smaller brush loaded with cold goop runs under my eyes. “And what’s that?”
“Concealer. Don’t want your dark circles showing.” She rummages through her cart until she finds a tiny tube and presses it into my palm. “Here. This’ll help. You can’t turn back the clock, only slow the ticking.”
I flip the container over. Anti-aging cream.
“Hey! I’m only thirty-one.” I shift to catch my reflection in the mirror behind her. Although I guess she has a point, my face does look brighter, not a speck of oil in sight.
She steps back in front of me, wielding a tiny comb to smooth the hair above my lip. “You’re sure there’s no convincing you to let me chop this thing off?”
I jerk away with a gasp, my hand flying up to protect my most prized facial possession. “Absolutely not!”
She throws her head back, laughter shaking her entire body. The sound abruptly cuts off when the trailer door slams.
“Dominic! How’re you doing, my dude?” Bodhi greets with a wide smile that matches his “everything is groovy” vibe. His shoulder-length, messy blond hair is thrown up into a bun—a style King often rocks, but on Bodhi, it looks stupid.
Okay, I might be holding a slight grudge based on his interaction with Mia in Logan’s yard. Hard to believe that was only a couple of days ago. It’s been a whirlwind since I stepped off the plane.
He steps into my line of sight. “You ready to meet the women?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
