Page 26 of The Love Dare
Of course that’s what her best friend would say. Sam is the bold one. The fearless one. The one who always leads the charge—whether it be skinny-dipping on a beach in Mexico over spring break, getting fake IDs to go clubbing, signing a lease for an apartment neither of their jobless asses could afford right after graduation, or going on a reality TV show to be dissected by millions of people. Sam is the main character, not her. Winnie is the sidekick. The tagalong. Actually, right now, she feels more like the milkmaid in the background staring longingly at the damsel draped across the hero’s lap while they ride off into the sunset.
“Come on, Win,” her friend whispers softly. “For once in your life, take a chance.”
“I—” God, does she want to be the milkmaid forever? “I?—”
“You know what? Don’t make a decision now. I’m going to text you Nina’s number. She’s one of the producers.”
“No!” Winnie cuts in. Because she and Sam both know that there is no way she’ll be able to sit idle if that number hides in her messages like an atomic bomb waiting to explode. The power is too alluring. “Sam—” The phone vibrates in her hand. “SAM! You didnotjust do what I think you did. Please tell me you didn’t.”
“I did,” Sam answers, not a single ounce of remorse in her tone. “I love you. And one day, you’ll thank me for this.”
“I will—” The line goes dead. Winnie squeezes her phone and defiantly shouts, “NOT!”
It’s no use. When she drops her hand to her lap, the text is there waiting. It’s still there one hour and one bottle of winelater. By then, though, her inhibitions are gone. So Winnie clicks on the contact labeledSpawn of Satanand holds her breath as the call rings.
“You lasted longer than Sam thought you would,” a knowing voice answers.
Winnie groans.
I guess it’s time to make a deal with the devil.
CHAPTER EIGHT
tyler
6 MONTHS BEFORE FILMING
Please tellme last night was a horrible, horrible nightmare.
Tyler blindly reaches for his nightstand and punches the button on his alarm. He scrubs his palms over his face. Five more minutes. He needs five more minutes before reality hits.
What the hell did I do?
It’s not that going on the show comes as a surprise. He signed contracts. He had many, many heated conversations with his agent and his publicist. He knew this day would inevitably arrive. It’s just now that it’s here, now that it’s real, now that he’s spent actual time grinning like a complete buffoon in front of a camera while that lying asshat of a host droned on and on about some epic love story, all the while knowing only two couples from the show’s entire run have actually stayed together, he can’t help but think he made a terrible mistake.
What choice did I have?
The only reason he took the call in the first place was because the executive producer made it seem as if they wanted to film a segment featuringBreakaway with Youth Hockey, a foundation he helped launch that focuses on bringing the sportinto underprivileged communities and providing aid for rising talent who lack the means to play at elite levels. He knows the problem all too well. If not for the generosity of his coach and mentor and practical adoptive father, Alexandru Rusu, he would have never made it as far as he did. Hockey isn’t the type of sport that depends on skill alone. Young athletes need to pay for ice time. They need to pay for lessons. They need to pay for gear. They need to pay for travel. And if they can’t, well, that’s the end of that, unless a guardian angel comes along who says otherwise.
And all Tyler wants to do in life aside from hockey, all he wants to do with the truly absurd amount of money he’s now being paid to do what he loves most in the world, is save someone the way Alexandru Rusu saved him.
So, yes, he took the fucking call. Events for the foundation were nothing new. But a segment was absolutely not what the executive producer, Trish Levithan, had in mind, which she made abundantly clear the minute he answered the phone.
It all comes rushing back in perfect detail.
“Hello?” he said. “Tyler speaking.”
“Thank you for taking my call,” came a sharp, feminine reply. “I have a very simple question for you. How would you like to spend six weeks traveling the world while thirty women battle for your heart?”
“Thanks but no thanks.” Tyler shut it down quickly, his disbelief ripe. Who did this woman think she was? Using his charity to trick him into a phone call? “I’ll be making eleven million dollars this year, not counting endorsements, so I think I can afford to travel the world the way I’d prefer to see it—alone.”
“Don’t hang up,” she quickly interjected, perhaps sensing that he’d already pulled the phone from his ear. “I’ll include promotions forBreakaway with Youth Hockey, and any number of other organizations I know you support, with every episode.You tell me who and I’ll write in script mentions, date features, calling cards. You name it, you’ve got it. You can’t buy exposure like that.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“And what about life after hockey? Will you take your chances with that, too?”
The absolute gall of this woman. “Yeah. I think I will.”
