Page 29 of The Love Dare
Tyler pushes the memory away and plays the final voicemail. It’s from Alex.
“Are you kidding me, man?The Love Match? And I had to find out from my mother? You can’t do this to me. She’s going to drive me nuts. She already talked my ear off for like an hour this morning and you barely even did anything. I saw the clip, by the way. Like fifty people texted it to me. You know, you could have just called if you were having trouble with the ladies. I would’ve helped you. This is a bit drastic, don’t you think? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I can’t wait to laugh my ass off watching you attempt to be social on national TV, but still. You know I’m here if you need me. Oh, also, watch out for Cronholm tonight. I still have a bruise the size of Texas on my ribs from the shit that asshole pulled on me last week. Did you talk to Winnie yet? I bet she’s loving this. Romance is like her thing. Anyway, call me later. Bye.”
At the sound of her name, Tyler’s heart gives a painful lurch. It happens every time one of the Rusus oh-so-casually mentions the elusive fourth member of their family. He’s grown used to the subtle ache over the years, so familiar with it he can’t even remember a time when the thought of her wasn’t accompanied by a sharp pang.
He rubs at the zgardan bracelet tattooed on his wrist. The night she drew it for him lives crystal clear in his mind. He felt like a bit of a perve, barging into her room unannounced to find her curled up in her window seat wearing a pink spaghetti-strap pajama top and matching shorts that verged on indecent. Shehad no idea how beautiful she was. No idea how wild that little bit of lace trim crossing over her chest drove him. No idea how the sight of her hit him like an illegal check to the head, leaving him dizzy. It was the worst thing those assholes at her school did to her—somehow convinced her she wasn’t desirable, when no matter how hard he tried, Tyler always found it impossible to look away. They watched countless movies together, and for the life of him, he can’t name a single one. He was too busy trying not to get a boner every time her breath whispered across his skin.
The pain was worth every second.
God, I’m pathetic.
He groans and drops his arm, somewhat surprised the tattoo hasn’t faded. He goes to it too often, like a crutch, anytime he needs a bit of comfort, a little reminder of her sunshine when his world gets too dark to handle.
Whatisshe going to think about all this?
Is Alex right? Will she love it? Will she swoon with each episode? Will she cheer him on from the sidelines, as though it’s just another one of his games? Will she be happy for him? Will?—
Stop.
Just stop already.
Enough.
Maybe this show will be good for him after all. He needs to move on from this obsession, and nothing else he’s tried has ever worked. Maybe the show will. Maybe taking a break from hockey to focus on his personal life will force him to open up, to let someone new in. And even if it doesn’t, the executive producer was right—it’s a free vacation around the world surrounded by thirty gorgeous women. Who the hell is he to complain? He’s a lucky son of a bitch, and any guy on the street would gladly trade places.
There’s no downside.
Nothing can possibly go wrong.
By the time Tyler arrives at the rink that afternoon, he’s almost convinced himself it’s a good idea.Almost.But then the cameras start flashing the moment he steps out of his car. And when he enters the locker room, there’s a bouquet of red roses sitting in front of his jersey. When he goes to throw it out, a glitter bomb explodes in his face. His teammates snicker. One drops to a knee while three more start to softly sing the intro music to the show. Coach comes in before it gets too out of hand, but the game is no better. It’s not the under-the-breath comments from their opponents. Those are fuel. He scores two goals, despite Cronholm’s dirty checks. It’s the fans. The stands are packed with puzzle-piece-shaped posters asking if he’s their perfect match. There must have been some hashtag he missed on social media, because half the women show up in ball gowns. Some of them throw their bras onto the ice. During the postgame interviews, reporters won’t stop asking questions. He gets tired of hearing himself say,No comment.
When he gets home, he scans his phone again. Still nothing from Winnie. But another name draws his eye. Samantha Peters. Winnie’s best friend. They spoke briefly after the live taping the other night, but she was busy with her fiancé, and he was busy having a mental breakdown, so he barely remembers what was said. He has no idea what she wants now, but if there’s even a chance it has to do with Winnie, he’ll take it.
He clicks on her name. The message is short, seven words, easy enough to digest.
Get your head out of your ass.
His brow furrows. They’ve hung out a few times in New York while he and Alex visited Winnie, but they’re not friends. He doesn’t even remember why he has her number. And he’s too tired to care. He dictates his own message into the phone.
Was this by accident?
Her response is immediate.No.
Then what the hell does it mean?
Just a little friendly advice, she types back, then adds,Good luck on the show. You’re going to need it.
Tyler grunts and tosses his phone to the side. He doesn’t have the brainpower to decode her riddle right now, and he doesn’t want to. He collapses face-first into his pillow instead. Six months of this shit. He’ll never make it.
Jared was right.
He’s the biggest fucking idiot in the world.
CHAPTER NINE
winnie
1 HOUR BEFORE FILMING
