Page 37 of The Love Dare
But Tyler?
Her lips still tingle from that brief contact with his mouth, as if he’s part habanero pepper. Heat radiates from the spot. It’s not a feeling she can just wash away. The spice has already permeated the barrier, and the metaphorical water only swirled it around, inflicting more pain as point after point caught fire. Her entire body prickles.
Did I really dare him to fall in love with me?
Yes. Yes she did.
And his exact response was,No, Winnie, you don’t?—
You don’twhat?
You don’t love me. You don’t really mean it. You don’t understand that I’m trying to kindly turn you down in front of ten million people. I’m not interested in you that way, and I never will be.
Never.
Gah!she wants to scream. Instead she just releases a sad little groan, balls her hands into fists, and lifts her gaze to keep the tears from falling. In any other instance, the dark coffered ceiling would leave her feeling soothed, like a small piece of home to latch on to. Now, she just feels buried six feet under, her grim reaper a stunning blonde bombshell adorned in a lace flutter-sleeve gown.
But maybe the quick getaway was a mercy in disguise. Now she just needs to survive the rest of this cocktail party before she can crawl home with her tail between her legs and overanalyze every possible reason why a multimillionaire hockey player who can have any woman he wants isn’t interested in a twenty-five-year-old book-obsessed struggling artist who’s about to move back in with her parents.
The world may never know.
She cringes internally.
It’s too soon to wallow.
Winnie takes a deep breath and pulls herself together. She’s here. She might as well make the most of it and numb her pain with free champagne. It’s what Sam would do. She can practically hear her roommate’s unflappable voice in her ear.Never let them see you sweat. And never pass up an open bar. We’ve paid for way too many seventeen-dollar cocktails to skimp out on an opportunity like this.
Yes, we have.
Winnie lowers her chin, prepared to scope out a tray of bubbling flutes, when she catches sight of a black tuxedo instead.
Shit!
Her fight-or-flight instincts only operate on one mode. Without even thinking, she dives for the nearest hiding spot, which happens to be a pin-tucked leather couch. Winnie drops to all fours and presses her exposed back against the cool material just as the patio door opens. She hugs her knees to her chest, making herself as small as possible.
The move is apparently unnecessary, because Tyler doesn’t stop. Doesn’t call her name. Doesn’t appear to look for her at all. She sits there listening to his shoes click across the floor with a mix of relief and despair. Luckily, her disgrace is so complete she can’t even bring herself to feel embarrassed by her overreaction—and the blinking red camera that undoubtedly caught it all on film.
Or so she thinks.
Until soft tittering reaches her ears.
It’s not about me, she reasons. Then she hears, “God, she’s full of herself, isn’t she?” and “What a drama queen” and her personal favorite, “I told you she must be a stalker.”
It’s totally about me.
Winnie drops her head into her arms. Seven years since she graduated high school, seven years of progress, seven years of telling herself she’s moved beyond that little bullied girl, and yethere she is, hiding away as a bright spoke of shame pierces her chest.
I’m stronger than this.
She is. And truth be told, she doesn’t even blame them. This is what the producers set her up for, what she walked into—arriving after all the other girls, kissing Tyler without speaking a word, practically forcing him to cause a scene and chase her through the house for all the other confused, jealous women to see. What are they supposed to think?
“Are you all right?” a sweet Southern voice asks.
“I’ve been through worse,” Winnie mumbles.
“On national TV?”
“No.” Winnie laughs darkly and looks up into the bluest eyes she’s ever seen. Her mysterious savior wears a warm, wide smile. Two sweet dimples pucker her rosy round cheeks. The deep sapphire silk draped effortlessly over her knockout curves brings out the strawberry-blonde highlights in her light brown curls, which are held back by a studded headpiece. She looks like an Instagram filter come to life. Winnie’s momentarily awestruck before she remembers to add, “That’s a first.”
