Say Yes to the Nemesis (Wildflower Lane #2)

Chapter 1

one

RYAN

The Tin Shed Pub is busy when I step inside. I wave at Bennett, the owner who’s busy behind the bar, and head straight to the back. Stuffing myself into one of the cramped booths, I wince as I bang my kneecap on the bottom of the table.

I’m a pro hockey player. Most of my life is spent ducking, trying to fit in too-small spaces, and sitting with my knees touching the row in front of me.

I have the option of a table at the front of the restaurant…

but that comes with visibility. Right now, I’d rather be at an uncomfortable table at my favorite bar than be the center of attention.

That’s almost always the case.

A waiter swings by to take my order. I ask him for my usual, a pale ale and a basket of French fries. Hockey is over for the season. This is my version of cutting loose. He hurries off and I spread out as much as I can on my side of the booth.

This place gets me. No expectations, no cameras, no one asking me to smile pretty for the sponsors. Just beer, finger foods, and the loud burble of customers talking, mixed with plates clanking.

I’m savoring what might be my last moment of peace for the next two months when Jay Rustin slides into the seat across from me like he owns the place.

On numerous occasions, Jay has tried to buy into the bar.

Bennett always says no; he likes us enough to be good friends and neighbors but doesn’t ever want to give up even a little part of the oasis he’s built for himself.

Jay is an Instagram influencer with a huge following.

So huge that he has a staff of twelve people, has his own extremely successful line of camping gear, and takes almost as many fan selfies as I do.

I don’t know if that speaks more for how little the city of Atlanta cares about professional hockey players or for Jay’s insane charisma and charm.

“Well, well,” Jay says, flagging down the waiter with two fingers. “America’s most lovable man-whore is drowning his sorrows before letting a bunch of Instagram models fight over him on national television.”

I don’t even look up from my beer. “They’ll be lucky if I remember their names by the end of the first cocktail party. Hell, I don’t even remember yours half the time.”

“Good thing I come with a distinctive scent profile and a legally binding friendship pact. You’re my best friend for life.” Jay slides a fresh beer across the table toward me. “Plus, I’m way prettier than most of your usual conquests.”

“Debatable.” I clink my bottle against his. “To making terrible life decisions.”

“To getting paid obscene amounts of money for making terrible life decisions,” Jay says. He cocks a brow, making me laugh, and we both drink to his joke.

Well, sort of joke. Half a joke, half reality.

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this show. I need my head examined. Too many concussions. That’s the only explanation. Well, that and the fact that the show shoots here so I don’t have to uproot my life too much in order to film it.”

The familiar burn of alcohol hits my throat. I let myself sink deeper into the booth. Tomorrow filming starts. Tomorrow I start pretending that finding love on a reality show is anything more than an elaborate business transaction wrapped in rose petals and hot tub steam.

“About the show…” He says it like he’s about to ask for something, but I can’t guess what it could be. “You know that Calla and I are doing a cooking show on the same network?”

I bob my head. “Yeah. You two were discussing show titles the last time we were here.”

“Right. Well, as part of my contract, I hooked Wren up with an executive producing gig with the network.”

Wren is Jay’s little sister. She’s eight years younger than us, a complete nerd, and a sweetheart. Well, she’s shy and sweet to everyone else. With me, she’s a mouthy little nightmare.

I furrow my brow. The thought of potentially working in the same building as Wren is irritating, but that’s not really Jay’s problem. I shrug. “Okay. That’s good, I guess.”

Jay tilts his head. “Wren just texted me this morning and let me know that she got assigned to work on The Last Kiss .”

I feel like he just punched me in the solar plexus. My breath whooshes out.

Wren working on my show? Watching everything I do? Judging? Making that fucking face she has when she finds something too dumb for her superior intellect? Mumbling a constant string of sarcastic comments I can’t quite make out?

It sounds hellish.

“There are a ton of shows the network produces. Why does she have to work on mine?” It sounds whiny even to me, but I can’t help it.

“I knew you would say that.” Jay rubs the back of his neck and fidgets. “Here’s the thing. This is Wren’s first job with a boss that isn’t her big brother. She’s really nervous about it. You should see the research she’s compiled on it. So many sticky notes. Such a huge binder.”

I picture Wren as she often looked in college.

Sitting at Jay’s kitchen table with books spread before her.

Copper hair piled in a messy bun on her head.

A wrinkle between her brows as she scribbled something on a sticky note.

I once looked at one of her classics textbooks and was hard-pressed to find a section that wasn’t highlighted, underlined, or covered by a sticky note.

Yeah, that does sound like exactly how she would approach anything new and scary. Research is her strong suit.

“Let me guess.” I spread my hands wide. “You want me to go easy on her.”

He chuckles. “Look, I know that you and Wren can’t stand each other. But do me a solid as your best friend of many, many years. Not to mention I’m your next-door neighbor…”

“You’re laying it on pretty thick, Jay.” I roll my eyes.

“Do me a solid. Don’t make a big deal out of Wren being on the show.

Please don’t tell her I asked you, but look out for her.

She keeps swearing that she’s saving money to move out of my house.

” He puts his hand over his heart, admitting, “I can’t help but think of all the ways she could be mistreated.

She’s my baby sister, Ryan. Wouldn’t you want me to look out for Ellie if the roles were reversed? ”

He knows just where to slip the knife in between my ribs to make me roll over and die. I close my eyes, thinking of my little sister. I would do anything to protect her. The question is, can I transfer some of that protective, loving feeling to Wren, a girl who openly hates me?

“Fine.” I sigh and open my eyes again. “You got me when you mentioned Ellie.”

“I figured.” He grins. “Thanks, Ryan. Wren will be appreciative. Besides, she won’t be in the way. They’ll probably stick her in the back with a clipboard or something.”

“She’ll manage to be her usual self. Combative and snobby.”

“I won’t argue with that.” He leans back with that shit-eating grin he’s perfected over the past eight years of friendship.

“Now that you agreed to my demands, let’s change the subject.

Remind me how you ended up on this dating reality show?

Because last time we talked, you were bitching about your endorsement deals.

Now apparently, you’re signing up to have your dating life turned into prime-time entertainment. What gives?”

I run a hand through my hair, already dreading this conversation. “I didn’t volunteer for this circus. My business manager landed me this late-minute deal after I spent three months complaining about how my sponsorship portfolio looks like a garage sale.”

“Ah yes, the eternal struggle of being a hockey player in a city that thinks icing is something you put on cupcakes.”

“I’m one of the highest-paid guys on the team and still somehow invisible,” I say. My frustration bleeds through. “I get recognized more in the damn TSA line than I do at the grocery store. Atlanta’s not exactly a hockey town.”

Jay takes a long pull from his beer. “So your solution was to whore yourself out on reality TV?”

“My solution was to let my manager handle my career while I focus on not getting my teeth knocked out during the season.” I shrug.

“This show isn’t about love, Jay. It’s about brand growth and national exposure.

With hot tubs and champagne and whatever other bullshit they think makes good television. ”

“But you’re kinda hoping for a hot girl with half a brain cell to rub against you in said hot tub?”

The question hits closer to home than I want to admit.

I stare at the condensation ring my bottle’s left on the scarred wood table, tracing the edge with my finger.

“Yeah. I mean, sure. I wouldn’t mind meeting someone who doesn’t feel like she’s auditioning for something every time she opens her mouth. Someone who surprises me.”

What I really want? Someone who doesn’t feel like she’s selling something. Someone who doesn’t look at me like a prize to be won or a trophy to be displayed. God, I don’t even know what that would feel like anymore.

Jay’s grin widens. “Look at you getting all soft and romantic. I predict that you’re gonna cry on week two.”

I grin and shrug. There isn’t much that Jay doesn’t know about me. Ever since we were assigned as roommates in college, we’ve been through thick and thin. He knows all my secrets.

Well, most of them, anyway.

“I’m not ruling it out,” I say, mostly in jest. Kind of. I do want to meet the future Mrs. Haart eventually. I’m just not sure reality TV is the place I’ll find her.

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the kind that only comes from years of friendship and shared bad decisions. The Tin Shed Pub hums around us. Neither of us speaks. We have that rare connection where we don’t need to fill every second with conversation.

I don’t even have that with Ellie, my beloved little sister. While I’m filming, nights off are going to be hard to come by. I’m going to miss hanging out with Jay as often as I do. He might not be on the hockey team, but we do live next door to each other and hang out all the time.