Chapter 10
ten
WREN
The cast and crew are headed to an off-site shoot at The Righteous Room, a bar that’s not quite a hole-in-the-wall but definitely isn’t upscale, either.
It’s wedged at the intersection of three major nightlife zones: the sleek rooftop bars of East Midtown, the divey music joints off Edgewood, and the raucous college bars on Peachtree.
The result is a wild mix of regulars, tourists, and off-duty bartenders, all crammed into one chaotic space.
Ryan’s been acting weird ever since the group date. I can’t stop thinking about that moment. The kiss. The breath we shared. The static in the air.
Ugh, this is terrible.
I ride in an SUV with a bunch of the other contestants, most of whom are giggling and gossiping about the skating date.
JacqLyn is in our car. Thankfully, she’s soaking up the attention like a sponge.
She’s busy dishing about how amazing her mini date with Ryan was and how they are so meant to be .
I do my best to stifle my reflexive eye roll.
I pull out my phone and text Elena.
Hey, do you have a plan for how long I’ll be on the show? Just trying to be prepared. I don’t want my brother to be surprised when the show airs.
She replies with a single thumbs-up emoji. Nothing else. Great. It’s only the second week of filming and I’m already feeling trapped. Why did I ever agree to this, again?
By the time we pull up to The Righteous Room, I’m resigned to the fact that she’s either ignoring me or negotiating something more important. Either way, my stomach’s tight with nerves.
We changed clothes during the break, so now I’m stepping out of the SUV in a very short black silk skirt that barely covers my ass.
It’s paired with a distressed white crop top with a cartoon drawing of a pair of red lips with vampire fangs and the words LOVE BITES.
I tell myself that the outfit is strategic. My armor for the upcoming battle.
My hair has been tousled into what the stylist called “casual bedroom energy.” I feel like a half-dressed pop star wandering into someone else’s dream.
I’m playing a part. The seductive wild card, the edgy pick. But underneath the makeup and sky-high stilettoes, I’m still the weird girl who sat alone in high school reading Greek mythology at lunch. I’m not sure anyone here would believe that.
Inside, the place is packed. Booths line the right side of the room, the bar stretches down the left. There’s a glowing neon double jukebox at the back, already surrounded by tipsy locals. James Brown wails over the speakers. The crowd is so loud, they barely notice our arrival.
The second I walk in, everything goes quiet. People turn. Eyes land on me. I brace for someone to laugh.
But no one does.
They just stare. And for once, it’s not because I’ve said something awkward or tripped over my own feet. It’s because I look good. That thought sticks to my ribs, strange and sweet. I’m not invisible today. And it feels kind of amazing.
This place is a sensory overload nightmare. Too loud. Too bright. Too many eyes. But I’m not the same girl I was last year. I’m supposed to own this version of me. Supposed to.
The production crew ushers us into a sectioned-off row of booths where they’ve discreetly planted cameras. I slide into one of the booths and order a vodka cranberry and a basket of fries from a server who looks vaguely thrilled to be part of the chaos.
Heidi slides into the seat across from me and casually drops a tray of Jell-O shots on the table. “You seem like you need this,” she says, pushing one toward me.
I grin and down the cherry-flavored monstrosity in one go. It burns all the way down. “That was… aggressively alcoholic,” I choke.
Good. That’s what I want. To feel something loud and fuzzy. To be bold and reckless and maybe even a little bit seen.
“You’re welcome,” she says sweetly.
A few minutes later, she asks, “Wanna hit the jukebox?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
She hands me another Jell-O shot on the way, which I toss back even quicker than the first. We link arms and weave through the crowd.
I’m not here to play it safe. Safe got me overlooked. Safe got me stuck. So screw it. Let’s go full chaos.
“What are you gonna play?” she asks.
“Something classic. Ariana Grande, maybe?”
Her brows rise. “I didn’t expect that. I figured you’d go full emo.”
“I might look like I listen to Screamo, but I’m in my Ariana era.”
“You wear it well,” she says with a wink.
We get in line behind three people. While we wait, Heidi confesses that she’s also wearing clothes way sexier than usual, which makes me laugh. “Glad I’m not the only one who got a little push in the wardrobe department.”
“You clean up good, though,” she tells me.
I rest my head on her shoulder and sigh. “I didn’t think I’d make friends here. Glad I was wrong.”
“We’re hanging out after this show ends,” she promises. “No matter what happens. Though let’s be real. Ryan’s totally into you.”
“Nope.” I shake my head fast. “He’s pretending. It’s all for the show.”
She gives me a look but doesn’t argue. I want to tell her everything. That I’m a producer plant, that I’m not supposed to fall for him. But I don’t. I just swallow it down and pretend I’m not dying inside.
We take turns picking songs at the jukebox, then drift over to the bar to watch the chaos unfold. The lighting is flattering, the drinks are flowing. For a moment, I forget I’m being filmed.
A guy appears next to me. Tall, flirty, and trying way too hard. But he’s funny. I don’t hate talking to him. He leans closer, his arm brushing mine. “You don’t look like a barfly,” he says.
I smile. “I can be full of surprises.”
We chat easily. It feels safe. Detached.
Until I feel it.
A prickle on the back of my neck.
I turn and see Ryan watching me from the other end of the bar. His jaw’s tight. His eyes laser focused. His hand lands on my shoulder. Warm, possessive, totally unwelcome.
“Didn’t know you were making friends, Wren,” he says.
I don’t even flinch. Just flash a smile, all teeth. “Didn’t know you cared.”
The guy beside me stiffens. “Is there a problem?”
Ryan doesn’t answer. Just glares until the guy mumbles an apology and disappears.
I whirl on him. “Are you serious?”
He shrugs. “This is my dating show. You’re here to make me happy.”
I blink. “That wasn’t about me making bad decisions. That was about you not liking someone else talking to me.”
“In your dreams, Chirp. I was rescuing you. Like always.”
I turn back to the bar and try to order another shot.
“What was that?” the bartender shouts, cocking his head and putting his hand to his ear.
It is getting louder in here for sure. There are more people crowding into this tight space, making it difficult for someone like me, who’s basically invisible, to be heard. I mumble something about needing a shot and the bartender squints at me.
“One more time!”
“Tequila!” I finally shout. I hold my fingers up. “Two shots!”
“Got it!”
He hustles off to get my order. I tug at my sleeve, already second-guessing myself. This bar is a nightmare for an introvert. When he returns with two shots, I take them both, one after the other.
Anything to make this feeling fade.
When I glance over, Ryan’s already sauntered down to JacqLyn. She grabs his shirt, pulls him close, and presses a kiss to his mouth. It’s deliberate. Slow. Camera ready.
I can’t look away.
Of course, Ryan opens his eyes mid-kiss.
He’s looking right at me.
I bolt. Out the back door. Into the alley. Into the cold.
I just need one minute to breathe.
But then…
“Are you always this dramatic?” I know that voice all too well.
I whip around. “Are you always this annoying?”
Ryan steps into the light, arms crossed, eyes hot. “Thought you had a line of women waiting to kiss you.”
“I got bored.” He shrugs. “Came to see what you were doing.”
“Wow. High praise for JacqLyn’s tongue.”
He steps closer. “Didn’t know you were so interested in my mouth, Chirp.”
“I’m not,” I lie.
He smirks. “Jealousy looks good on you.”
“You’re the worst.”
“You keep saying that, but you’re still here. Still dressing like that. Still showing up.”
“It’s a skirt,” I snap. “Adults wear them.”
His gaze drops. “You having fun yet?”
I look away. “Maybe a little.”
Ryan leans in, palm flat against the wall beside my head. “What was that?”
“I said maybe.”
“You know what your problem is?” His breath brushes my cheek.
“Oh please. Enlighten me.”
“You like me,” he whispers. “You hate it, but you like it. You liked the kiss.”
“I did not…”
He cuts me off. “Say you wouldn’t let me kiss you right now. No cameras. Just us.”
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.
He tips my chin up. “That’s what I thought.”
Ryan’s hand finds my waist, cupping it and guiding my body.
I lift my face. His mouth brushes mine. A whisper of heat.
I shiver as he chuckles and then kisses me for real—his lips pressing against mine, his mouth opening, tongue seeking my own.
I gasp. He catches the sound with his kiss.
In that moment, everything else vanishes.
His hands explore me, pulling me close, his body heat soaking through my skirt, his mouth devouring me like a starving beast.
I melt. Instantly. All my protests simply vanish.
I kiss him back like I’ve never kissed anyone before.
In truth, I’ve never experienced a kiss like this.
None of those clumsy, fumbling kisses exist anymore.
He leans in further, pressing a knee between my legs.
I can feel his arousal through his pants.
His hand leaves the wall to brush my thigh as he continues exploring my mouth.
His tongue strokes mine tenderly, while his hand sneaks up my short skirt until his fingers are teasing the outside of my underwear. I’m already wet for him. He growls into my mouth, “You sweet little thing, always pretending to hate me.”
His teeth graze my lower lip and I gasp, as if trying to trap him in my lungs.
“You don’t hate me, though, do you?” he murmurs.
“That’s not true,” I whisper back against his lips. “I do hate you.”
He laughs. “Then why are you so wet for me?”
My hands bury themselves in his shirt. I know I should stop, that I should push him away, but instead, I yank him closer.
“You think I’m the only one who enjoys this?” I murmur as my hand slips between our bodies and finds the erection hidden under his pants.
He’s hard, big and long and thick. Just like I remember him. Fuck, I’m horny.
“Oh honey, I’ve been thinking about kissing you for a long time now,” he murmurs. His mouth finds mine again, this time deeper and hungrier. I want it. I want him to devour me.
A scuffling noise breaks through the haze of lust.
Then a voice cuts through, sharp and furious.
“What the hell?”
Rich. Ryan’s coach.
We spring apart like guilty teenagers caught making out under the bleachers. My heart drops into my stomach. Ryan’s chest is still rising and falling hard. My lipstick is probably smeared halfway across my face. His clothes are rumpled. Mine too.
“Save it for the damn cameras,” Rich barks. “Jesus, you think we’re paying you to sneak off and hook up like horny high schoolers?”
My face burns. “We weren’t… this wasn’t… nothing happened. Rich, I swear.”
Ryan wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He doesn’t say anything. Just stands there, looking equal parts dazed and pissed.
“It was just a conversation,” he says finally, voice rough.
Rich glares at both of us like he wants to murder us and then salt the earth.
“You walked far enough away that your mic packs went out of range. There’s no usable audio. You just wasted a gold moment.”
My mouth opens, but I’ve got nothing. No defense. No way to spin this. I mumble, “I’m sorry.”
Rich yanks the back door open and holds it like he’s daring us not to walk through it.
Ryan glances at me, then licks his teeth and nods toward the door. His breath is still uneven, his hands clenched at his sides.
We don’t say another word.
We just walk back inside like nothing ever happened.
But my lips are still tingling. My stomach’s flipping over itself. I feel foolish. Like I just handed Ryan every piece of leverage he could ever want.
The worst part is how much I liked it.
What will I do when Ryan pulls away? Because he will. If I keep on this trajectory, he’s going to devastate me.