Annoying Notifications, Cupid on Steroids, and Couples to Beat
Cohen
WhatsApp Group: LAKEWOOD LOCKER ROOM ???? (Minus One)
Turbo (Tayler): Good morning, princess. Did you remember to stretch your lips this morning?
The Wall (Derek): Look at the vein in his neck. It was either about to explode or he was about to come in his pants.
Blaze (Liam): Definitely the second one. I’ve seen defenders mark him less tightly than he holds her.
Doc (Harrison): You’re all disgusting. And you, Becker—focus. If you get injured slipping on a rose petal, I’m leaving you there.
Me: Go fuck yourselves. All of you.
Blaze (Liam): Ohh, someone’s cranky. Does the Queen of Hearts keep you on a short leash?
The Wall (Derek): I bet fifty dollars she makes him cry by episode two.
Turbo (Tayler): I’ll put a hundred on him accidentally dropping to one knee and proposing.
Saint (Javier): Fifty says they win the whole thing. That woman has the eyes of someone who never loses.
Doc (Harrison): Stop betting. And Becker… don’t embarrass yourself. We’re watching tonight. The whole locker room. With popcorn.
Me: I hate you. Every single one of you.
Turbo (Tayler): Kisses to your Cupid. And tell her that if she gets tired of you, I’m available and my ball control is excellent.
Me: Touch her and you’re dead, Klein.
Turbo (Tayler): Ooooh, the lion roars! ????
I lock my phone and toss it onto the passenger seat, shaking my head.
Idiots.
But I can’t stop smiling. It’s the first time in months I’ve actually felt like part of the pack again. Even if they’re roasting me alive, it feels like things are finally falling back into place.
It’s eight in the morning. I’m parked in front of Elm Hollow’s main square—which currently looks like it’s been violently sneezed on by a sugar-high unicorn—and my phone is vibrating so hard I’m afraid it might detonate.
I step out of the car and immediately get hit by a visual shockwave.
Mayor Nino did not hold back. The man has clearly raided every party-supply store within a three-state radius.
The square isn’t a square anymore.
It’s a sacrificial altar to the God of Kitsch Love.
Pink and red balloon arches form a tunnel toward the main stage.
Ice sculptures shaped like Cupid (who are peeing strawberry punch into the fountains, for reasons unknown) sparkle under the winter sun.
And hearts. Everywhere. Hearts made of cardboard, neon, flowers, feathers.
I feel diabetic just looking at it.
I weave through the tech crew sprinting around with cables and microphones.
“Becker! Over here!”
A production assistant with an earpiece waves me over to get mic’d. While she runs the cold cable under my shirt (freezing hands, zero gentleness), my gaze automatically scans for her.
Sloane.
I don’t have to look long.
She’s at the center of the stage, giving orders to three different people at the same time.
And, holy shit, she’s a sight.
She’s wearing a fitted white coat that makes her look like a snow queen, a red cashmere scarf, and those stiletto boots that should be illegal on winter asphalt because they’re both sexy and lethal.
Her hair is down, soft waves brushing her shoulders, and that lipstick… that damned lipstick I keep dreaming about.
The second she sees me, she freezes.
The chaos around us slows.
Her blue eyes lock on mine, and there’s that spark again—the one from the dressing room, the shower, her office.
We’re not just business partners or fakers anymore.
We’re co-conspirators.
I give her a small nod, a crooked half-smile.
She blushes—just a hint of pink warming her cheeks—before snapping back into CEO mode, but I catch the way she bites her lower lip.
I walk toward the stage right as Nino grabs the mic.
“Welcome, citizens of Elm Hollow!” his amplified voice booms, sending a flock of pigeons scattering (and Pedro, who squawks indignantly from somewhere overhead).
“Today we kick off the very first season of Love Goals! But before we move to the secret set on Elm Hollow Mountain… let’s meet our gladiators of love!”
I climb the steps and take my place beside Sloane.
“Ready to crush the competition, partner?” I murmur in her ear.
She turns to me, chin lifted in that defiant way that drives me insane.
“I was born ready, Becker. Just try not to trip over your own feet.”
“Don’t worry. You know I’m great with footwork.”
She swallows—hard.
“Idiot,” she mutters, but shifts just slightly closer until our shoulders brush.
“And here they are,” Nino cries, presenting us like we’re the reincarnation of Romeo and Juliet (if they’d had a budget and a happily-ever-after), “the couple to beat! The Queen of Hearts herself, Sloane Heart, and reformed bad boy, Cohen Becker!”
Thunderous applause. Someone yells my jersey number.
“But don’t think they’ll have it easy!” Nino continues with a theatrical grin. “Because this year we’ve gathered the very best this county has to offer!”
I glance around.
Well… “best” is subjective.
And yeah, I’m competitive—no shit.
I step closer to Sloane and lace my fingers through hers.
Is it a staged gesture for the cameras?
It’s supposed to be.
But holding her centers me in a way nothing else does.
“And now,” Nino shouts, his voice somewhere between a wrestling announcer and a zealot preacher, “the official cast of Love Goals! Let the Parade of Love begin! DJ, music!”
Sloane and I fall to the end of the line—we’ve already had our dramatic entrance, but now it’s time for the full procession.
“Ready for the circus, Angel?”
She squeezes my hand, eyes locked on the fuchsia velvet curtain stretched across the stage.
“Analyze the enemies, Becker. We need to spot their weaknesses.”
Couple #1: THE EVERLASTING (Bernie & Esther)
Entrance Music: “Sex Bomb” by Tom Jones
When the Tom Jones beat kicks in, I fully expect two ripped twenty-somethings to burst through the curtain.
Instead… we get Bernie and Esther.
Eighty-five years old. Each.
Married for sixty.
Bernie is wearing a purple velour tracksuit and leaning on a cane bedazzled with Swarovski crystals.
Esther’s perm defies several laws of physics, and her handbag is audibly clinking with butterscotch candies.
They walk out verrry slowly—more or less in time with the music.
Bernie winks at the camera.
“Don’t underestimate them,” Sloane murmurs. “Esther bribed the pie-contest judges three years in a row. They’re ruthless.”
“Is Bernie checking out my ass, or am I hallucinating?”
“You’re not hallucinating. You’re extremely popular with the 80-plus demographic.”
“What?!”
I’m doomed.
Couple #2: THE FIT-FLUENCERS (Chad & Kiki)
Entrance Music: “Physical” by Dua Lipa
These two don’t walk.
They lunge.
Chad is sporting an orange spray tan that gleams under the spotlights and teeth so white they could signal aircraft.
Kiki is squeezed into a neon-pink ski set so tight I’m pretty sure I can see her blood type.
They enter with their phones raised, already livestreaming.
“Hi, followers!” Kiki screeches, ignoring the actual human audience to smile at her screen. “We’re sooo pumped! #SteelGlutes #ProteinLove!”
Chad stops dead center to flex his pecs in sync with let’s get physical.
The crowd loses it.
“I hate them,” I mutter.
“You’ll hate them more once you see their cardio endurance,” Sloane replies, and I can practically see her calculating ways to dismantle them psychologically.
Couple #3: THE EXPLOSIVE EXES (Roxanne & Dave)
Entrance Music: “Toxic” by Britney Spears
A standing ovation for Mayor Nino.
This music choice? Inspired.
This is the couple that’s going to blow the ratings through the roof.
Roxanne is the town’s most notorious hairdresser-slash-gossip-distributor, sporting a wild red lion’s mane and a leopard-print dress.
Dave is the local mechanic—grease-stained hands, permanent scowl.
They’ve been divorced for three years.
They walk onto the stage mid-argument. Dave waves his arms, Roxanne chucks a scarf at his head. Then, halfway across the platform, he grabs her and kisses her with enough heat to make the nuns in the front row clutch their pearls.
The crowd loses its mind.
“Why are they even competing?” I ask, baffled.
“For the money,” Sloane says. “And because they can’t stop sleeping together between arguments. They’re a ticking time bomb.”
Couple #4: BEAUTY & THE LUMBERJACK (Lucy & Lars)
Entrance Music: “Lover” by Taylor Swift
I know Lucy—she’s the girl who works with the florist (Penny, I think?) who sold me those tulips for Sloane.
She looks like a porcelain doll: dark braids, rosy cheeks, tiny frame.
Her partner, Lars, is… a mountain.
Two meters tall, as wide as a four-door wardrobe, with a beard big enough to hide a family of squirrels, and wearing nothing but flannel.
He walks like he’s afraid he’ll break the stage.
She holds onto his pinky finger—his hand is too big for anything else—and looks at him like he personally hung the moon.
A collective “Awwwwww” ripples through the square.
“Christ,” I mutter. “They’re adorable. I feel guilty just thinking about beating them.”
“He builds her custom bookshelves and she weaves flowers into his beard,” Sloane sighs, sounding downright dreamy.
I tighten my grip on her hand.
I don’t know why, but watching her look at them like that makes me want to… build things.
Or grow a beard.
Couple #5: THE OVERACHIEVERS (Brenda & Steve)
Entrance Music: “Simply the Best” by Tina Turner
They’re the official representatives of the local school parents’ committee.
They’re wearing matching sweaters with two hand-stitched Cupid hearts (of course), tight smiles fueled by too much caffeine, and the distinct vibe of people who silently judge your life choices while offering you joy-free cookies.
They walk in perfectly synchronized, waving like royalty.
Brenda is already checking the stage for stains on the red carpet.
“They’re the real villains,” Sloane warns, dead serious. “Insanely competitive. They’ve won the neighborhood décor contest six years in a row by sabotaging their neighbors’ Christmas lights. Never turn your back on them.”
Couple #6: ELM HOLLOW’S “ROYALS” (Tiffany & Brent)