Annoying Notifications, Cupid on Steroids, and Couples to Beat #2
Entrance Music: “Material Girl” by Madonna
Tiffany steps onto the stage like she personally owns the deed.
Platinum blonde hair, real white fur (unlike Aunt Tina’s), and a smile that absolutely does not reach her eyes.
Brent is the quintessential trophy husband—handsome, tan, and radiating the energy of a man who would rather be golfing.
I feel Sloane tense beside me. Her hand turns cold.
“Don’t tell me you know her,” I murmur.
“Tiffany Miller,” Sloane hisses through her teeth. “My high school nemesis. The one who started the rumor that I was a bad kisser sophomore year.”
A surge of anger punches me right in the gut. I squeeze her hand.
“Bitch.”
Sloane turns toward me—and suddenly her whole face shifts.
It lights up with wicked pride.
She straightens her spine, her lips curving into a smirk made entirely of vengeance.
“Oh, don’t worry. I got my revenge. Sloane Heart–style.”
Tiffany takes the microphone.
“We’re here to bring a little class to this show. And obviously… to win. Brent promised me a second honeymoon in the Maldives.”
Brent nods, already checking his watch.
“Fantastic,” I say. “So we don’t just have to beat them—we have to humiliate them.”
Sloane looks up at me, and there’s a fierce, grateful spark in her eyes.
“Exactly, Becker. No prisoners.”
Couple #7: THE DILF VET & THE HURRICANE (Silas & Daisy)
Entrance Music: “Opposites Attract” by Paula Abdul
Walking onto the stage is a man who looks like the living, breathing fantasy of every woman who has ever owned a pet.
Meet Dr. Silas Reed.
He’s wearing a dark Henley—unbuttoned at the collar—sleeves pushed up over work-muscled forearms, and jeans that fit him criminally well.
He’s got a two-day scruff and that worn, exhausted look of a man who spent the night helping a mare give birth instead of sleeping.
He’s ruggedly, effortlessly handsome.
Hands in his pockets, expression unreadable, radiating I’d-rather-be-anywhere-but-here energy.
Next to him?
Pure chaos.
Daisy.
She just moved back to town after “almost” making it on Broadway. She’s wearing silver sequin overalls that reflect every single stage light, bright yellow rain boots, and her hair is up in two messy glitter-filled space buns.
While Silas trudges forward like a man heading to jury duty, Daisy dances onto the stage.
She twirls. She blows kisses.
And then—of course—she trips over her own feet.
Silas doesn’t even flinch.
With lightning-fast reflexes, he reaches out, grabs her by the waist, and sets her upright again as if she weighs nothing—without even taking his other hand out of his pocket.
The female half of the audience collectively gasps so hard the temperature drops two degrees.
“He’s only here because his six-year-old daughter signed him up without telling him,” Sloane whispers, amused. “And because he needs the prize money for the new wing of his clinic.”
“And her?”
“She’s his assistant. And a professional chaos generator. She drives him insane.”
I watch Silas shake his head while Daisy fusses with the collar of his shirt, and he catches her hand gently—firm, but weirdly soft about it.
“He looks like he wants to strangle her,” I note.
“Or kiss her just to get her to stop moving,” Sloane corrects. “The audience is going to lose their minds over the Grumpy Single Dad trope. They’re our biggest competition in the romance category. We need to watch our backs, Becker.”
Couple #8: THE LOVE BIRDS (Joe & Sarah)
Entrance Music: “Sugar” by Maroon 5
Nino announces the second-to-last couple with a level of enthusiasm that immediately pisses me off.
Up on stage walks a guy with “perfect son-in-law” stamped all over his face.
Joe.
Perfectly combed brown hair, a pastel sweater draped over his shoulders, and a blinding smile that basically screams trust me.
Clinging to his arm like a koala on a eucalyptus branch is Sarah.
Petite brunette, floral dress stretched tight over surgically enhanced curves, and an expression of smug triumph I instantly hate.
They stroll to center stage, waving like they invented love itself.
I feel Sloane’s hand tense in mine.
It’s not a normal squeeze.
It’s a jolt.
Her fingers go icy, rigid—stone.
I turn to look at her.
She’s not watching the crowd.
She’s staring at Joe.
Her face is frozen.
Completely blank.
She’s gone white as her coat.
“Sloane?” I whisper, my stomach dropping. “You okay?”
She doesn’t answer.
She doesn’t even blink.
Onstage, Joe grabs the mic.
“Hello, Elm Hollow! We’re here to prove that true love conquers all!” he announces, in a voice so sugary it should come with a dental warning.
Then he does something that flips a switch inside me.
He turns.
Looks straight at Sloane.
And winks.
A slimy, familiar, too-comfortable wink.
Sarah giggles beside him and clings tighter, shooting Sloane a look that’s all venom wrapped in faux sweetness.
I hear Sloane’s breath hitch—sharp, painful.
My body moves before my brain does.
I shift, putting my shoulder squarely between her and that asshole.
I grip her hand tighter, trying to warm her icy fingers.
“Who the hell is that?” I growl so low only she can hear.
Sloane swallows.
Her throat works once.
“No one,” she says. But her voice is glass cracking. “Just… Couple Eight. Competition.”
She’s lying.
Obviously lying.
Why the hell is she lying?
I look at Joe again—now kissing Sarah’s hand to wild applause.
I don’t know who he is.
I don’t know what he did.
But I know one thing: I hate him.
Because the strongest woman I’ve ever met just shattered—for a split second—at the sight of him.
And that alone is enough to put him at the top of my hit list.
“And finally!” Nino booms, hitting the peak of his theatrics, voice cracking with excitement. “Our Captains! The couple who set fire to the tabloids, the lingerie shops, and the Town Assembly! Sloane and Cohen!”
Couple 9: THE CAPTAINS (Us)
Entrance Music: “Crazy in Love” by Beyoncé
The bass line blasts through the speakers, shaking the snow right off the ground.
A spotlight slams into our faces—blinding.
I turn to Sloane.
This is it.
I look out at our competitors: strategic old-timers, orange fitness influencers, toxic exes, giant lovers, sweater-wearing psychopaths, the spoiled nemesis, the sexy veterinarian with his glitter-covered assistant, and one asshole I still need to figure out before I break his face.
“Great,” I murmur to Sloane, adrenaline rising, that protective instinct kicking in the second she’s near. “This is gonna be a massacre.”
Her blue eyes sparkle with competitive fire—that look that drives me crazy. She straightens her red scarf like a diva about to take the stage.
“It’s going to be fun, Becker.”
We step into the center of the stage.
Nino beams at us… then steps back, smile turning wicked.
“Citizens!” he booms. “To manage a reality show of this magnitude… we need an iron fist in a velvet (and sequined) glove!”
He throws his arms up.
“Forget me as your host! For the next several weeks, the law on Elm Hollow Mountain will be handed down by one woman. Please welcome your Supreme Hostess…”
The lights cut out.
A spotlight hits a platform rising from beneath the stage, surrounded by clouds of (pink, obviously) theatrical smoke.
And there she is.
The true Queen of Terror and Entertainment in Elm Hollow.
Aunt Tina.
She’s wearing a floor-length gold sequin gown that could blind a man, a rhinestone-encrusted microphone, and a professional headset like she’s about to host the Grammys.
“Thank you, Nino, darling! Thank you, Elm Hollow, and hello to all my TikTok fans!” Tina trills, her voice booming through the valley.
The crowd erupts.
Sloane goes pale beside me. “Oh no. No, no, no.”
“What?” I ask, amused by her horror.
“Aunt Tina… she’s the official host. I knew it was coming, sure—she hosts every major town event. But this means the challenges won’t just be embarrassing… they’ll be fatal. She knows everything about everyone, Cohen. Everything.”
Tina points a jeweled finger straight at us, smiling like a shark that smelled blood.
“Welcome to Love Goals! Where love is war and I am your General! Everyone, onto the buses, my darlings! We’re heading to Elm Hollow Mountain! That’s where you’ll find your home for the next few weeks… and where tonight—yes, tonight—you’ll face your very first challenge!”
She pauses dramatically, locking eyes with me and Sloane.
“And for our Captains… I hope you brought comfy underwear. Or at least something easy to take off. It’s freezing up there, but I fully intend to heat things up!”
Fireworks explode on both sides of the stage.
I lean toward Sloane, ignoring the cameras zooming in and Aunt Tina gleefully narrating our body language in her livestream.
“Ready to pretend you’re madly in love with me in front of the entire town?”
Sloane looks up at me—and for a moment there’s no fear, no act, no hesitation.
Just steel-strong determination.
“I’m an excellent actress, Becker. You might even end up believing it.”
I lace our fingers together.
“Pretty sure I already do,” I murmur, watching her cheeks flush.
I pull her closer as the crowd cheers and Aunt Tina screams, “Kiss! Kiss!”
Game on.
Group Chat: LAKEWOOD LOCKER ROOM ???? (Minus One)
Blaze (Liam): Okay, pause. Aunt Tina is my new idol. She just threatened the contestants with a full smile. Terrifying. I’m obsessed.
The Wall (Derek): Becker, watch out for the Veterinarian. That guy isn’t acting. He looks like he could build a whole house with his bare hands while you’re fixing your hair. Women lose their minds for the rugged-dad vibe.
Doc (Harrison): Confirmed. My aunt literally said, “Oh, that poor man needs cuddles” while looking at Silas. You’re in trouble, man.
Turbo (Tayler): But can we talk about the Orange Influencers? If that guy does one more lunge, I’m throwing myself at the TV.
Saint (Javier): Solid entrance though, Cohen. The hand-holding was a nice touch. You two looked legit.
Turbo (Tayler): “Looked”? Javi, please. Did you SEE the way he stared at her? If he could’ve, he would’ve thrown her over his shoulder and escaped into the woods.
Blaze (Liam): He’s cooked. He’s boiled. He’s braised.
Me: Stop analyzing my love life. Watch the show or do literally anything else.
Turbo (Tayler): Can’t. Coach confiscated the remote.
Me: …What?
Doc (Harrison): Yep. We’re all watching you, bro. There’s beer and pizza but the mood is… tense.
The Wall (Derek): Tense? Understatement.
Turbo (Tayler): The second Joe walked onstage and looked at Sloane… Coach LOST it.
Blaze (Liam): Confirmed. He yelled, “THAT ASSHOLE?!” and threw the remote at the wall. Shattered on impact.
The Wall (Derek): Never seen Heart so red in the face. His neck veins are pulsing. He’s screaming on the phone (probably at his wife), going, “Why didn’t you TELL me HE was here?!”
Turbo (Tayler): He just yelled, “HOLD YOUR POSITION, BECKER! IF HE GETS NEAR HER I’LL brEAK HIS LEGS!”
Me: Okay, WHAT? What did this idiot even do? I already hate him.
Blaze (Liam): And when Aunt Tina mentioned easy-to-remove underwear… a vein popped on Coach’s forehead. He muttered something about making you run a thousand laps.
Saint (Javier): Good luck, brother. If you don’t win the reality show, he kills you. If you touch his daughter too much, he kills you. It’s been an honor. ??
Me: Guys, for real—who the hell IS Joe?
The Wall (Derek): I’d ask, but Coach is currently replaying Lars the Lumberjack’s walk in slow motion. Says the dude has excellent center of gravity and would make a great defender. Then he went back to ranting about slow, painful deaths.
Turbo (Tayler): ?????? Welcome to hell, Becker! See you on TV!
Me: ANSWER ME.