Chapter 4
DO NOT TOUCH MY ASS: A LOVE STORY
Holly
“Did I consider kicking him in the shin on national TV? Yes. Did I aim higher? Also yes.”
This was just a formality. Smile for the camera. Gush about how excited you were for the season. Bond with your celeb partner before gearing up to create enough memories and shared trauma to last a lifetime.
It looked like all the other pairings had already found one another.
Laughing. Hugging. Polishing their fake chemistry to a high-definition shine while the cameras drank it in.
She’d prepared for war by wearing a fitted blush pink midi dress that made her feel like a total baddie.
Now she just needed to confront the enemy.
But he wasn’t there. Twenty-five minutes past call time, and no sign of Nate Fucking Eriksson, the poster boy for violence disguised as professional sport. She was just about to text Martin a very polite ‘Where the fuck is he?’ when the studio doors opened, and in walked…
The instrument of her destruction.
He was six-feet-plus of sex and regret in a black tee that hugged him like sin. Black jeans, fresh kicks, and goddamn aviators like he was auditioning to be the bad decision in a pop star’s memoir. He was carrying two iced coffees, like the opening scene of a softcore workplace harassment lawsuit.
The room parted for him subconsciously, the way a school of fish would maintain a buffer around a shark. He didn’t smile. Didn’t rush. Just strolled in like the room belonged to him and he wasn’t half an hour late to a show built entirely on punctuality and pelvic isolation.
Oh fuck, her ovaries whispered.
Shut up, she told them.
He stopped in front of her and held out one coffee like a peace offering from a CIA agent trying to extract state secrets the nice way first.
“Nate,” he said. “Coffee?”
Holly blinked. “Did your PR team think caffeine would mask your inability to speak in full sentences?”
He smirked. Just the corner of his mouth. Just enough for the hint of a dimple to peek through his annoyingly hot stubble.
“Yours tell you sarcasm helps give a well-rounded first impression?”
She took the coffee anyway. Because she wasn’t stupid. And it was iced. With almond milk. Which was infuriatingly correct. Before she could grill him for his latte intel, the producer called for attention.
“Welcome folks! This is your orientation and first promo shoot! When you’re ready, grab your new bestie and join us over at the photography station.”
Nate raised an eyebrow. “Already?”
“Welcome to the joys of reality TV,” she muttered under her breath, glad they were the closest couple to the promo screen.
They could get in, take the photo, and get out.
Painless. Efficient. Perfect. The camera crew arranged them in front of a huge LED screen and then set up the electronic backdrop.
The sunset-gradient backdrop screamed ‘summer fling with a side of emotional whiplash’. Their names were already on the screen behind them in big, romantic lettering: Nate & Holly—Season 12’s Hottest Pairing?
“Hot is subjective,” Holly said to no one.
Nate stepped in close to pose, sliding an arm around her waist like it was a dare.
His hand was warm, and his body was even warmer.
She caught the faint scent of something fresh.
Pine? Cedar? It was generically hot-guy-masculine, and she shouldn’t have been affected by it, yet here we were.
She stiffened, her spine snapping into place like steel.
“Do not touch my ass.”
He grinned, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “No promises.”
“Big hands, small boundaries,” she muttered, refraining from rolling her eyes.
“Louder,” he said, so only she could hear the teasing lilt in his tone. “Maybe the mics didn’t catch it.”
She stepped on his foot. Slowly and deliberately… with her heel.
He grunted, a sharp, choked sound from the back of his throat that was entirely the wrong noise to make in a professional setting and which may or may not come back to haunt her at inappropriate moments.
They both froze. So did the production assistant holding the boom.
Somewhere to her left, Nick didn’t even look up from his phone as he called out, “Try not to fuck on camera, yeah? That’s for the finale.”
“We’re saving missionary for week five,” she volleyed back.
The crew laughed, but Holly caught the way her hockey-bro flexed his jaw. The photographers took the first snap, and Holly smiled in it with all her teeth, determined to show Nate Eriksson he wasn’t the only shark in this tank.
Nate
“She talks to me like I’m a walking red flag. Joke’s on her. I’m the fuckin’ trophy, sweetheart.”
Despite the pain in his left foot, Nate walked away from the photography setup with a grin even Delaney’s expectations couldn’t fucking kill. Because the short bio and explosive photo of her he’d seen in that email production could never have prepared him for exactly what he’d just walked into.
That woman. Fuck.
Holly ‘Do Not Touch My Ass’ Martinez. She was shorter than him by more than a head, and still made him feel like she was looking down.
Eyes like razors. Mouth built to end careers or suck the soul out of a man, depending on her mood.
She’d stepped on his foot on purpose, like it was her divine right to punish him for being a dick.
And the worst part was that he liked it.
He flexed his toes discreetly as he walked, the ache already dulling into a throb that lived somewhere between ow and oh no. He needed to get his shit together, fast. This wasn’t just a reality show, this was his last fucking shot. And she was already under his skin like glitter herpes.
Food. Food was a good idea. Maybe if he settled his belly, other parts of his anatomy would calm the fuck down too.
He made a beeline for the food and gathered a wrap, some scrambled eggs, and some sausage.
He’d already fashioned a halfway decent breakfast burrito before a high-pitched call made him blink.
“Mr. Eriksson!”
He turned to see a petite woman with blonde hair and green eyes trotting over in five-inch heels. Sleek trousers. Blouse. Very ‘Kardashians’. She had the wide-eyed look of someone who thought fame was a valid personality trait.
“Hey,” he said, talking around a bite of his burrito when a weedy guy with glasses and what Nate suspected was a rapidly expanding superiority complex joined them.
“This is Martin Wikowski, Holly’s producer here on the show. I’m Kendall James,” she smiled enthusiastically, “his assistant.”
“Nice to meet you both,” Nate nodded, unsure what to say other than thanks for allowing my team to sign me up for this and ruin my fucking life.
“Just wanted to say thank you for bringing such a fresh energy to the shoot,” Martin grinned, teeth too white, eyes too beady. “Holly’s… well. She's very committed. This season’s going to be electric.”
“Yeah?” Nate’s eyebrows jumped before he could even think about trying to edit his face. “That’s one way of putting it.”
Kendall giggled like he’d told a joke, which only confused him further. “I was watching you two during the photoshoot. You have so much chemistry already! It’s giving enemies-to-lovers. Viewers are gonna lose their minds.”
Okay. So Kendall was a puck-bunny with more of a tan and less game. “It’s giving restraining order,” he grinned down at her, running a pale hand through his midnight curls.
Martin chuckled. “Oh, you are charming.”
“Only because you’re not trying to get anywhere near my goalie,” Nate shot back, a little of his regular intensity flickering beneath the cheek in his gaze. “Anyway, great to meet you both. I’m assuming I’ll see you around.”
They gave their vague reach out if there’s anything you need platitudes and moved on through the crowd. Nate slipped away, angling toward the doors that would relieve him from this existential torture when a tall, blond dude stepped directly into his path.
He looked like a Bond villain, without the facial scarring. Like he’d been cultivated in a lab for the sheer purpose of stealing girlfriends and landing moisturizer endorsements.
“You must be Eriksson,” the guy said, voice smooth and sharp. Nate immediately recognized the accent. Interesting.
“Depends on who wants to know,” Nate replied in perfect Danish, tilting his chin up in a way that posed an immediate threat.
“Lars Holm.” He extended a hand. Nate didn’t even bother to glance down at it.
“Cool.”
Lars let the silence hang for a moment, his smug smile never faltering. “You’re working with Holly this season. Brave.” More Danish.
Great. A pissing contest in their native language. Nate worked hard to keep his face neutral now. Because no matter what this dude’s connection was to Holly, it wasn’t good. “You know her?”
Lars tilted his head, all casual arrogance and expensive cologne. “You could say that.”
The implication hit like a slap. Nate didn’t flinch, but something behind his eyes went cold.
“She’s…particular,” Lars added, with a little shrug that needled. “Not easy to impress.”
Nate let a slow, lethal grin bloom on his face, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “I think you’ll find I’m fairly impressive. Especially in close quarters.”
It was a comment that was layered with meaning. Lars’ smile curled up a little at the ends. “Well. Good luck.”
Nate raised his brows in the hockey-bro’s version of you too.
The other Dane walked off with an easy grace that made Nate want to sweep a leg under him to see if that smug expression cracked on the way down.
Nate exhaled slowly through his nose. He was not jealous.
He didn’t do jealousy. But something about Lars itched.
He took in the chaos of the meet and greet, resisting the urge to gravitate back to Holly. Instead, he grabbed a protein bar, shoved it in his pocket for later, and muttered, “Fuck this,” and glanced down at his call sheet. If he had to be in hell, he might as well learn the choreography.
@TheBallroomWhisperer on Threads:
nate eriksson showed up late to the season 12 promo shoot with two coffees
one was almond milk
for holly
who took it
and then stepped on his foot hard enough to make the boom guy flinch
not saying they’re fucking but.
#takethefloor #nateandholly #enemiestoloversspeedrun
@SpicyShuffle on TikTok:
Caption: when your partner’s ‘don’t touch my ass’ energy gets a little too real
Footage: slowed zoom-in from promo shoot, with Holly stepping deliberately on Nate’s foot and him visibly flinching
Sound: oh no... oh no... oh no no no no no
Top Comment: is this flirting or a lawsuit idk but I’m into it. book recs?
Sully
jfc Brick i saw the promo photo
fix your face next time
you looked like you were either about to kill someone or nut
anyway good luck
Nate
Thanks for the vote of confidence, I guess?