When Farrah’s agent told her who the other contestants on the show were, she immediately decided to end up with JP Covington, a pro football quarterback. I made her study guides about the game and quizzed her for hours until she had it down. Then we started watching old games and I explained things to her and then made her explain things to me.
It only takes me twenty minutes to get back to my previous parking place. I replace the Bronco’s top and load the water and lemons into empty tote bags I keep in my purse. Everything just barely fits, and the bags are heavy.
“Badge?” a guy monitoring the security perimeter asks me.
It’s in my purse, so I set my bags down and get it out to show him.
After scrutinizing it, he says, “You need to wear that at all times, please.”
“Okay.” I put the lanyard over my head and pick my stuff back up.
A woman jogs past us and I recognize her as Misty Meyers, an Olympic gymnast. The security guy ignores her. But I guess that tracks because she’s one of the contestants on the show.
When the beach house’s entrance comes into view, I see a couple of cars in the unloading zone. I head for the side entrance where the kitchen is, hoping to avoid running into people on my way into the house. My shoulders are burning from the weight of all the glass bottles.
“Go long!” a deep male voice calls out. Then he laughs and says, “Jesus, Lorenzo. Is that what hockey players consider long?”
“Your mom says it’s the biggest she’s ever had!” The man who responds is huge, and he’s running in reverse so he can keep his eyes on the football arcing toward us.
Like directly toward us. Everything seems to be in slow motion as I realize what’s about to happen.
“Hey!” I cry in alarm. “You’re g--”
It’s too late. He barrels into me, knocking the bags from my arms and sending me flying.
two
Dalton
“Oh shit.”I kneel down beside the woman I just knocked over. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even see you. Are you okay?”
She groans softly and lifts her head. I instinctively put a palm on her shoulder. “No, stay down. Don’t try to move.”
She turns over and gets on one knee. “I have to go. Farrah--”
“Sit.”
She meets my gaze, defiance flickering in her hazel eyes. But she does sit still.
“Can you follow my finger with your eyes?”
She does, gingerly rubbing one of her knees. Guilt stabs me in the chest. I had no idea she was there, but that doesn’t excuse what I did. I obviously hurt her, and it’s even worse that I did it horsing around with JP.
“Okay, that’s good. Now follow my finger up and down.”
“I’m fine.” She pushes up on a hand, trying to get up. “I have to get my boss her lunch.”
“You could have a concussion.”
She scoffs. “I said I’m fine.”
She’s pretty. Her eyes are a mix of green, brown and gold, framed by thick, dark lashes. Her hair is pulled back at the nape of her neck and she’s wearing plain jean shorts and a T-shirt, but it’s impossible not to notice she has a great body. She’s a natural beauty.
I don’t recognize her, and I’ve looked up every contestant on the show I’m not familiar with.
When I stand up and offer her a hand, she lets me help her into a standing position. At six foot one, I’m a solid seven inches taller than her. I keep holding onto her hand, furrowing my brow.
“I’m really sorry. I’m Dalton, by the way.”
