Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I chastised myself for the next twelve hours. What had I been thinking, going out on the town with Dash? Having dinner with him. Going back to the Empire State Building.

And then kissing him.

What was wrong with me? My logical brain kept telling me that he was a player, that he was in it for the chase. It kept telling me that he was the star of a show where his only role was to be the guy that women threw themselves at.

My logical brain knew all of this. My stupid, stupid body, however, could only focus on how great of a kisser he was. And how good it had felt being sandwiched between the railing on the Empire State Building and Dash’s long, hot, hard body.

I wanted him. I wanted him bad. And I knew that if I found myself alone with him again, I might not have the wherewithal to pull away again. So I needed to stay away from him.

Far, far away.

Because it wasn’t just my body that seemed drawn to him like a magnet. It was my heart, too—and that was the big risk. There was a very real possibility that I could fall for him, and that was the last thing I needed right now. What I needed was this job. And I had to get my brain—and my body—focused on that.

New plan: ignore him.

My phone buzzed in my back pocket. Pulling it out, I found I had a text. From Dash.

So much for the new plan.

Had some very interesting dreams last night, the text read.

I put my phone back in my pocket. It buzzed again. And then again. And then again.

We were back on the top of the Empire State Building, Dash wrote me. The view was beautiful. The view was you.

I did not need to get all weak-kneed over a cheesy text, but I did anyways. Dammit. He was a charmer, that was for sure. And we’d had fun last night. It had definitely been one of the best dates I’d ever been on, except that it really hadn’t been a date. It couldn’t have been a date. Why? Because he was dating nine other women. On national television!

I’d been a sucker for love in the past (see: all my past loser boyfriends), but I wasn’t going to let it get me now. Not that I was in love with Dash. I wasn’t. I thought he was funny and hot. I wanted to get in his pants.

That’s all.

And it wasn’t going to happen.

Vowing to ignore any more texts, I headed over to Andrea, ready to focus on the day ahead. Week Two of Ever After, and I was the only PA who had all three of her girls still in the competition. It hadn’t made me very popular among my peers, but Andrea seemed pleased with my work. Inasmuch as Andrea could be pleased with anything. Right now she had her arms crossed and was tapping her foot impatiently.

“Where have you been?” she demanded, waving her hand before I could answer. “We need to get everyone suited up.”

She shooed me over to the tent where I found nine gorgeous women in army fatigues, ready for their “fun” group date activity: paintballing. Only they weren’t like any army fatigues I’d ever seen before. Each of the girls were wearing very short cut-off shorts in the familiar camouflage pattern, all paired with some sort of belly- and boob-baring top. They were all in full make-up but they also had thick black lines painted under their eyes, and their hair was pulled back with bandanas.

They looked like a group of soldiers I would be terrified to meet in the woods. Beautiful, but deadly.

All of them seemed thrilled with the challenge, and I caught Kimmie preening a little in the mirror. Savannah, on the other hand, did not seem as eager to start. She kept self-consciously tugging on her bikini top, a costume choice that I was sure had been a deliberate response to her choice to wear a less revealing outfit on her date with Dash.

“I don’t know how I’m going to play paintball in this,” she told me as I walked over with a can of hairspray. “I feel like my bosoms are going to fly out if I bend over.”

“Here, I’ve got a trick.” I told her. “Spray the hairspray on your skin and then press the bikini top down to keep it secure.”

Savannah did as I said. It worked. “Thanks, Paige,” she told me, already looking slightly more comfortable. “I love a game of paintball as much as the next gal, but I can’t imagine any of our scores are going to be very good if we’re worried about flashing the camera.”

I doubted any of the other girls were worried about flashing the camera. In fact, I would bet that a few of them were hoping that they’d be able to pull off that exact trick.

“Don’t worry about it,” I tried suggesting to Savannah. “It’s not about the game. It doesn’t matter who wins.”

She gave me a look like I was crazy. “If it doesn’t matter who wins, then why are we playing in the first place?”

Oh, sweet, naïve Savannah.

Andrea entered the tent and clapped her hands. “Girls, you all look wonderful,” she told them once they had gathered around her. “As you know, this is a high-stakes group date. Dash will be joining you in a minute, but the goal today is to finish with the least amount of paint on you. The winner will be getting a one-on-one date with Dash.”

There was an excited murmur among the contestants, and it was a good thing none of them had been given their paintball guns yet, because I had a feeling if they had, Andrea and I would be caught in a crossfire of paint. All of the girls were eying each other with a competitive gleam. Even Savannah seemed to be getting into the spirit of the competition.

“OK, girls,” Andrea pulled back the tent curtain. “Let’s go win a date!”

With a whoop, the contestants charged out of the tent. I followed them, watching as they were each handed paintball guns.

“Wait until the bell rings before you fire,” Andrea told them, but before she could even finish the sentence, I heard the pop of a gun going off.

Everyone turned towards the sound. Kimmie just gave us all an innocent shrug.

“Whoops,” she said, as the contestant she had hit straight in the stomach glared at her. “My finger slipped.”

I saw Andrea gesture to one of the camera men to follow Kimmie. Which was a smart move. Because as soon as the bell went off, all the contestants scattered, but Kimmie stood there and, like Rambo, began firing at all of them.

There were shrieks as she hit her targets, and once all the other girls were out of sight, Kimmie turned towards the camera, gave it a big smile and blew the invisible smoke off her paintball gun as if she was an action star.

The camera was eating it up.

Then, a paintball whizzed out of the forest and nailed Kimmie right on her ass, leaving a giant red splotch. She whirled around, her nostrils flaring, her face twisted with fury. Savannah poked her head out of the trees and grinned at her.

“All’s fair in love and paintball,” Savannah called out, her smile sweet and playful.

But it was pretty clear that Kimmie was not playing. Grabbing her gun, she let off several rounds in Savannah’s direction, her eyes flashing with anger. Savannah dodged each paintball with ease. Kimmie let out a growl of frustration and actually stamped her foot on the ground before stalking off after Savannah, muttering obscenities. I followed, keeping a good distance, and we joined the rest of the group.

It was chaos on the field.

The contestants were already covered in paint, attacking each other ruthlessly. Each pop of the gun was followed by a shriek of pain. Dash was in the middle of all of it, his tight-fitting fatigues barely stained at all. Apparently the girls were too focused on shouting at each other to even pay attention to him. Or they didn’t want to come off as too aggressive. The only one who seemed to be engaging with Dash was Savannah, who was showing herself to be a worthy competitor.

She ducked and weaved, racing across the field and occasionally firing a shot towards the other girls and Dash as well. Her tactic was totally different from the others, who seemed to be firing at any girl within their line of vision. I had already gotten hit half a dozen times and was sure I’d be covered in golf-sized bruises by the end of the day. Savannah, however, fired far less than the others, but her aim was much better. She got Dash right on the chest, and I found myself cheering for her out loud.

“Go Savannah!” I cried, and she flashed me a smile.

Dash caught my eye as well, but the smile he sent me wasn’t as friendly as Savannah’s. Nope, it promised a whole different kind of friendship. Exactly the kind of friendship I didn’t have time for now.

I ignored him, and got hit by another paintball, this time in my side. Fuck. It hurt. I doubled over a little in surprise, but straightened when I heard one of the girls let out a shriek.

Kimmie had cornered one of the other contestants and was basically emptying her gun at the girl’s chest and stomach. I ran towards them, but Andrea stopped me, gesturing for a camera crew to head over in that direction.

“She’s going to hurt her,” I told Andrea.

“She’ll be fine,” Andrea reassured me. “This is great TV. Kimmie’s really coming into her own.”

Into her own bitch, I thought, but didn’t say anything. It was pretty clear that Kimmie was taking on the role as this season’s villain, though I didn’t know how much of it was being fed to her by Andrea and Patrick, and how much of it was her own charming personality.

Finally she gave up on the poor contestant, who was now covered in paint, and as the girl dropped to her knees, Kimmie threw her empty gun on the ground and grabbed the other contestant’s and strode off.

* * *

For the next hour, Kimmie slowly stalked her way through the girls until it was just her and Savannah who hadn’t given up yet. They were fairly well matched. Savannah was the better shot, but Kimmie had a kind of animalistic rage that pushed her forward.

Finally, Andrea called for a break.

I could tell that Kimmie was waiting for Savannah to put down her gun so she could fire off another cheap shot like she had at the beginning of the game, so I went over to her and took the gun before she could.

“Thanks,” she told me, her smile sickly sweet, and her eyes like poison.

“Don’t mention it,” I returned, not one to be cowed by someone like her.

I collected the rest of the guns and while I was putting them aside, my phone buzzed.

You look pretty hot with all those weapons, Dash had texted.

I glanced over across the field, where he was sitting with a water bottle and cocky expression. He tipped his fingers in my direction.

You better hope I don’t use them, I texted back.

Ah, she responds, was his comeback. And here I thought I was getting ghosted.

I felt immediately guilty. We’d had a good time last night. It had been terribly romantic and sexy, and I was kind of ghosting him. At the very least he deserved a straight, honest answer from me.

I just think we need to keep things friendly, I texted him.

How friendly? he wanted to know. Naked and friendly?

I looked over at him, pursed my lips, and shook my head. Was that disappointment I saw flit across his face?

But just then, Kimmie sauntered over to him, practically draping herself across Dash’s lap. I half expected him to extract himself from her grip and keep a polite distance between them, but he didn’t, his hand settling on her hip instead. Just like it had settled on my hip last night.

Then I noticed the camera lurking nearby, catching every moment between Dash and Kimmie. Was it just for the show? Or had I been right about him: was he just in it for the chase? Either way, I didn’t want to watch. So I turned my back on him, on Kimmie, on the camera, and went back to what I was good at—my job.

* * *

At the end of the day I was exhausted and sore. My clothes were covered in paint, my feet ached from running through the woods, chasing after my contestants, and my neck hurt from all the times I had to whip my head in the opposite direction when Dash started flirting with the other girls.

Out of sight, out of mind.

“You look beat,” Lorna noted as she emerged from the makeup tent looking as beautiful and dewy as she had several hours ago.

“I feel beat,” I told her, wishing that I could have spent the day in the air conditioning with her.

“Got any plans for tonight?” she wanted to know as we headed away from the set.

I shook my head. “Maybe some paint thinner and a bath,” I held out my arms so she could see the full extent of my paint job.

The girls had really done a number on me. Kimmie especially. The girl couldn’t aim, but she didn’t give up, either. After the break, after they had all reloaded, Kimmie had charged her way to success, winning that one-on-one date with Dash. Even Savannah had backed away when she saw the murderous glint in her fellow contestant’s eyes. I would have felt bad for Dash if I wasn’t trying to not think about him.

“How about you change that bath to a shower and join some of us at the bar tonight?” Lorna suggested. “Apparently it’s happy hour all night on Mondays at this place down the block. Then we’re all going to get together to watch the next episode.”

I was torn. I really wanted to crash, but I also didn’t want to sit in the hotel room by myself. There was too great a chance that I would wallow and second-guess my decision to stay away from Dash. Because while I could still picture Kimmie draped across his lap, I could also still remember how it had felt to be draped across him the night before. How good his body had felt against mine.

I needed a distraction.

“You said some of the sound guys were single, right?” I asked Lorna.

She smiled at me and linked her arm through mine. “Now you’re talking,” she said.