Page 10 of Groomsman to Groom

“Mm-hmm.” Her eyes scan me from head to toe. “Bold choice for a first impression. Most men don’t want to date a woman who reminds them of Comic-Con.”

“Hayes isn’t most men.” I fight the urge to dump my champagne on her head.

“Right.” Gabby’s smile widens. “Good luck with that approach.”

As she walks away, I catch her whispering to Kavita, a raven-haired fellow pageant veteran who’s also gorgeous. They both glance back at me and giggle.

Great. High school all over again.

I down the rest of my drink and head for the corner where a small group of women have gathered. I step up to Annabelle, who greets me with a warm hug. We already bonded over her soaked dress drama. She brings me to another woman and says, “Come meet Serena.”

“Hi, I’m Brielle.” I shake her hand, noticing that she’s beautiful—tall with her hair in twists and umber skin.

She smiles. “I’m a huge Trekkie myself—with a soft spot for Captain Kirk.”

“I like you already.” For a moment, it feels like I might have found allies in this bizarre social experiment.

Our conversation halts when Skye enters the room, thirty pairs of eyes swiveling toward her. She’s standing next to Hayes, who tonight, is even more handsome than I remember from the beach—sandy blond hair styled just so, a fitted suit that shows off his lean physique. When his gaze sweeps the room, I instinctively step forward, heart pounding.

“Women Warriors!” Her voice rings, resplendent in a flowing hot pink gown. “It’s time for our bachelor to spend some quality one-on-one time with each of you.”

The women immediately begin preening, checking lipstick in compact mirrors, adjusting low-cut tops, smoothing already-smooth hair. As the night progresses, I watch Hayes move from woman to woman, making polite conversation. He seems genuine but guarded, his photographer’s eye observant as he studies each contestant. I try not to stare, but it’s hard not to. Especially when I remember how his lips felt against mine, how his hands—

“Earth to Brielle.” Annabelle nudges me. “You’re up next.”

“What? Already?” My heart does a somersault. “But I haven’t—I don’t—”

“Just be yourself.” Serena straightens the delta insignia on my uniform. “Remember: he’d be lucky to have a woman like you.”

I nod, grateful for their support, then make my way over to the small sitting area where Hayes waits. As I approach, his eyes widen, and for a heartbeat, I don’t know how to play this.

“Hello,” he says, standing as I approach. “You’re Brielle.”

“You got it,” I reply, trying to sound casual.

We sit, and I’m acutely aware of the cameras following our every move, the microphones capturing each word. It feels surreal—the last time we were hanging out, we were mostly naked on a beach, and now we’re performing this charade of strangers meeting for the first time.

“So, tell me about yourself, Brielle.”

I give him the sanitized version—screenwriter, recent success with a screenplay, a fan of sci-fi, even the D-lister movies—carefully avoiding any mention of beach encounters or anything I already know about him. He listens intently, asking thoughtful questions, and for a few minutes, I almost forget about the cameras, the competition, the absurdity of it all.

Almost.

Skye appears like an apparition, mouthing, “Time’s up.”

I stand, ready to leave so I don’t say something wrong. “It was nice meeting you, Hayes.”

“Likewise,” he says, and there it is again—that flicker of something more behind his eyes.

As I walk away, I notice a woman with the body of a runner and the smile of a shark—watching me with calculating eyes. She turns to Kavita, whispering something that makes both of them look at me with contempt.

I retreat to a quiet corner of the mansion, needing a moment away from the cameras and competition. Leaning against a wall near the kitchen, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Whatam I doing here? I’m on a deadline for the second season of my show, and I’m still grieving over my mother. I’m in no position to be looking for love, especially not in this toxic environment.

“...the nerdy ones first.” Gabby’s voice drifts from around the corner. My eyes snap open.

“Definitely,” comes Kavita’s reply. “The Trek girl and that chemist are easy targets. And the crybaby from Alabama.”

“Hayes might like intellectuals, but they are beyond,” Gabby continues. “We just need to make sure they look desperate or clingy on camera.”

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