“Max!” Milo shouted. “This is a disaster.”

“Hey.” Max held up his hands. “You’re the one who wanted to film me for Grandma.” He shivered. “Wow, just saying that out loud sounds like I sold my soul to pornography for the elderly.”

“One more question!” Milo looked at the camera with desperation. It lifted and I figured the guy named Colt was on the other end. The camera zoomed in on Max’s perfect face.

Damn, not even a scar.

No mark.

Nothing.

His skin was perfection. Then again, he was probably some metrosexual misfit who got his jollies by buying face cream and hitting the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale every year.

The guy probably couldn’t chop down a tree to save his life.

“What are you looking for in a woman?”

“Why the hell does Grandma need to know that?” Max roared.

“Curious minds would like to know,” Colt said, zooming the camera in even further on Max’s perfect blue eyes. Wow, he was just . . . too pretty up close.

“Perfection,” Max answered. “I want perfection.” He looked to Milo. “Then again, I already had that and it didn’t work out so well.” Milo blushed, he winked, Colt cursed. “Fine, fine.” Max turned toward the camera. “I’m easy. If I had my choice—I’d choose someone who could be my best friend every single time.”

Milo’s face fell. “Max—”

“We done?” He got up from the couch, his smile was forced. “I gotta go check on Reid and . . . yeah, see you guys for dinner.”

The screen went blank and then another homemade movie popped up in which Max was engaging in a popcorn fight and then playing Ping-Pong like it was World War III.

The last scene was of a shirtless Max on a run, sweat pouring down every plane of his chiseled chest.

“Stats.” Rex cleared his throat while the frame froze on Max’s six-pack. “He’s heir to the Emory Hotel chain. Net worth around twenty million, give or take a few. He graduated from NYU with a degree in poli-sci, which he has yet to put to any use. He plays lacrosse, soccer, and enjoys going for long runs. Your first competition . . .” You could hear a pin drop in that plane. “Get him to kiss you. He kisses you—you stay. No kiss? You’re on the next flight out. You have forty-eight hours.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MAX

Chocolate. Damn, it tasted good. Milo held out the doughnut, but just as I leaned forward she pulled it back and took a bite, sinking her white teeth into the softness of the dough—stealing the breath right out of my body.

“Be the doughnut, Max.” She winked.

“How about I just kiss you?” I offered lamely. Because that’s what best friends do. It had started as a stupid crush, but there’s something about seeing the girl you’re crushing on not crushing back, that kind of kills a man’s pride. Sure, we would have never worked. But when she’d married Colt, I’d kind of lost a part of myself. The only part I actually liked. She’d made me feel confident, carefree, and selfless . . . so losing Milo? Well, it was like being abandoned in the deep end with no water wings and absolutely no recollection of how to swim.

“Damn doughnut.” I scowled and crossed my arms.

“Aw.” Milo licked her pink lips and leaned forward, her face inches from mine. A piece of chocolate frosting had found its way onto the corner of her mouth.

“You missed a spot,” I said in a husky voice.

“So get it for me,” she challenged, her eyes narrowing in on my lips.

The chair creaked as I moved closer; my mouth hovered over hers and then something wet touched my face.

“What the—”

Milo tilted her head.

And more wetness.

I blinked as the dream disappeared and was replaced with what I’d like to say is every guy’s nightmare times fifty.

Things were still fuzzy on account that I’m pretty sure I’d been given a pill that I saw on Nightline a few nights back could cause sudden death and slight hallucinations—but one thing was clear.

I was getting straddled by Amazon.

And she had just licked my face.

And not in a way that made every male part of my body rejoice in excitement. No, try the exact opposite.

She smelled like pine nuts.

And it just so happened that she was kneeing me in the nuts, which I thought fit pretty well, all things considering.

“Hey there, lover,” she purred.

“That work?” I whispered. “Calling a guy lover? Does that normally get them all hot and bothered before you knee them in the boys, or is that part of your game? You hurt them and then they finally give up? That turn you on?”

Stop talking, Max, stop talking!

Amazon’s gaze narrowed until her eyes were tiny slits. Well, shit, I was about two seconds away from getting neutered.

“Kiss me.” She gripped my hair so tight I was pretty sure I’d have two bald spots for the rest of the TV show.

“Um, no thanks.” Hey, she might have been crazy but I was still raised to have manners.

“Kiss me, bitch!” She tugged harder, and beads of sweat rolled down my temples. Where the hell was my security? And why was the host letting women attack me? My terrified mind went back to last season, when they’d said they were going to make changes to the show.

Changes, changes, changes.

Money.

Competition.

Game.

Funny, all the tiny little pieces of the puzzle finally settled in, and instead of adding to the fear—it just added to the rage.