Page 2 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

“Hello?” Dad’s voice booms, sparking a new smile across my face. I’m not afraid to admit I’m a daddy’s girl, and my standards for guys exist because of him. Which makes it near impossible to find someone worth my time… between my busy schedule and my expectations.

“Hey, Dad. What are you doing?”

“I just got in from a hike.” Which means he’s about to shower, then lie on the recliner and nap for at least an hour.

“It was a hot one today.” He’s breathing heavier than usual, and I bet he’s kicking off his hiking boots.

I remember hearing the news about this week’s heatwave in LA. I’m wearing a dress, but I have a denim jacket to throw over my floral maxi if it gets cool. I don’t know what to expect in Pulse Point… The weather app showed everything from sixty to seventy-five degrees this week.

“It was meant to be over one hundred, right?”

“Yeah. It’s definitely going to reach that today, so I’ll hang out at home with your mom before work tomorrow.” He lets out a contented sigh. “You enjoy yourself. I’m proud of you. The show is going to be a success.” His voice gets that hitch when he’s emotional.

My throat tightens. “Thanks, Dad. But we won’t be able to watch it for a while. They haven’t told me the release date yet.”

That’s how show business works. Which is frustrating because they film things months to years before they’re shown on TV.

“That’s okay. I know with you, it’s going to be great.”

I press my hand to my chest where my heartbeat is slowing. His faith in me means a lot; he’s been like that throughout the years. But I don’t dwell on it, not when I’m about to walk into the biggest opportunity of my life. I need to stay focused.

“Tell Mom I’ll call later.”

“Will do. Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

Their support is why I am where I am. When I’d come home from audition after audition with rejections, mascara smudged, I’d ring them, and they’d tell me to dust myself off and go again. And with their support, it was easy to do just that. I’ve been a contestant on a show, and I’ve built a following since, but I want to host. It’s a career. It’s not just a role I land and then move on from. It’s becoming the face of something.

When I got the callback from the network, I was beside myself with joy. I’d screamed so loud my neighbor knocked on the wall and told me to shut up.

I scroll for my best friend’s name. Brooke answers on the second ring.

“Are you there?” She sounds sleepy.

I wince slightly for waking her up, but I’m too wired.

“No, I’m in the car on my way to the Airbnb.”

“I hope it doesn’t end up being a hole. You know the ones online where they edit it so it looks better than it is, and you end up with bedbugs.” She makes a gagging sound.

I scrunch up my nose at the thought of bugs in my bed, my skin already crawling.

“This isn’t a dating app.”

She sighs loudly. “That’s worse. I’m sick of the manipulation of the photos, or the fact that they use old pictures. Like, man, you are not over 6’1”, and where did all your hair go?”

Remembering my own profile, I bite my lip. “I think we all do that.”

“I thought you deleted it?” Her voice rises excitedly.

“Oh, I did, and I have no plans to ever reopen it.”

I’d rather wait for someone who finds me in the real world, who wants me for reasons that have nothing to do with my follower count or my face on their social media.

“Have you tried the one with the celebs only?”

“That sounds worse. I’m still getting over that guy who had me take a photo of him every place we went to put on his social media.” I shudder at the memory. My place, his place, cars, coffee shop, restaurants. You name it… the list is endless.