Chapter 1

Winnie

T he superpower of any great reality show producer is getting the cast to cry, but Goldie hasn’t even asked me a single question yet, and my eyes are leaky faucets. I dab at them discreetly; the last thing I want is for one of the Hammer brothers to notice and tease me for being such a marshmallow. I have fought tooth and nail to convince the entire world–especially them–that I’m tough.

“Do you need a minute?” Goldie studies me over the top of her clipboard. She isn’t just any producer, she’s my close friend. She understands how hard today is for me.

Behind her, I can see the brothers as they work around the job site, putting the finishing touches on the kitchen cabinets before install time. It’s impossible not to stare, and hard not to drool, when each and every one of my favorite guys is chiseled like the statue of a god, and their bare chests glisten with sweat from the morning sun .

“I’m fine,” I lie, squeezing my thighs together. It’s like she’s made sure the camera is positioned in a way to purposely expose me and every single one of my feelings for the guys, just in time for my last confessional. “Let’s get this over with.”

I don’t want to get this over with.

Our last ever reno, I mean. The confessional—that I can happily do without.

“Oh, Win,” Goldie says with a sympathetic sigh. “The final episodes are always hard. Everyone gets emotional.”

I snort-sob-laugh. “Really? Have any of the guys ugly cried?”

Goldie snort-sobs-laughs back at me. “The Hammer brothers don’t ugly anything.” She pauses, and drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “But at least one of them has openly wept.”

I raise my eyebrows, hoping she’ll elaborate.

This is a story I need to hear. I’ve known Jack, Mason, Max, Theo, Leo, Gunnar, Gavin, Axel, Diesel, and Cruz Hammer for as long as I can remember. Never have I seen any of them shed a tear, except for Gavin when he fell from the old apple tree and broke his collarbone at age six. And even that didn’t elicit more than a whimper. But to openly WEEP? It makes me wonder–will at least one of the Hammer brothers miss our show, and me, as much as I’ll miss them?

Impossible.

“Sooooo…” Goldie prompts. “You’re Winnie Wainwright, co-star of the hottest home renovation show on television. 1 Girl, 10 Hammers was not only your brainchild, it’s been your entire life for eight years. Now that it’s ending, what’s up next for you? ”

I don’t know what’s next, but one thing is certain: I won’t see the guys on a daily basis and that thought makes me feel like my soul is being ripped away. The truth is, the show is a hit, even after so many seasons. The network would’ve kept us going for eight more. But from the get-go we all agreed that if one of us wanted out, all of us were out. And we’ve come to that point.

“... I have no idea what comes next,” I admit.

Goldie gets this twinkle in her eye I know all too well. She’s about to say something provocative and I brace myself.

“You could always be the next Bachelorette ,” she says. “I’ve heard they’re interested in having you on as the first plus-sized leading lady in the history of the franchise. That’d be such an inspiration to girls that look like us.”

There’s sarcasm in her last sentence and she rolls her eyes.

I fake gagging. “Yeah, right.”

I feel sorry for whoever the first plus-sized Bachelorette will be, but it won’t be me. I do have one piece of advice for her: Don’t read the comments sections, girl. If I had a nickel for every time a stranger made a negative remark about some aspect of my appearance, I would be the world’s richest woman.

Besides, I don’t need to go on a dating show to find out it’s possible to fall in love with two or three or four people at the same time. I myself am currently madly in love with ten men.

“Something to think about,” Goldie says. “You’d still get to travel, be surrounded by hot guys. You might have fun. You have come a looooong way from the girl that was dead set against appearing on-camera, you have to admit. ”

She isn’t wrong – though the show was my idea, I never wanted to be on TV myself. The Hammer brothers had to drag me along, initially. They are all built to be in front of the camera, as if each brother was hand-crafted to be as swoon worthy as the after reveals of the houses we renovate.

“So, one more time. What is next for you, Winnie–” Goldie begins, but she’s interrupted by Jack Hammer, the oldest at 33, calling out in his gruff tone as he approaches us.

“What’s next for Winnie is that she gets her cute ass out here and does some damn work.”

Jack is smiling at me and it’s impossible not to smile back. His smile isn’t just something I see. It’s something I feel .

“Cut, cut,” Goldie says with a groan.

I give her a small shrug. “Can we pick this up later?”

Before Goldie can answer, Jack picks me up. The first few times one of the guys picked me up, I about died, thinking they’d drop me or groan at my weight or worse yet, pull a muscle in their back. Now it’s a semi-regular thing and I’m well aware of their strength, so I just enjoy the ride. I’m over his shoulder, my face pressed upside down against his bare chest. Am I tempted to lick it? Yes. Am I ashamed of myself for even thinking such a thing? Not really.

The guys are always shirtless when we’re filming. No joke, it’s in their contracts. The whole thing is designed to make every straight woman in America want to lick them.

“You’re sweaty,” I complain as if there’s anything gross about this scenario. From this angle, I can see his six-pack and his happy trail, disappearing into the waist of his jeans .

I have regular fantasies about Jack sweeping me off my feet and carrying me into another room. Hell, I have that fantasy about all of the guys. But in my fantasies, the room always has a bed. In real life, he deposits me in a chair in the almost-finished kitchen. On the table are a variety of tile samples.

“We need you to decide on the backsplash,” Jack says, raking a hand through his neatly combed hair, leaving it slightly tousled. “Today.”

“But–”

“Why are you putting this off?” He pierces me with his blue eyes, which radiate with both confidence and warmth.

I glance at the samples. Gorgeous Calacatta blue marble, retro subway tile, genuine Italian terrazzo, rustic slate, Moroccan glass, and more… of course there are ten samples, as if choosing between ten of anything is easy for me. But I can’t tell Jack the real reason I have been putting off the final touches. I’m not ready for everything we have built together to end. For us to all go our separate ways.

“Winnie,” Jack says, tweaking my wild red hair–which refuses to be contained by a messy bun or ponytail–like he did when we were kids. “Come on. The faster we wrap this up, the faster we can all celebrate.”

I force a smile. I won’t be in the mood to celebrate. It makes me a little sad that he will be. That any of them will be.

“Did you decide whether or not you’re going to Italy with Cynthia?” I blurt, running a finger along a vein in the marble, suddenly unable to look at him.

Lately, Jack is on-again off-again with the Cynthia Sinclair. Yes, that one. The supermodel socialite makeup mogul. I try not to torture myself thinking about the gorgeous babies they would make because let’s be real. Jack never dates anyone for long.

But jealousy twists my stomach when I think about him dating anyone at all. I make myself sick. I should want him to find love. I should want that for them all. It might be a little easier, though, if there was a snowball’s chance in hell one of them might find that love with me.

“I haven’t,” Jack says but I can tell he’s lying. His left eye twitches. He’s one hundred percent going. I don’t know why he doesn’t just tell me.

An even more unsettling thought hits–what if he’s being evasive because they are getting serious? I don’t know how I’d handle one of my guys getting married, settling down, starting a family with someone else.

“But if you go, it’s for a few weeks, right?” I ask. Is there a chance he could be considering moving to Italy with Cynthia Sinclair? There’s an edge of panic in my voice and I find myself covering the Italian tile with the subway tile, as if that might subconsciously affect his decision.

“Relax, Winnie,” he says, taking my hands in his large, callused ones. Butterflies burst from my heart for a moment before he places my hands back on the tile samples. “One thing at a time. And right now, we have a kitchen to finish. Make a choice.”

“That one,” I gesture vaguely and get up.

“I didn’t even see which one you pointed at,” Jack protests, but I brush past him.

Without a plan, I end up back in the yard, surrounded by too many cameras, crew members, and shirtless Hammers to think straight. One set of the twins, Theo and Leo, sun- kissed blondes, are carrying a sleek dishwasher between them, their identical muscles bulging though they don’t look like they’re struggling in the slightest. The only way to tell them apart is their tats. So many tats, probably even ones I haven’t seen. All of which I want to trace with my fingertips, my tongue.

Knowing we’ll be parting ways in mere days is messing with my head too much. I have to find Goldie.

I spot her by the coffee station getting her third or forth fix of the day, and grab her arm, pulling her behind one of the film crew vans.

“Winnie! What’s wrong? I need my caffeine!”

“I’m going to be a real-life 40 year old virgin!”

“Hon, you won’t even be 30 for two more years–”

“I’m going to die a virgin!” I sound so cringey as I wail, but I’m unable to stop myself. “I’ve waited too long to lose my virginity. And why? Because I cannot lose it to someone whose last name is not Hammer. But do they see me as anything other than a friend? No! And who can blame them?”

“Winnie, wait–”

“I know what you’re going to say. Do I actually want my first time to be with one of the Hammers? Yes!” I cover my face with my hands. “No, I NEED it. But do I want any of them, in all their physical perfection, to see me and my every flaw NAKED?” I bark out a laugh that sounds more like a cry.

“Winnie, seriously, you need to shut up right now–”

“I know, I know, I’m sweet, I have a cute face, and guys really do like curves, blah blah, but honestly, Goldie, why would any of the Hammer brothers want to have sex with this–” I gesture down at my body, “when they’re banging supermodels like Cynthia Sinclair? And yes, I realize I’m acting like a sixteen-year-old.”

“Winnie, stop!” Goldie cries, and I finally notice her pointing at a cameraman half-hidden behind the hood of the van. “You’re aware that there’s a camera trained on us and your mic is hot, right?”

Oh, god. Ohhhhh, god.

I spin around.

“DELETE THAT!” I shriek, barrelling for the cameraman, a tall, wiry guy called Jonesy. He is grinning like he just caught me and Golds having sex. “You have to delete it!”

Now I really do sound like a teenager having a temper tantrum, but I don’t care. There’s no way intimate information I’ve managed to keep private forever can be aired now. No. Effing. Way.

But before I reach Jonesy, he dodges, scampering backwards. “Come on, Winnie, that was way too good to delete,” he says with a laugh. “It’s what the audience wants, baby.”

I want to puke. My vision starts to go white. “Please, no! I didn’t mean what I said.”

Strong arms gather me up, suddenly, cradling me with the scent of leather and warm vanilla, and I know that I’m being held by Max.

There’s a calming blast of sandalwood as his twin Mason rushes past us to get in Jonesy’s face.

“What the hell, man?” Mason growls. His ice blue eyes flash with protective anger. “Whatever it is you just filmed, delete it. ”

“No way. The tea Winnie just spilled is TV gold–” Jonesy starts, but something he sees in their expressions stops him fast. “Yeah, yeah, cool. Consider it deleted.”

“If I find out it wasn’t–” Mason warns Jonesy, as he scurries away.

Max gives me a squeeze. “You okay, princess?”

I want to melt into him, feel his comforting arms around me forever.

“Yeah, fine. Everything is fine now. Thanks, guys.”

“What was that all about, anyway?” Mason questions. “What did you say?”

Like Leo and Theo, Max and Mason are identical twins, only distinguishable by their ink. They both flash me matching curious expressions.

“Oh…I… nothing,” I lie, my cheeks growing hot all over again.

They study me a moment longer before heading back to work and I’m relieved they’re too busy at the moment to quiz me harder. Ordinarily, Mason would turn this into a full-blown interrogation, endlessly questioning me until he found out what was wrong.

Goldie raises a brow, flashing me a sly smile from behind her clipboard. “Who knows, Winnie. With the way those boys rush to care for your every need… You might find yourself without a v-card sooner than you think. And one of the Hammer bros might be the one to snatch it up.”