Who taught you life?

“OH MY GOD, I’M GOING TO PEE MY PANTS. MOVE! MOVE, DIANA! GET out of

my way!”

Gigi Graham barrels through my door and practically knocks me into the hall closet. We have dinner plans tonight, but instead of waiting for me in the driveway outside the Sycamore building like she was supposed to, she used her spare key to access the lobby and showed up at my door in a pee panic.

Her sandals slap the hardwood on her mad race to the bathroom. She’s in too much of a hurry to close the door, and seconds later I hear the faint tinkle hitting the porcelain.

“Where are your manners?” I call out.

“They left me after the third iced coffee. I made the mistake of chugging another one right before I left Boston to come get you.”

“Iced coffee, huh? Are you sure you’re not…you know…” “What?”

“Pregnant, Gigi.”

There’s a loud strangled noise. “What! God no! Just because I got married doesn’t mean I’m ready for a kid. I drank too much in the car and didn’t feel like stopping. Trust me, you’d be the first person I called if I got pregnant. Because I’d be freaking the fuck out.”

The toilet flushes. I hear her washing her hands and then she returns to the kitchen, much more relaxed.

Her gaze drifts to my coffee table and stops there. “Did you get a cat?”

Thanks to the chaos of Shane moving in next door, I forgot about Lucy. She’s cowering under the table, her tail flicking in agitation. I texted Priya I’d bring her back when I left for dinner.

When Lucy sees me looking, she gives a whiny meow.

“Oh, you’re annoyed at me? Really? I get caught naked in front of my fuckboy neighbor because you decide to body-check me and I’m the bad guy?” I turn to Gigi, answering her question. “She’s my neighbor’s cat and she’s a demon. We need to drop her off downstairs on our way out.”

“Wait, were you talking about Shane?” Gigi bursts out laughing. “Shane saw you naked?”

“I fell when Lucy bolted and lost my towel just as Shane was coming up the stairs.” I growl. “I hate giving Lindley the upper hand. Seeing me naked is totally upper hand ammunition.” I raise my eyes upward in exasperation. “Why is this my life?”

“Why are you talking to the ceiling?”

“I’m not talking to the ceiling. I’m talking to the universe.” “Why is the universe up there? It’s all around us.”

“Fine, I’m talking to the gods, then. All fifty of them.”

“You’re so fucking weird.” She steps away from the counter. “Okay, shall we head out?”

The click of her sandals on the kitchen tile is no louder than the drop of a pen to my ears, but to my neighbor Niall, our steps might as well have been an avalanche of pots and pans raining down from the ceiling.

“Keep it down!” I hear his muffled voice shout from below us.

“And I repeat, why is this my life?” I give the floor a quick stomp. “If you don’t like basic walking, Niall,” I shout, “then you’re really not going to like all the dancing I’m going to do tomorrow!”

“I take it Kenji’s coming over?” Gigi says in amusement. “Yup.”

Kenji is a friend from school and, more importantly, my dance partner. This marks our third year as aspiring ballroom dance champions, and we’re not entering just any competition either. Only the biggest amateur dance event in the country, held annually in Boston.

Yes, people. I’m talking about the National Upper Amateur Ballroom Championships.

It used to be the NABC, minus the U, but too many beginners were treating it like a fun event. God forbid! So now we’re UPPER amateurs, thank you very much. Meaning that no Joe and Sally off the street brandishing a check for the entry amount can just pay their way to compete. The ballroom dance gatekeepers don’t mess around. In fact, you can’t even qualify for an NUABC slot without passing a preliminary round. All potential entrants are required to send a two-minute video featuring a routine from the list of approved dances. A panel of three judges reviews every audition tape and green-lights who gets to compete.

Which means I’m training for something that might not even result in me competing. Kenji and I qualified last year, though, so I have high hopes we’ll do it again.

“You always have so many things going on,” Gigi marvels. “Cheerleading, this dance stuff…”

“That’s two things.”

“Fine, but you’re always throwing yourself headfirst into these side gigs. Your cheer schedule is already hectic enough as it is, and then you go adding ballroom dancing to the mix and somehow manage to give it an equal amount of attention. If I had to concentrate on something other than hockey and put the same effort into it, I’d be a zombie.” She shakes her head as another thing occurs to her. “And you have two jobs! What the hell. Are you a superhuman?”

I shrug. “Life’s too short to not do all the things I want to do.”

“Life is also exhausting.” She snorts. “To everyone but you, apparently.” I do possess a scary amount of energy. I’ll give her that.

Grabbing my purse off the plaid-upholstered armchair next to the couch, I throw the strap over my shoulder, then kneel in front of the coffee table.

“Come on, demon. Time to go home.”

Lucy tries to back away, but I pick her up despite her mewled protest. “No,” I order. “I’ve had enough of your attitude.”

I manage to keep a firm grip on the tabby while I lock up, and then Gigi and I descend the one flight of stairs to the main floor. Lucy wails in annoyance when I pass her off to a very relieved Priya.

“Thanks for keeping her,” Priya says, her dark eyes shining with gratitude. “I would’ve run upstairs to grab her earlier, but I couldn’t leave my client alone in the apartment.”

“It’s no problem. Although I’m sure Niall didn’t enjoy hearing her meows bouncing off the walls as she prowled the building.”

The man with the keenest sense of hearing on the planet voices a confirmation. “It was intolerable!” comes the muffled complaint behind the door of 1B.

“Oh, get over it, Niall!” Priya calls back.

My best friend shakes her head at me as we exit the tiny lobby and step onto the wide path in front of Red Birch.

“What?” I ask.

“You know, your mom may have a point about this condo. You can’t even walk in your own kitchen without being yelled at. It’s ridiculous.”

After Aunt Jennifer’s estate was settled, my mother wanted me to sell the condo and take the cash like my younger brother did with her Boston apartment. But Thomas and I are very different creatures. Despite what most people think when they meet me, I’m somewhat of a homebody. I love going out, sure, but I’m also perfectly content, and often prefer, staying home.

Thomas, on the other hand, is always on the go. His dream is to work for an international organization like Doctors Without Borders after med school. He graduated high school this spring, and now he’s taking a gap year to explore the world and volunteer with a couple of different charities. The money from the sale of Aunt Jennifer’s apartment will not only fund his travels but cover his college and medical school tuition.

I got a full scholarship to Briar, which means I don’t need to pay for school, and I’m not too interested in global exploration. So really, I don’t need the liquid cash. Except maybe to pay for a real handyman. But I’d never tell my mother that. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing my domestic situation is anything other than blissful.

She’s always had low expectations of me. But I’m used to it. It annoys me, sure, but there’s nothing I can do to change the way she views me. And, truthfully, I harbor no ill will toward my mom. We just aren’t close. After my parents divorced when I was twelve, I chose to live with my father because he’s less regimented. Mom had a laundry list of rules that I had to adhere to. Living away from her created a barrier in our relationship that we couldn’t shake. A distance we couldn’t bridge.

It also doesn’t help that she thinks I’m an idiot. Truly. In my mother’s eyes, anyone with an IQ below 150 is beneath her.

Gigi and I grab dinner at a burger place in Hastings, where we chat about our summer plans while we wait for our food.

“No chance you can make it to Tahoe?” She can’t hide her disappointment.

Gigi’s family spends every August in Lake Tahoe, but this year they’re only there for two weeks because Gigi is getting married at the end of the month. Seems redundant, considering she and Ryder already eloped in April. But her parents—well, her dad mostly—guilted Gigi into having a proper wedding.

“I really can’t,” I say regretfully. “I have to work.”

It’s nearly impossible finding a job in Hastings, especially during the school year. Anyone who wants solid work usually has to make the hour commute to Boston, which takes even longer when you don’t have a car, like me. When I snagged this waitressing gig at the diner in town, I didn’t think twice. It’s a necessary sacrifice—I work at Della’s during the summer and secure myself a job for the fall. I’m also coaching at a youth cheer camp in July and August, so either way I wouldn’t have been able to gallivant off to Tahoe.

“I’ll have some free weekends and a lot of weeknights,” I tell Gigi. “So I’ll definitely be able to come see you in Boston or help with wedding stuff. Attend dress fittings and all that.”

“Oh, don’t worry. My aunt Summer is handling it all.” She sighs. “So you can expect at least two emails a day.”

She doesn’t know the half of it. It’s already started. I’m planning Gigi’s bachelorette with my co–maid of honor, Mya, Gigi’s former roommate. And Aunt Summer has already unleashed herself on us. She insists on being involved in our plans, despite not even being in the wedding party. The woman is a chaos tornado in designer threads.

“I can’t believe I won’t have a plus-one for your wedding,” I realize. “You could go with Shane.”

I laugh so loudly that the couple in the next booth glances over.

“Got it. No Shane.” She looks ill at ease now. “I’d suggest asking Percy, since you insist on staying friends with him, but honestly, I’d rather he didn’t come. I’d also rather you ditched this friend idea.”

“You don’t have to worry. I was just being nice when I told him that.” I hesitate. “And now I’m regretting it. He texted me earlier asking to hang out.”

“I hope you said no.” “I didn’t answer.” “Good. Don’t.”

I crack a smile. “You really didn’t like him, huh?”

“No. He was kind of a dick,” she admits, and it’s not the first time she’s said that.

We frequently hashed and rehashed Gigi’s thoughts toward my ex- boyfriend during my six-month relationship with Percy. Her biggest beef was with our age difference, although if I’m honest, that was part of his appeal and a major factor in why I stuck it out for so long when it was obvious after only a few months that we were incompatible.

Percy’s twenty-six, and while five years isn’t a massive gap in the grand scheme of things, it does make a difference in your twenties. So many guys I

know who are twenty or twenty-one seem like little boys compared to those I’ve met who are twenty-five or twenty-six.

Percy’s maturity drew me to him. I can’t deny it was exciting being with someone older. He was confident, so grounded in his opinions, his goals. He was sweet and attentive. He treated me like a valued partner, rather than a glorified sex doll like a lot of guys I’ve had the displeasure of encountering. He was a perfect gentleman.

For a while.

Once I got to know him better, I realized he’s not confident but thin- skinned. He’s opinionated, yes, but in a condescending way. And that sweet, attentive man had a habit of sulking when something didn’t go his way.

“He was so possessive when we all went out that one time,” Gigi reminds me. She makes a face. “Oh, and he said he loved you during sex. That’s so cringey.”

I don’t disagree. Percy could be…intense when it came to sharing his feelings. The first time he dropped the L-Bomb was mid-ejaculation. I didn’t say it back, and I could tell by the displeased flash in his eyes that he didn’t love that. I jokingly told him I-love-yous during sex can’t be taken seriously because of all the endorphins. So a few weeks later he took me out to dinner and, over dessert he insisted we share using one fork, said it for real that time.

Again, I didn’t say it back.

I’m more of a slow burner. I’ve only told one boyfriend I loved him, and that was after six months of dating. But when Percy and I hit the six-month mark and I still didn’t feel anything deeper than “I guess I like him,” it was a sure sign we weren’t a match.

That, and he threw a glass against the wall. Yeah.

I never told Gigi about this. Didn’t want to give her any more ammo in her dislike for my boyfriend. But after a phone argument with his older brother, Percy hurled a full wineglass at his living room wall while I sat on the couch in stunned silence, watching shards of glass explode and bloodred drops soak into the rug.

Not gonna lie—it was a massive turnoff. I know some people need an outlet for their anger. I mean, I’ve heard about those “rage rooms” where people pay actual money to smash old TVs and vases with baseball bats. And while I have a temper myself, I’ve never broken anything out of anger. Seeing Percy lose his temper like that over a silly fight about his brother bailing on Thanksgiving had given me a serious case of the ick. I broke up with him three days later.

My ex’s ears must be burning because he chooses that moment to text again. Uh-oh, he’s double texting.

I know I should respond, but I don’t know how to act around him. Every time I give him an inch, he tries to win me back.

“Man, he really wants to come over tonight,” I say, glancing at my phone.

“He can suck a dick.”

I grin and polish off the last bite of my burger. After dinner, we take a walk along Main Street, popping into some shops to browse handcrafted knickknacks and one-of-a-kind clothing, and then Gigi drives me home. She still has to get back to Boston tonight; she’s staying with her parents until she and Ryder move into their own place in September.

“I wish you were in the dorms this summer, so you wouldn’t have to drive more than an hour to hang out with me.” I pout.

“Honestly, I’m barely going to be around these next couple months. I’ve got wedding-planning shit. Then Arizona next week, so Ryder is super stressed. Then Tahoe with the fam, Italy with the husband, and the wedding itself.”

I whistle. “Jeez. World traveler over here. And stop doing things backward, will you? Elopement, Italian honeymoon, and then wedding? Who taught you life?”

She snorts.

I don’t comment on the Arizona trip because it’s an awkward subject. They’re going out there for Ryder’s dad’s parole hearing. It’s tragic, really. Ryder’s dad killed his mother when Ryder was little. He took a plea deal and is up for parole after only fifteen years, but the prosecutors don’t think he

stands a chance of getting out. Still, I can see how it would be stressful for Gigi’s new husband.

She slows down at the massive white sign that reads MEADOW HILL and pulls into the circular driveway in front of the Sycamore building.

Gigi puts the car in park. “I’ll see you this weekend?” We have dinner

plans again.

“Definitely. And if you’re able to get away from your fam before that, let me know. Come over and swim. You might have to watch a dance rehearsal depending on the day, but Kenji and I only practice for about an hour.”

“I’ll let you know. Love you.” “Love you.”

I give her a side hug and slide out of the SUV, tucking my purse over my shoulder. Gigi drives away just as another vehicle pulls up. I’m naturally curious—fine, nosy—so I glance over in time to see a familiar face emerge from the back seat.

I narrow my eyes. It’s Crystal Haller, one of my fellow cheerleaders. Oh, come on.

That fucking asshole. Why!?! We just had a talk about this. “Diana. Hey.” Crystal approaches with an awkward smile.

We’re not close. As captain of the team, I make an effort to try to bond with every squad member, but I can’t be expected to become best friends with dozens of people with different personalities. Crystal and I have never clicked. She’s a bit snooty, to be honest. We’re both counselors at cheer camp this summer, and she’s dropped several comments since camp began about how she doesn’t really need the money, but it’s nice to have a little “pocket change.”

For me, this isn’t “pocket change.” It’s what pays my mortgage.

We approach the main doors of the Sycamore, pausing out front. “I forgot you lived here,” Crystal says. “I’m here to see—”

“Yeah, I know. Lindley.”

She’s startled. “How did you know that?”

“He’s my new neighbor. I assumed it was only a matter of time before the girl parade started.”

That gets me a deep frown.

“Sorry,” I hedge. “I didn’t mean it like that.” I pause. “Actually. I did.

You do know he’s a player, right?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Di. I am fully aware that he’s a player.”

I relax at her use of my nickname. Means she can’t be that mad about the girl-parade remark.

“Okay, good. Just, you know, temper your expectations. Audrey sprained her ankle because of the guy.”

“That’s unfair. He didn’t sprain her ankle.”

“No,” I grudgingly admit, “not personally. But she fell because she was so distracted by her will-he-or-won’t-he-call obsession. And then spoiler alert—he didn’t call.” I purse my lips. “Okay, he did call. But that was to tell her he wouldn’t be calling anymore.” I give Crystal a firm look. “He is a very dangerous man.”

“It’s all right,” she answers, clearly amused. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m a big girl.”

“You’ve been warned,” I say as I use my key fob to buzz myself in. She trails after me into the well-lit lobby.

“Evening, Diana.”

Richard, the guard who works the night shift, greets me with a smile. He’s in his fifties, with pale skin that always holds a reddish tinge to it as if he’s perpetually sunburned.

“Hey, Richard.” I approach the desk. “This is Crystal. She’s here to see Shane Lindley. Red Birch, apartment 2B.”

He nods and jots it down in his ledger. “Come on,” I tell her. “It’s this way.”

We leave through the double doors at the back and emerge onto the winding, paved path. Red Birch is the third building from the Sycamore. We pass Cherry Blossom and Silver Pine before I lead her into our own mini lobby.

“We’re up here,” I say, heading for the staircase. “Oh, you weren’t kidding. You really are neighbors.” “Ugh. Yeah.”

“Don’t sound so thrilled about it.”

“I don’t like hockey players,” I mutter.

Well, that’s not true. My best friend is a hockey player. So is her husband, and I like him.

And I like Beckett. And Will.

Huh. I guess the only one I don’t like is Shane. You learn something new every day.

We reach the top of the stairs. I walk toward my door, which displays a small silver plate that reads 2A. Directing Crystal, I point toward 2B. “He’s over there.”

“Thanks.”

I let myself in and lock the door behind me. From the hall, I hear the murmur of voices. A deep rumble of laughter—Shane’s. Then the faint sound of his door closing.

In my kitchen, I shoot Gigi a quick text.

ME:

What’s Shane’s number? I need it.

I brew myself a cup of herbal tea while I chat with Skip, who’s swimming laps around his tank. My plan for the rest of the night is to tune in to TRN, the reality show network I’m obsessed with. They’re airing a meet- the-cast special tonight for my favorite show, and I’m dying to see who’s going to be in the hacienda this season.

I’m making myself cozy on the couch when my phone dings. It’s Percy again.

PERCY:

I only ask because I thought it would be nice to see each other and catch up. I totally get it if you don’t want to, but we agreed to be friends, so…

He punctuates that with a shrugging emoji.

I stifle a sigh. I did tell him we could be friends, but it was a way to soften the blow. Except now I look like a total ass if I take it back.

ME:

Hey, sorry for not getting back to you sooner. I was out with Gigi. If you want to watch some reality TV with me, you can come by for a bit, but I warn you I’m planning to go to bed early. I’m working the breakfast shift tomorrow.

PERCY:

I’ll stay an hour, tops. See you soon.

I can practically feel the excitement pouring off his words. And I see that same enthusiasm in his smile when I swing the door open less than twenty minutes later.

“How’ve you been?” I ask after I let him in.

“Good. I was just at Malone’s meeting with a realtor.” “At eight thirty at night?”

“Yeah, he met up with me after work. I told you my landlords are selling the house, right? This real estate agent is trying to help me track down another place, but there’s really nothing available. I might be screwed.”

Percy’s been renting a townhouse in town, but just like how jobs in Hastings are scarce, so is housing. Although Briar is only a ten-minute drive, Hastings is not technically a college town, which means we’re not set up to house thousands of students. Only in the last couple of years did the Hastings town council even agree to allow buildings taller than three stories. “Oh my God, will you have to live in the graduate dorms?” I ask

sympathetically.

Percy sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He has such great hair. A sweep of thick, brown strands that are perpetually wind-tousled even when it’s not windy. He also has chiseled cheekbones and pale skin, a combo that

gives off Victorian prince vibes. He’s always seemed so much older to me and not simply because he is. I would honestly buy it if you’d told me he was some immortal creature who’s been alive for centuries.

Groaning, he kicks off his loafers and follows me into the living area. “I can’t live in the dorms. Some of the singles are nice, but the only ones left have a communal bathroom. Christ. I’m a total germaphobe. You know I need my own bathroom.”

“I don’t blame you. So do I.”

I offer him some tea and we chat more about his living arrangements while waiting for the kettle to boil. It isn’t until we’re seated on opposite ends of the couch that he inquires about me.

“So how are you doing?” he asks awkwardly.

“I’m good. It’s shaping out to be a busy summer.” I wrap both hands around my mug. “Juggling two jobs is going to be rough. I’m basically working every day of the week.”

“I love your work ethic. Reminds me of myself. I worked three jobs when I was doing my undergrad.”

“Right, I remember you telling me that.”

We both sip our tea. I notice him watching me over the rim of his mug and know he wants to ask me something else. Probably if I’m seeing someone. Fortunately, he squashes that impulse.

“So, are you ready for this?” With my free hand, I grab the remote off the coffee table. “The new season of Fling or Forever starts next week.”

He grimaces. “Can’t believe you made me watch a whole season of that junk.”

“Three episodes, Percival. You only watched three.”

“That’s three too many.” Humor dances in his moss-green eyes. Okay, this isn’t too bad. Maybe we can be friends.

I find TRN and curl up against the arm of the couch with my tea as Fling or Forever’s “Meet the Cast” special flashes on the screen. For the next thirty minutes, Percy and I watch the show, offering running commentary about this season’s first ten contestants.

“Holy shit, that’s Steven Price,” I exclaim.

“Who?” Percy asks blankly.

“NFL player. Well, former player. He was injured a few seasons ago, tried to make a comeback, and then got hurt again. So now he’s officially retired.”

“Christ. Here I am toiling away to earn my master’s and this guy is my age and already retired.” Percy’s tone is wry.

I study the next contestant. Zoey, a gorgeous brunette with big eyes and incredible lips. “She’s a cellist,” I remark, reading the bio that overlays the screen.

“Poor girl. What the hell is she doing on a show like this?”

“Oh my God. Okay—him. That’s my guy.” I grin at the next contestant who slides onto a stool and introduces himself to the camera. “That’s who I’m rooting for.”

“He goes by ‘The Connor,’ Diana. And he talks like a douchebag.” Distaste drips from Percy’s tone, which makes me laugh.

“Don’t judge a radio DJ by his cover,” I chide. “I bet you he’s a secret softie. Oh, hold on. Getting a text.”

It’s from Gigi. She’s sent me Shane’s contact info.

GIGI:

Please be nice to him. He’s basically my brother-in-law now.

Nice? Has she met me?

I open a new message thread and start typing. For some reason Shane strikes me as the type of guy who would check his texts in the middle of sex, so just to annoy him, I send my message one line at a time.

The tally is up to ten when I’m done. “Who are you texting?”

“Oh, sorry. Just my new neighbor. He’s so cocky and obnoxious. And this whole year he’s been fucking up my life.”

There’s a slight narrowing of Percy’s eyes. “What do you mean?”

“He’s the one that keeps sleeping with all my cheerleaders. I told you about him, remember? The hockey player?”

“I don’t think you ever mentioned him.” His mouth is a bit tight.

“Oh, I thought I had. Anyway, he plays for Briar and he’s a total fuckboy. I just caught my teammate Crystal going to his apartment tonight after I specifically told him to leave the cheer team alone.”

“How do you know this guy?” Percy’s displeasure is now perfectly outlined in every crease of his face. “Are you dating him?”

“What? No.” I stare at him. “I hate him.”

“Really? Because you seem very invested in the sex life of a complete stranger.”

“He’s not a complete stranger. I just told you, he’s a hockey player. I know him through Gigi.”

“And you’re trying to, what, sabotage his date?” Percy curses softly. “Is that why I’m here right now?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” “Why am I here?”

“Because you wanted to hang out. As friends,” I say pointedly. “Right. You made that very clear.”

“Of course I made that clear. Because we broke up.” My teeth grind against each other. I clear my throat to hide any agitation. “Actually, this is why we broke up.”

“Why? Because I don’t understand why you’re texting this guy? Why do you even have his phone number?”

“I don’t have his phone number.” “You texted him!”

“No, I know, but I didn’t have it before. I literally just got it from Gigi.” Percy looks doubtful.

“Are you serious right now?” I open Gigi’s text and hold the phone in front of his face. “See? I texted her asking for his number. I never had it before tonight.”

And why am I even explaining myself?

I take a breath and rise from the couch. “Okay. It’s time for you to go.”

Immediately, a note of panic enters his voice. “Diana, come on.”

“No, this is why we broke up, Percy. Because we’re not compatible. Because you’re so distrustful of me when I never give you any reason not to trust me. I didn’t even look at another guy when we were together, and I’ve never cheated on anyone in my life, yet you interrogate me about every single guy I talk to, including this jerk.” I gesture at my phone. “I don’t even like him. So yes, clearly we’re mismatched in what we need from a relationship.”

“Because I need reassurance every now and then?” he says bitterly.

“Yes,” I admit. “And there’s nothing wrong with that. I’m sure you’ll find a woman who will be happy to offer tons of reassurance. Whereas I need to find a man who trusts me completely.”

“I do,” he insists.

I ignore that. “I mean it. It’s time to go. I want to go to bed.”

Something flashes in his eyes. It gets my back up. But then he inhales deeply. “All right. Sorry. I’ll get out of your way.”

At the door, he tries to hug me goodbye. I step away from it. “No,” I say. “I’m really not in the mood. Please.”

“I’m sorry.” His expression conveys defeat. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

Please don’t, I want to shout, but he’s already gone.

When I return to the living room, I find a message from Shane on my phone. A response to my lengthy and not-so-nice Leave my cheerleaders alone.

SHANE:

Aww, sounds like someone’s feeling left out. Come join us.

I glare at the phone before responding.

ME:

Never.

Meet the Cast of Fling or Forever Season 2!

Keep It Real.com Byline: Trina Banner

Original Publication Date: July 5

It’s that time of year again, gals and guys!

Summer. Beautiful, splendid summer. And you know what that means…

Five new guys and five new gals will be arriving at the hacienda to flirt the summer away in a brand-new season of TRN’s Fling or Forever.

The drama! The spice! The Sugar Suite! Get ready for eight weeks of nonstop action, in every sense of the word. Ten OG boys and girls will be joined by other singles throughout the summer, each determined to find love and create chaos.

Keep scrolling to meet this season’s contestants…