A reality television dating show was never part of my post-college plan. Nearly broke, unemployed, recently dumped me let my best friend Haley decide it should be. They say don’t make important decisions after five shots of tequila, and I now believe whoever coined that phrase. We all have rough patches, right? Days when you snuggle on the couch in your favorite sweats inhaling chocolate? Well, I’ve signed up for the glamorous version. Free designer bikini. Poolside lounge chair. Open bar. Unfortunately, my free vacation takes a turn from mildly humiliating to full-on mortification when the identity of the man I’m meant to woo is revealed. What are the chances he’s the quarterback I accidentally insulted on national television six months ago? Turns out they’re pretty good. Famous athletes receive plenty of press coverage. Odds he remembers my constructive criticism? Turns out they’re also pretty good. Now I’m stuck in a five-star resort, surrounded by glamorous women, getting glared at by the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, all while having to complete ridiculous tasks and knowing every awkward moment is being forever enshrined on film for millions to watch weekly. All to win Mr. Wrong.