“For?”
“He needs to get your vote on which girl you’ll no longer consider.”
“Yeah, he did.”
I chose, and it was rough. I didn’t realize my pick to remove a girl from the dashboard of my life was needed first thing this morning.
Apparently, from what Jerry advised earlier, Willow came to my room to collect the girl’s name and I didn’t answer. I heard the knock, but was in the shower after saying goodbye to Brooke. I didn’t want company, and I sure as hell didn’t want that woman squawking at me for any reason. She told me herself she was here to support the girls. So be it. She can see to them. I prefer Matt, as he’s much more laid back.
When I instructed Jerry on my choice to remove Mary Ann, he didn’t offer a word in counsel. He just said, “I’ll see the board gets your pick,” and let me off the phone.
“Don’t feel bad about any of the decisions you make here, Brock. If you overthink, you’ll undoubtedly make the wrong choice. Go with your gut.”
My gut says Brooke. I’m not so sure she’s there with me, though. Other than in passing, she hasn’t mentioned the weight of importance to why she’s here, which to be fair, she hasn’t exactly gotten an opportunity. When we’re together, we’re either fucking, rattling on about our impersonal likes and dislikes, or sleeping. However, as odd as it may be, I’m content with what we have, and I haven’t been this content with any woman, ever.
And I’ve been with a lot.
“And don’t forget one thing as you cast each woman aside,” Matt injects.
“What’s that?”
“In the end, the woman you choose has every right to refuse your proposal. If she does, the matter is out of your hands.”
“It goes to the audience,” I recall.
“They’ll cast their vote each week. We’ll tape what we can until then. After that, you’ll take a few days to breathe and come back to ask your girl to marry you.”
“And hope to hell she says yes,” I surmise.
Matt laughs. Looking into the mirror, running his hand through his hair, he returns, “Exactly.”
“What if the woman the audience picks isn’t who I want?”
“The woman the audience chooses will most definitely not be the one you want since you’ll have already casted them out.”
“Right.”
“You have an obligation to marry someone, your pick or not. The contract stands until the catch-up episode airs. If you decide before then it’s not a fit, you deal with the ramifications of the contract. However, you can file for divorce after.”
“The other contestants,” I start query next. “How’d this all turn out for them?”
Matt takes a breath before answering. “The lawyer, Marcus Wellman is now single. The plumber, who had a very disappointing year, ended up being happily married to the woman the audience chose. You’re the third, and we’re hoping for good things.”
I’d heard rumors, from Nick and Drew of course, that last year’s ratings had suffered, and this is why they chose a groom with money. They were hoping to turn the viewers’ heads with motivation of the rich, yet not so famous.
“Not to be a dick, but I’ve heard about the show’s complications.”
Matt smiles tightly in the mirror’s reflection, his gaze piercing mine with venom. I’ve struck a nerve.
“This show is Willow’s baby. She doesn’t take kindly to the tabloids calling her idea a sham. I love the woman, but she can be vexing.”
I hardly know her, but agree.
“I want it to succeed. I hope your presence here can help us make it what she hopes it to be.”
Getting off the topic of audience chosen brides, I ask, “Where am I taking Joelle on our date?”
“Ice skating,” he answers, dusting off a piece of invisible lint from his shoulder. Taylor steps in between us now, analyzing his next touch up opportunity. “Jerry has the rest of the details,” Matt informs me.
One problem. “Uh, Matt? I don’t ice skate.”
“You don’t have to skate,” he claims. “Jo’s application stated she was a semi-professional ice dancer at one time. Just relax, have fun, and enjoy her company.”
At best, this is weak advice, considering I really do not ice skate, but all right.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Reservations are for three, and I’m not invited.
Brooke
-
After finishing breakfast in my room with Addie and Emilee, we barely made it to the bus before it took off toward the studio. There, we endured a mass screening of skin products, which supposedly will ‘agree with the camera.’ Then we were instructed to form a line to file out into another room, where we were told by Willow to wait.
Wait for what, I’m not sure.
When I passed Mary Ann on the way into the dressing room an hour ago, her expression appeared wounded. Ryleigh must not have been able to cheer her up much because no doubt a jealous and ill-hearted Kylee had already managed to suck the life out of her just as she did me. Except I only had to hear her voice for her to accomplish that.
“He’s out there,” Kate whispers at my side.
Kate Sanders is the daintiest woman I’ve ever met. However small in stature, she’s also the most enthusiastic. Like Ryleigh, Kate’s also one of the most genuine women I’ve met since being here.
While we were getting our makeup done, Kate sat next to me. She expressed how truly interested she is in marrying Brock, calling him her life’s catch. She went on to explain that she wants kids and thinks with her dark hair and dark blue eyes, coupled with his dark hair and honey colored eyes, the kids would be born beautiful. I didn’t love hearing her hopes and wishes, but I agreed. Children born between Brock and Kate would be stunning.
“Have you talked to Brock since that first night?” she questions.
Talk, check.
Touch, check.
Had sex with, check check check.
“Yeah, a little.”
Grabbing my arm, she talks to me as though we’ve bonded. By being here for the reasons we are, in some crazy way, I suppose we have.
“He’s so nice, isn’t he? He has the sexiest voice. What if he picks me?”
Oh God.
Again with the god damn flutters of jealousy, but now add some shallow hate for one of the only women here I don’t want to stab with my lunch fork.
I play off my irritation toward the beautifully dark-haired, exotic woman with, “Then you’ll win.”
“I will win!” she shrieks with added enthusiasm. “I mean, I have a chance, anyway.”
Kate’s too much to take in at ten thirty in the morning.
I haven’t talked to Brock since I left him in his suite hours ago. I wanted to text, and I started to, but refused to come off as needy. I wanted to simply say ‘good morning,’ but ended up typing ‘good luck today,’ then backspaced to delete that message as well.
Sending the man who gave me one great orgasm with his dick, and another just as great with his hand before our shower, off with a ‘Hey, good luck on your date’ would’ve sufficed.
I’ve been stewing. Obviously.
The chaos that ensued all morning has played like a gale of annoyance on my every last nerve. My thoughts are being muddled with uncertainty and challenging my resolve to continue this relationship—if that’s what this is—with Brock any further.
This is business.
The cameras rolling aren’t stage props. The viewers at home, watching from their living room couches, are real. The choice Brock makes for himself may or may not withstand to his liking. It’s these women around me who hold the cards, not him.
The consequences of Brock and my actions now, as this plays out, could render as disastrous for only him later.
Admittedly, I don’t want to see him hurt. But I’m jumping in where I know I don’t belong. And, if this relationship continues as it is, only being based on sex, eventually has the potential to end badly for us both.
/> “It’s time, ladies,” Willow hollers to the group, while snapping her fingers above her head, then clapping them together.
Jerry should teach her his whistle.
“This morning, Brock was given a choice,” she starts, and the girls immediately quiet. “He’s chosen two girls from the group who he’d like to take to lunch.”
All eyes move around the room, looking to one another as we stand quietly in place and wait.
Willow continues. “If you’re not chosen, it doesn’t mean he didn’t deem you worthy. He doesn’t know any of you well enough to determine this, so don’t get riled up.”
Other than Mary Ann, who was chosen as a date, seemingly only to tell her pocketful of carnal animal stories, she means. I don’t voice this, but if Brock were standing beside me, I may be inclined to laugh.
“Leslie Miles and Kate Sanders, please come see me at the front counter. The rest of you can all go enjoy a free day in this great city. Shuttle buses will be providing tours. They pull away in fifteen minutes. Have fun!”
Other than Kylee’s look of absolute disgust, sad and hopeless faces surround me. Unfortunately, I’m in a mood right along with Kylee. I’m ticked, and even knowing it’s without reason, I’m still ticked.
“Hey.” I hear Brock’s deep voice coming from behind to whisper in my ear.
When I turn in place, hiding my internal and irrational jealousy, I smile back. “Hey.”
“I’m killing two birds with one stone,” he admits.
I don’t understand.
Behind his shoulder, I notice Kylee walking in a small circle, carefully studying every move Brock makes. Her eyes are squinted. She’s straining them in order to see more than she can from the distance.
“I’m not a fan of Leslie,” he admits. “And if I take her to lunch, I don’t have to take her to dinner alone.”
I get it, and I don’t blame him. But what about Kate?
“You look nice,” he compliments, standing close and looking down. His eyes aim for my chest, and his hand grazes my lower back.
Jerry’s whistle sounds off, forcing Brock to take two steps back. The loss of his touch sucks, but I get it.
“Ladies.” Jerry addresses the women of the hour. “Brock,” he addresses next, “let’s roll out!”
“I’ll call you later,” he whispers before adding, “Wish me luck.”
Without giving him my eyes, I look past him to Leslie and Kate. Kate waves at me with a huge smile on her face, while Leslie sneers.
“Good luck,” I decide to tell him, but he’s already gone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Check, please.
Brock
-
Me 01:46 p.m.: Meet me in my suite at 4.
Taking in a deep breath, I walk back inside the restaurant to the table I left Leslie and Kate to talk among themselves.
Correction... I left Leslie to talk and poor Kate to endure.
Leslie, a snide-mouthed department store retail clerk from Denver, has been anything but cordial to Kate, who is her, for lack of a better term, competition. She’s interrupted Kate multiple times, only to be curtly dismissed by me when she did. Leslie’s mentioned Kylee’s name during several discussions, and I already know how I feel about women who use themselves as mouthpieces for others, no matter the situation or circumstance.
Leslie’s sour disposition, however, has not deterred sweet Kate’s excitement in getting to be a part of this semi-third wheel lunch date. In my opinion—if I were to care to form one—Kate’s the type of girl you grew up next door to as a kid. She’s the one platonic female friend every guy in the neighborhood had, who they’d play basketball with in the afternoon before hanging out in her parents’ living room that evening to watch movies. She’d let you choose whichever action movie you wanted to watch, too, because to her, it wasn’t about the movie. She’d be there if only to share your company. I’m guessing, by her continuing excitement, she’s chosen to ignore Leslie’s rudeness and not let it interfere with her day of fun.
“Was it an important call you just took?” Leslie questions when I take my seat. “You ran out of here pretty fast.”
My head turns in her direction, where I tighten my jaw and say none of what I’d love to. She doesn’t deserve a response to her unwelcome inquiry.
“So, Brock!” Kate starts. When I turn my gaze to her, I don’t hold back my smile; it helps to enhance Leslie’s already well-sulking state. “I was thinking after we leave here, we could maybe head down to the Santa Monica beach for a late afternoon stroll, just the three of us. We could get to know each other better. What do you think?”
I think if Kate were Brooke, it would sound like an absolutely amazing way to spend an afternoon. However, she’s not, so I pocket the idea and press forward with, “Not sure how much time we have today, but I’m sure there will be other days to do some sight seeing.”
“Sight seeing?” Leslie scoffs. “In this city?”
Jesus Christ, the man who ends up with her will pray for death, and unfortunately for him, it’ll be slow in coming.
“Will there be anything else today, sir?” the waiter, casually known to us as Frank, shows just in the nick of time. His welcome interruption adds to the generous tip I’d already planned to give him since Leslie sent her ‘saggy’ sandwich back to the kitchen in exchange for an entirely different choice of entrée.
Yep, Mr. Leslie, whoever the poor sap may be, better be happy giving his balls away.
Just don’t let it be me.
Grabbing the heavy, black receipt folder from the waiter’s hand, I shake my head. “No, we’re about finished. Thank you.”
Frank stands quietly between Kate and I. He looks both ways; first at me, then her. He ignores Leslie all together.
“If you don’t mind me being nosey...” he stops, looks to Clive holding the camera from across the room, then back to me before he continues, “We usually don’t get many celebrities in here, so can I ask...who are you?”
Kate giggles, while Leslie sits up further in her chair. Her mildly generous chest pushes forward, calling for Frank’s attention, which again he immediately denies.
“Long story, Frank. And I’m doubting you’d believe me if I told you.”
Clive takes this opportunity to step in and zoom close. Leslie sits up for the second time, but this time puckers her lips in a pout as Kate reaches over to touch my arm.
“I need to use the ladies’ room,” Kate whispers in my ear. “I’ll be back.”
As Kate moves to stand, she takes a quick look at Leslie, and for the first time since we sat down, she defies all I believe her sweet demeanor to be. The evil glare Kate disperses throws Leslie for a loop. She narrows her eyes, then relaxes them once she catches me watching.
These women are ridiculous. High school girls had more class.
After handing Frank back the folder and advising him to keep the change, I check my phone again. No return text from Brooke. Although I’m half-pissed, I’m also genuinely concerned. When she told me goodbye just before leaving, there was a feigned look of passiveness, as though my going to lunch with any of the girls didn’t bother her. I didn’t not only like the look, but how it made me feel.
Alone.
I owe her an explanation, the explanation in its entirety; who I am, what I’m doing here, and why I’d choose a television show in order to find a woman to make mine. My fear, as it always is, is that she’ll realize my being here is in part an act of desperation, which is true. But since meeting her, that same desperation has turned to hope. The hope that someone like her, if not absolutely her, exists if only to make my life a normal, uncomplicated, and satisfying place to be.
Thinking more of it, I decide to send another text. If she needs pushed to meet me, then I’ll shove her in to doing so.
Smiling to myself, I put the phone back in my jacket and wait for Kate to return, all while avoiding eye contact with the snapping viper who is Leslie Miles.
She’
s the next woman to be cast aside and hopefully for fucking good.
Chapter Thirty
Bossy isn’t always hot, sometimes it’s just annoyingly hot.
Brooke
-
Brock 01:57 p.m.: If you don’t meet me in my room by 4, I’m coming to yours and won’t do it quietly. Don’t you room with Ryleigh?
Seriously? Seriously!
So bossy and such an asshole.
“Oh, you look good and pissed,” Addie observes as she sits next to me at the hotel bar.
About an hour ago, we got bored and decided to settle in for a drink. The bartender, Tad, is super nice. He’s also very easy on the eyes.
“I am pissed,” I bite out. “I’ve known the man a matter of days, and already he’s impossible.”
Impossible isn’t the only word I’d use to describe Brock LaDuece. But, unfortunately, everything else I have for him is complimentary.
“You don’t act like this,” Addie discerns, taking another drink of her wine.
It’s only three thirty in the afternoon and when I ordered a beer to go with my late lunch, she looked at me like I was nuts. So be it. I suppose I am.
“What do you mean I don’t act like this?”
“You don’t sit in a bar, stare at your phone, and wait for someone to either text or call.”
“I’m not doing that.” I quickly spit the lie so I don’t lose my angry momentum.
Addie smiles, points to my second empty bottle of beer, and says, “You’re worked up. All over a man you just met.”
I admit to myself that I am as I take the last drink of the warm beer, which puts me in a worse mood. Slamming it down on the bar, I notice I’ve got Tad’s attention, so I bring it up to order another.
“He wants me to go to his room.”
“To talk,” she assumes with a smile. “Because that went so well the morning after.”
It so didn’t, but it so did. There’s no point in rehashing or debating with Addie. She’ll win, so I stay quiet.
“Ya know,” she says, turning around in her bar stool to fully face me. “I don’t mean to sound like a critic.”
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