Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
“A competition,” I repeated, convinced I’d misheard Brady.
“A quick race.” He didn’t even glance up from his tablet as I took in the giant eyesore with horror.
An incredibly loud buzzing sound had jerked me awake this morning.
When I’d looked outside, this monstrosity was being erected right on the turf by the pool.
I had thought my mind was playing tricks on me, but nope.
There it was, in all its glory. A massive, inflatable, hot pink and green obstacle course.
The kind more commonly found at a child’s birthday party, but which was now apparently being used to determine which guy was most worthy of my time.
“Why can’t I just pick the guy who gets the first date?” I asked. Which was apparently a dumb question, because Brady just tossed his head back and laughed.
“Well, that certainly wouldn’t make good TV.”
I caught Emma’s eye, and she smiled apologetically at me before tossing me a cropped, light gray, zip-up hoodie.
I unfolded it. A giant logo from a well-known athleisure clothing company had been bedazzled onto the front.
“Put that on,” Brady instructed.
“It’s eighty-five degrees.” The tight tank top I wore already had sweat stains.
“They’re one of our sponsors,” Emma said with a frown. “It’s light weight, I swear.”
I slipped my arms through the terrycloth fabric, already feeling suffocated. The day had barely even started.
Brady told me to stand on the sidelines and look appealing—whatever that was supposed to mean. A camera operator stood next to me, while a few others waited around the yard to capture the guys.
“Line ‘em up!” Brady called.
Two production assistants opened the sliding glass doors, and the guys all came jogging out, clapping. Like they were a part of a cheesy department store commercial, or something.
Brady gave everyone a brief run-through of the rules.
After the first elimination, there were nine remaining men.
They were to split themselves into three groups of three.
For the first round, there would be a relay race competition.
The winning team would move on to the obstacle course, where the fastest guy of the three would win the date with me.
Because we were sans a host, it was apparently up to me to deliver these instructions on camera. The guys already had a light in their eyes like they were prepared.
Brady yelled action.
“Okay, all y’all. I’m so excited for today.” I clapped my hands enthusiastically and the guys followed suit.
I instructed them to split up into groups of three.
As they split up, I tried to mentally remind myself of who each one was. Grant had paired himself with Christian, who, other than having short blond hair, I couldn’t remember anything about, and Jeremy, the hot silver-fox dentist.
Then there was Isaac, the wannabe actor, Joey from Boston, and Freddy, the videographer.
And the last group was made up of Austin (barf), Pat, the wannabe magician, and Tripp, who still looked just as cute as I remembered.
I tried to assess which of the guys seemed the most competitive out of the bunch. Competitiveness wasn’t necessarily a red flag for me, but any guy who took an inflatable obstacle course too seriously was someone to watch out for.
Isaac, Austin, and Christian all had a distinct glint in their eyes. Christian was stretching, for God’s sake.
Maybe I should have been flattered. I mean, technically, they were all competing for time with me, but the way they kept flexing for the cameras, it felt less like they were vying for my attention and more like they were fighting for screen time.
“Alright, boys, shirts off,” Brady called.
“What?” I jerked my attention from Brady to the guys who had started stripping their top halves. I met Grant’s eye, giving him a “what the heck” look, but he just laughed good naturedly, winked, and peeled his shirt off.
I rested my forehead in my hand and shook my head. This was a circus after all.
“I’m gonna win this for you, Trace!” Joey shouted.
“Fat chance!” Christian yelled.
A genuine smile broke across my face at the utter ridiculousness of grown men shouting like they were in grade school, over a race in which a bouncy house was involved.
They all lined up for the relay. The crew had already opened the fence that led from the yard out onto the beach. It was a simple sprint across the entire yard, a baton hand off, and out to the beach. The last guy would have to touch the ocean before sprinting back to the starting line.
Cameramen were staged the entire way to capture the whole thing. I was told to wait at the finish line.
A whistle sounded somewhere by my right ear and then they were off, scrambling against the turf as the first runners broke into a full-on sprint toward the next guy on their teams.
They all looked good. Really good, if I was being honest with myself. Maybe Brady was on to something with the no-shirts rule.
Tripp was first to go in his group, and true to his name, stumbled a little at the start.
But he was fast. Like, shockingly fast. He got it to Pat way before Grant or Isaac reached their first handoff.
Pat wasn’t nearly as quick, though, and the rest of the guys managed to catch up.
But when he handed off the baton to Austin, it was over.
Austin was insanely fast, whipping through the sand like it was nothing, then turning around at the water and racing back toward me.
Despite my distaste for that particular man, I found myself rooting for the team. Because if Austin crossed that finish line first, that meant Tripp would have a one-in-three chance at the solo date with me.
Austin raced across the finish line, and I nearly had to duck away to avoid him barreling into me. The rest of the guys followed seconds behind him.
I made it a point to offer my condolences to the six guys on the two losing teams. I’d attempted to pat Isaac on the back, but when I realized how sweaty they all were, I refrained from touching the rest of them.
“Time for the obstacle course,” Brady yelled, even though everyone was still fighting to catch their breath.
Pat, Austin, and Tripp lined up at the start of the inflatable beast. Pat was in good shape, but he was inches shorter than the other guys and clearly not as fast. I almost felt bad for him being forced to compete against them.
The rest of the guys had formed a line next to me, ready to watch and jeer at the remaining racers.
Tripp was still sucking in a breath when Brady blew his whistle, and then they were off. Despite myself, I was getting into this spectacle. I raced forward along with the rest of the guys so that we could see inside the course.
“You’ve got this!” I yelled.
Grant barked out a laugh. “Come on, Trippy!”
Jeremy ran a hand through his graying waves. “I think I would have been murdered at this stage.”
“Yeah, I’d be tossed around like a salad,” Joey said, in his thick Boston accent.
Tripp and Austin scrambled to the top of a climbing wall, with Pat nowhere in sight. They had to dive forward into a tunnel, but before Tripp had a chance, Austin grabbed Tripp’s shoulder and jerked it back.
“Hey!” I yelled at the unfair move, while the rest of the guys either booed or whooped. But Tripp had fast reflexes. As he started to fall, he grabbed onto the back of Austin’s shorts. Austin yelped and grabbed at them to keep them from slipping off, toppling over backward in the process.
We couldn’t see where they fell, just heard shouting and a lot of rubber-scraping noises.
With Austin sabotaging Tripp and Tripp on the defensive, though, that just meant one thing…
“What’s your favorite color?” Pat asked, sipping his beer as we sat on beach towels overlooking the water.
“Oh, uh. Pink, I guess. You?”
Pat leaned back on one arm and stroked his chin to mull it over. “Green, for sure.”
“Green is nice, too.”
Cue another awkwardly long pause.
I caught Emma’s eye by the camera. Her face was contorted into a look of pain.
This date was a snooze fest. Even I could tell that. Who in their right mind would want to watch me discuss my favorite food and color with this man? We were supposed to be on a date, not making new friends in preschool.
Pat, the unlikely winner of today’s challenge, was nice enough, but nice did not equal chemistry. We were proving that theory correct with flying colors.
Silence filled the air between us. I generally thought of myself as a pretty chatty person, but something about the microphones dangling above us and several middle-aged camera operators hanging on our every word had me stumped for questions.
Emma gave me an encouraging nod.
“So, uh, a magician on the weekend, huh? How does one even get into something like that?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I took an online class.”
I waited for him to say more, but apparently that was it. I shot Emma another “Please help me” look.
While Pat wouldn’t have been my first choice for a date, he was far from being at the bottom of my list. He’d come in that first night so full of energy, and I’d thought he was a character, the type of guy who would go out of his way to make me laugh.
Instead, he was drier than a burnt piece of toast.
After the first round of eliminations last night and today’s competition, I’d already come to the realization that I didn’t have a whole lot of control in this process.
But as I caught Brady’s irritated expression now—arms folded, lips pinched—I realized even he hadn’t anticipated just how dull this date would be.
Maybe the competition made for good TV, but this certainly wouldn’t.
“How do you like living in Nashville?” he asked.
“It’s a great city. So much live music and community,” I said, going into detail about some of my favorite spots. I used to like it more, but lately I’d been craving a change. Something more peaceful. But that felt like too much to share. “You said you’re in Dallas, right?” I asked.
“That’s right. Moved there for work. It’s good. Hot sometimes, but I like it.”
And just like that, the conversation faded away again.
There was something about experiencing awkward small talk that made it impossible to remember what it was like to actually have a good conversation.
Was it even possible? Could we string multiple sentences together that were both interesting and engaging?
I couldn’t think of a single thing to say back to him.
Brady’s voice cut in. “Let’s take a quick break.”
Emma walked over to pull me aside. Brady took my spot across from Pat, probably to give him a pep talk or something.
When we were away from the cameras, Emma asked, “How do you think this is going?”
I snorted. “I mean, you have eyes. It’s not going well. Is it me? Am I choking?”
Emma shook her head. “No, he’s giving you nothing to bounce off of. I’ve seen more chemistry between two dead pieces of meat at the butcher.”
I crinkled my nose. “Well, doesn’t that paint a lovely picture.”
She sighed and hugged her tablet close to her chest. “Look, we didn’t think this would be necessary on the first date, but it might be best if you let Pat go.”
My eyes bulged. “You want me to kick him off the show right here? Now?”
“I mean, it clearly isn’t going anywhere. Ideally, this date was supposed to be cute. No fireworks, but something fun and flirty. But he’s not giving that at all. Probably better to just cut our losses. If there’s a surprise elimination, at least it adds a more interesting element.”
My head fell back as I groaned. Pat was nice.
Boring, sure, but nice. Eliminating the guys was one of my least favorite parts of this process.
I loathed letting people down. In fact, I wished production could handle it for me—just let me hang out at the beach for the remaining time and inform me when they’re down to the final guy.
“Don’t worry about it. Brady is already prepping him for this outcome. He’ll probably be relieved.”
I chewed on my lip. “I guess.”
“Go back out there, let him down easy. Say it was nice meeting him, but there’s clearly nothing there. It’ll be easy-peasy.”
I nodded. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”
It was, in fact, not easy-peasy.
Pat started to panic when I told him he was going home, begged me to give him another chance.
He literally fell to his knees in the sand when I tried to walk away, as Brady had instructed me.
He went on and on about being a nice guy.
He even shed a tear. A freaking tear. While I just stood there, looking like a heartless monster.
As Emma guided me away, she assured me a million times that I’d get a good edit in all of this, but my guard was up higher than ever.
Could I even trust her? Producers only cared about one thing: an interesting show.
I wondered if I’d made a horrible mistake agreeing to this.
Because it didn’t matter if I was their star.
If it would make for better ratings, they’d turn on me in an instant.