Chapter 1 #2
There’s lots to be tempted by, if he’s being honest. There’s the winner’s pot, which Blake knows will start at one hundred thousand dollars.
He’s aware that there will be “challenges” (not otherwise specified) while on the show that could affect the pot, but for a guy who’s never had so much as an extra grand in his checking account, that’s hardly a dealbreaker.
Plus, every participant also has their travel and expenses covered and receives a daily filming stipend that’s more than Blake usually makes in a week.
Ultimately, whatever happens once the cameras start rolling, he’s coming out of this in better financial shape than he went in.
All that, and Blake’s still got the cherry on top of this no-apparent-downsides-sundae, which is that he’s basically going to a celebrity-level exclusive vacation spot with a bunch of other attractive, sexed-up singles who have been prescreened to be DTF.
It’s like a bar where the bouncers do the work for you, only allowing sure things to make it through the front door, everyone else go home.
From the outside, Blake can definitely see why Jess thought of him when she first read the ad.
It looks like his wet dream, all wrapped up in shiny paper with a bow on top, and in a way, it is.
No doubt, he’s going to have a great time.
Whatever the surprises are (and Blake knows there’s a twist coming), he’ll roll with it.
It’ll be no worse than in his hometown, where whether he’s swiping on Tinder or Grindr, his playboy reputation precedes him.
After all, everyone in the small town of Lebanon knows that Blake isn’t relationship material, knows not to even try.
The hook-up scene is nothing new for him, and it’ll be the same story here as there — Blake’ll love ’em, leave ’em, and hopefully pick up some cash and good times along the way before he has to return to his regular, dull life in Kansas.
Right?
The thing is, all of that is a lie. Blake’s dug himself quite a hole back in Lebanon, and he’s paying the price in perpetuity.
Sure, he was that guy in his younger days.
And yes, he’s left a string of broken hearts in his path.
But he had a reason — Hayden was his focus for a long time, and now Hayden is gone and Blake is…
well, Blake is lonely. Unfortunately, in a town where everyone knows everyone, everyone knows someone who’s been with (and been burned by) Blake.
So no one’s buying that he’s just not that guy anymore, that he does actually want more.
Even if that’s just someone to wake up to who isn’t already putting on their pants and trying to think of an excuse to not trade numbers with him.
Maybe not a white picket fence, per se, but at the very least, someone who sees Blake for more than a pretty face and an easy lay.
In Lebanon, anyway, that pipe dream just ain’t happening.
At the end of the day, it’s easier for Blake to keep up the act. His virtual match list is never empty and neither is his bed, if he doesn’t want it to be. It’s just that no one is interested in staying.
But hell, if that’s going to be Blake’s life, might as well take advantage and use it to make some cash.
Pay Charlie back, maybe have enough left over to spruce up his shitty place with a nicer couch and a memory foam mattress.
Blake’s not getting any younger and his back isn't getting any less knotted. He can do this — he’s good at playing the game, at putting on a show, he’s been doing it for years.
It’ll be a piece of cake to turn on the charisma and play his “sexy bad boy” image up for the camera.
If sex and charm are the playing cards, Blake would bet on himself walking out the winner of this thing any day of the week.
That is what this show was looking for, after all — that much has been clear from the jump.
The casting agents seemed to be upfront: they didn’t even pretend they weren’t caping for borderline sex-addicts with little-to-no ability or desire to make meaningful connections beyond nightly, well, meaningful connections.
The first in-person interview Blake attended, the female casting assistant practically drooled down her shirt when he walked through the door.
Quick flash of his panty-dropping smile and shallow quips to a handful of equally shallow questions such as the number of partners he’s had and the average length of his relationships (“twelve hours?”), and the vibes felt like a match.
They loved him, and Blake loved being loved.
If nothing else, it seemed clear that the show had vision, and one that fit his image perfectly.
There is a catch. The casting agents admitted as much — though they were careful not to reveal anything even approaching a specific, not even a hint.
Whatever the twist is, it’ll be revealed on set, and by then it will be too late (in theory) for Blake to bail.
As they talked to him, the Hollywood types just sat with pens poised, appraising Blake’s reactions and asking if he was “okay” with there being an undisclosed “twist or two,” and Blake said sure, why the hell not?
By that point, he was already in waist-deep, might as well duck his head under the water.
And boom, that was that. Blake became Blake Lawrence: future reality TV star (and maybe softcore porn participant, if the show’s premise is anything to go by).
Which brings him to the here and now, poised and ready to turn on all that charm and charisma at a moment’s notice.
From his place at the front of the boat, Blake can’t really see the other contestants and hasn’t tried to.
Despite the fact that some of them have been in relatively close proximity while waiting for the boat and on the ride, Blake’s been well-behaved.
The producers asked them to maintain polite distance for now, as they want to film their first impressions of each other once they’re finally on location.
Although, as far as Blake’s seen, the crew hasn’t stopped anyone from interacting outright, but Blake’s kept to himself.
The way he figures it, he’s a shitty liar and an even worse actor.
The more real he can keep his reactions, the better off everyone will be for it.
Still, the glimpses he’s caught of the rest of the cast, he’s pretty damn happy with.
Girls and guys alike — even without hair and makeup done, everyone looks made-for-TV attractive.
Blake hasn’t laid eyes on a single soul he’d kick out of bed.
There have to be more coming, though. Right now, there are only four or five other people on his boat, and one of the producers let slip that there are ten of them total.
Blake supposes that makes sense, prolonging the mystery and making them think they have a handle on what’s happening just to rip the rug out from under their feet when they're least suspecting it. That’s the nature of reality TV (or so Blake’s heard, he’s not exactly a huge fan).
For the time being, Blake’s just staying in the present, soaking up the tropical rays and enjoying the boat ride for what it is.
He stretches a little, closes his eyes behind his sunglasses and tucks his hands behind his head, interlacing his fingers.
There’s sun on his face, a warm breeze in his hair, and soft sea spray caressing his body.
The ocean water soaks teasingly through his thin t-shirt and swim shorts and drips from the back of his legs where they’re pressed against the netting.
Really, if this is all Blake gets to take away from this experience, he’s good. This is fucking awesome. Well worth the five hours he had to spend in the flying tin-can deathtrap to get here, and the two three-hour-per-leg trips to L.A. and back, not that Blake’s counting.
All too soon, the catamaran is slowing and bumping against a dock.
Yawning lazily, Blake arches his back and sits up to take in his new home away from home.
Lifting his sunglasses, he lets out a low whistle at what he sees.
In front of him is a wide, white-sand beach with the same gorgeous water lapping quietly at its shores.
Beyond that, there’s verdant grass framed by a lush, thick treeline and a sprawling bungalow nestled within it.
Even from here, Blake can tell that the place is beyond fancy — the walls of the house open all the way up, though it’s too dark beneath the trees to parse out what’s inside from this far away.
Close enough to see in detail are several scattered gathering spots to sit and hang out on both the grass and the sand.
Some are sporting hammocks, some chairs, and there’s even a fire pit.
Dropped between the treeline and the house is an elaborate infinity pool that Blake is pretty sure has the outline of a hot tub tucked up and to the right of it.
It’s hard to be sure from the distance, and Blake can’t wait to get up there and check it out for himself.
As Blake gawks, his fellow cast-mates start disembarking somewhere behind him and to his right, but Blake doesn’t pay them any mind. At least, not until one of them speaks and he’s left without much of a choice.
“Pretty swanky, isn’t she?”
Blake looks up, squinting against the sun in a way that he’s sure will not do his features any favors, but the owner of the voice is kind enough to step in front of the light before Blake can even answer.
“Uh, yeah,” he says, openly sizing the guy up.
Tall, more or less Blake’s height, maybe an inch on him, with light brown skin, a closely-shaven head, and a sharply-cut goatee that basically screams “high-maintenance.” Weirdly, Blake doesn’t get that vibe from the guy himself, though his eyes declare that this is not a dude he’s going to be able to bullshit.
Well, hell. He’s hot though, Blake will give him that.
He definitely wouldn’t say no to an invite, so he decides to play nice.