Chapter 6
Levi
I’m going to buy a house like this one day. Maybe bigger. On at least ten acres in Tennessee.
I let hot water hit my bare legs as I step into what seems to be a twelve-person shower.
Nothing like a good rinse after being folded up like a dang easy chair in coach for five and a half hours.
I stretch my neck to either side, enjoying the momentary sizzle of the warm water hitting my nape.
Tate and her gummy worms attempt to wedge their way into my psyche.
Nope! I tell myself. Let that Bambi go. Bambi!
She’s totally a Bambi. Besides, that Gabriella girl is way more my speed. Superhot and a little delusional.
I grab the shampoo I brought in my toiletry bag and squeeze a dollop into my palm before running it through my hair.
That’s the one thing about this haircut I don’t love—the maintenance of washing it every day.
Otherwise, I love it, and despite what Bambi thinks, I do have a party side to me.
I can be fun...the most fun. The funnest!
She won’t see that side though. This is a business trip in the purest sense. I’m here to win and collect. That’s it.
I rinse my hair, letting the familiar smell of amber and sandalwood overtake the room.
I turn off the shower and step out onto the heated marble floors.
Who knew that was a thing? I mentally add it to the must-have list for my home while drying off.
I throw on a clean pair of jeans and a black button-down shirt that I cut the sleeves off of.
It’s a little country, but that’s me. I swipe at the fog covering the mirror a couple times until my reflection comes into view.
My mullet is twisted and tangled up into a deflated-looking mohawk.
“I look like a pissed-off teenager.”
When I finish combing my hair into submission, I head downstairs towards the kitchen, hoping someone had some sense to buy beer.
The house is packed with people, most wearing the unofficial studio staff uniform of black everything, mixed among the forty contestants.
In the kitchen, a couple guys fill the space around the island, watching the camera crew set up outside.
There’s nothing I hate more than forced conversation by proximity.
“You guys find any beer?” I say in the friendliest voice I can muster. One of the guys turns, his long, dark braids swaying with the movement. He smiles and it seems sincere.
“No beer, but they have a bartender setting up outside. Wanna go and see if she’ll make us a drink now?”
“Yeah, let’s do it. I’m Levi,” I say before extending a hand. He meets it.
“Clay.” I follow close behind as he weaves around the counter and through the open slider to outside.
“Where you from, Clay? Not detecting any notable accent.”
He laughs. “Denver. You?”
“Tennessee,” I say proudly.
“Dang, I had guessed Texas. To be fair, I knew you were country even before you opened your mouth. Between that mullet and that vest-shirt thing...everything about you says I have a twang.”
“And proud of it,” I say with a smile as we reach the bartender, a cute blonde with a colorful sleeve of tattoos popping out from her otherwise all-black uniform.
“I know we’re a bit early, but do you think we could get a couple drinks in advance? Please,” Clay says, mildly begging and looking at her with big puppy-dog eyes and a wide smile. She looks between us through narrowed eyes.
Smile, Levi. Your drink depends on it.
It hurts, but I think I’m smiling, and whether it was him or me, it must have worked because she is filling two clear Solo cups to the top with whatever beer they have on tap.
“That’s it until after filming. I promised not to overserve until after they get their cut, so behave.”
“Yes, ma’am,” we both say in unison before slipping away to the outside patio chairs to watch production.
“So, what happens now? I didn’t read past ‘Be downstairs at 4:30 p.m.,’” Clay admits with a guilt-ridden look. I look down at my watch. It’s 4:20 p.m.
“In about ten minutes, they’re going to line us up over there like we’re about to be auctioned off on The Bachelor or whatever.”
“They don’t auction people off on The Bachelor, Nash. It’s a dating show. Come on, man.”
“Why do you know this?”
“Why do you?” he says back.
“Girlfriends,” I grumble. Really, just one girl.
The only girl I sincerely dated in high school—Abby.
Or at least I was sincere. It’s crazy that seven years later there’s still something like acid reflux in my stomach when I think about her and that doggone electric car of hers.
I must have a far-out gaze, or my jaw’s wound one notch too tight, because I’m startled by a clap on the shoulder.
I stare violently at the place of impact.
“Whoa, where’d you go, my guy?” Clay’s smile is wide and disarming. I shake off my annoyance. Having an ally might not be such a bad idea.
“Anyways,” I continue, “they’ll introduce us one by one and then announce the group song. After that, they will split us into groups of two and three. Those will be our singing partners to practice with, starting tomorrow at five a.m.”
“Five a.m.!” he exclaims.
“Yeah, well, even with the benefit of the two-hour bump, getting there on time will still be a stretch. I need to try and go to bed early.”
“Well now, that’s on you, because I’m fixing to get to know some of the talent out here tonight.
” Clay does a little head flip, drawing my attention behind me.
When I turn, I see them. Girls. Girls and more girls.
They’re all funneling out from the slider onto the back patio.
There are some guys in there, but mostly. ..girls. And all uniquely beautiful.
“Maybe it’s more like Top Model,” I remark, not moving my eyes.
“You haven’t seen that one either, right?
“Nope. Does it apply?” I look back at Clay to read his expression before hearing his response.
“Oh man, it does now. Who is that!”
Reluctantly, I turn my head again, feeling like I’ve seen all there is to see.
That’s when familiarity steps in and smacks me in the back of the head with a bowling bag.
On the patio landing, surrounded by nothing short of thirty others, are Gabriella and Tate.
Gabriella has changed from that tube-looking dress into a white mini with see-through sleeves, making her tan skin pop like ink on a page.
Our little tour this afternoon was a waste of time.
This is the kitchen where we will eat, type of stuff, but I didn’t hate her clutching onto me.
Tate, true to form, is wearing a long, flowy, multicolored dress.
“In the white? That’s Gabriella. She’s definitely...”
“No, no. The girl next to her. The one dressed like a happy Stevie Nicks.
“Oh...Tate?” The sour swirl in my stomach returns.
“Tate. I’m going to go over there and make me a friend. You coming?”
“Nah, I’m thinking I’ll go beg the bartender for another one of these.”
“Suit yourself.”
I watch as he heads off towards them. Tate and Gabriella’s conversation quiets as they catch him approaching.
They smile in greeting. He says something funny, because soon they’re laughing.
Dang, that guy’s smooth. I need to look away.
I shake my head and start towards the bar.
The blonde sees me coming and digs her hands into her hips.
“Look, cowboy, I said only one,” she barks out sternly.
“You know, I love when you call me cowboy.”