Chapter Eight
And it becomes realer than real, once we’re all dressed to impress, in full hair and makeup (which we did ourselves), with the cameras rolling.
We’re back by the flagpole, officially meeting one another for the “first” time.
The girls give air kisses and squeal about how gorgeous everyone is, all of us on our best behaviour.
Even Sue-Ellen, who turned on the charm the moment the camera turned on her.
“Beautiful, beautiful.” Tyler is hovering, calling out directions from the sidelines. “Now, can one of you give a toast? Cleo, how about you?”
I raise my gold champagne flute and grin for the camera hovering six inches from my face. “Here’s to forming friendships, making memories, and of course, finding the loves of our lives!” And to leaving with a quarter mill.
“I hope you’ve saved me a glass.” A voice comes out of the woods, and we all whip around.
Coming down the beach bath is a petite blonde in a tight, hot pink dress.
She walks as if she’s on a runway, winking over her shoulder at the cameraman that trails her.
I can practically hear her entrance music—something sexy and bass-heavy, its beat coinciding with every time her high-heeled sandal hits the dirt.
I squint at the woman. I’ve seen her before. There’s something familiar about her wide-set eyes and the gap between her front teeth.
Valeria gasps, covering her mouth.
“Natasha!” Trina exclaims, her eyes wide with wonder. Of course. Natasha, the most recent Bachelorette, whose fiancé was revealed to be a cheater during the finale, winning her the love of the nation. She is the perfect choice for our host.
Natasha gives us all air kisses, leaving us in a cloud of floral perfume. She takes her place under the flagpole.
“Wow, look at you all! What a gorgeous group of girls!” We cheer, and it feels more genuine than what we were faking for Gabby.
“The guys aren’t going to know what hit them!
” Another cheer, and we all raise our glasses once again to drink.
“Speaking of the guys, are you ready to meet them?” This elicits the loudest cheer yet.
Gabby lines us up, working to find an angle where the sun isn’t in our eyes.
Squinting is not cute on camera, she tells us.
I tug at the microphone cord around my neck.
It’s made of thin black rubber and is threaded with colourful beads to make it look more like a necklace, though in this moment, it feels like a noose.
I wonder if it’s picking up my breathing.
I try to take quieter, shallower breaths, but I quickly become light-headed.
Fainting on camera is definitely not cute.
Everyone is obviously nervous. Trina shifts from one foot to another, chewing on her lip.
Harmony can’t seem to figure out what to do with her hands.
Valeria is standing very tall and straight, her chest heaving with long, deep breaths.
Sue-Ellen looks like a contestant in a beauty pageant, with her shoulders thrown back, her hands on her hips, and her left leg turned in and slightly bent, lifting on her tiptoe to create length. Damn, she’s good.
I can only hope I look more relaxed than I feel. My flowy, white sundress is damp under the arms with sweat, and my guts are roiling with nervous heartburn, the acrid taste of bile teasing the back of my throat. I yank at my microphone cord again.
Then, in the distance, comes the low hum of an engine. We all crane our necks toward the beach path. My heart thumps in my ears.
Then, a guy on a four-wheeler roars through the trees. He’s shirtless, with close-cropped blond hair. He’s smiling nervously, as we all clap and cheer him on. He slows as he approaches Natasha, but then he roars forward, narrowly missing her. She shrieks, leaping out of the way.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says. “I was trying to brake but I squeezed the gas instead. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she says, plastering her smile back on her face. “Do we want to do that again?” she calls to the producers on the sidelines. “No? Okay.” She smooths her hair. “Welcome, Garrett! You certainly know how to make an entrance!”
He smiles bashfully. He’s too skinny and awkward for my taste, but he’s got a pleasingly symmetrical face that the cameras will love.
“So, Garrett, our first guy out! How are you feeling?”
“I’m good, yeah, good,” he says directly to the cameraman hovering around him.
“Just talk to Natasha, okay, Garrett?” Tyler calls from the sidelines. “Forget the camera’s even there, man.”
Natasha shoots Tyler a look before turning her gaze back to Garrett. “I’m sure all the girls are dying to get to know you, so tell us about yourself.”
He clears his throat. “Um, hi, I’m Garrett. I’m twenty-seven and I’m from Seattle, where I work as a climate scientist.”
“Well, you must be excited to see this change in climate—I keep hearing about how this is the hottest and driest summer in, like, seventy years? How lucky are we?”
“It’s actually really bad news for the Arctic ecosystem, and—”
“Right!” Natasha interrupts. “Now, you’ve got this line of gorgeous girls here in front of you. Is there anyone who piques your interest?”
Garrett glances at us, and then averts his eyes, like he doesn’t want to be caught looking. “Um, I guess she’s really pretty,” he says, gesturing to Sue-Ellen. Of course she’d get picked first.
The hum of another quad steals the moment. “Ooh, they’re coming in hot!” Natasha says, clapping.
We hear him before we see him. “Let’s fucking goooo!
” he yells, as he appears through the trees, an absolute snack of a man.
He’s standing up on the four-wheeler, one hand overhead fist-pumping to an imaginary beat.
His olive skin ripples over his abs, and his thick brown waves blow back, highlighting his perfectly chiseled face.
He has a sleeve of tattoos down one arm and a tiny cross earring dangles from his left ear, which, on a lesser man would be an immediate Ick, but somehow on him is inexplicably sexy.
He hops off the quad, taking his time to size each of us up, looking as if he might lick his lips any second now. If I had to bet, I’d say he’s our Fuckboy.
“God bless America,” he says, winking at Natasha. Do I hear a bit of an accent?
“Ladies, meet Isaías!” Natasha yells, looking just as thrilled to have this gorgeous man in front of her as the rest of us are. “So, tell us a bit about yourself.”
He grins and hops up and down, like he’s shedding some nervous energy. “Wow,” he says, shaking his head. “You are all so beautiful. Wow.”
Wow is right. This guy is hot. I straighten my spine, narrowing my gaze on him and willing him to make eye contact. If I could get him to fall for me, then at least I wouldn’t have to fake the physical part.
“Isaías, why don’t you tell us about yourself ?” Natasha prompts him again.
“Oh, yes, sorry, I am distracted by these beautiful girls.” He pauses, rubbing his hands together.
“Go ahead,” Natasha says, a hint of impatience in her voice.
“Yes, okay! I am Isaías, but I know that is hard for Americans, so you can just call me Isa, like ‘Lisa,’ without the ‘L.’ I’m twenty-three, and I am from Madrid.” He pronounces it ma-dreeth, which endears me to him even more.
“And as you look at these beautiful girls here, can you imagine falling in love with any of them?”
“I’m already in love with all of them.”
Definitely our Fuckboy.
“Anyone in particular catching your eye?”
“I like blondes,” he says, looking pointedly at Sue-Ellen, and then at me, which is confusing, until I remember that I’m blonde now.
“Ah, the Battle of the Blondes!” says Natasha with a cheeky grin. “What do you say, Sue-Ellen?”
“May the best blonde win,” she says, flippantly, like it’s clear who the best blonde is.
“Bring it on,” I say, through gritted teeth.
“A little rivalry already, love it! Ooh, what’s that I hear?” Natasha puts her hand up to her ear and leans toward the beach path. “Well, hello!”
The man entering on the four-wheeler is the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen anywhere, ever, period. He’s so good-looking that, instead of whooping and hollering like we had for the other guys, we all just stand there, slack jawed.
This guy is big, in a way that makes the quad look like a toy.
Big arms, broad chest, thick thighs, huge smile.
He has icy blue eyes that pop dramatically against his dark brown skin, which glows like he’s lit from within.
He’s grooving on the quad, shimmying his shoulders and twisting his hips, and honestly, I’m a bit turned on. He is perfection.
He lopes toward Natasha and plants a kiss on her cheek. Her rigid TV presenter facade slips as she takes him in. “Oh, my heart,” she says, clutching her chest. “Damian, I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. You’re just going to have to come home with me.”
“You’ll have to fight me, first!” calls Harmony. The gorgeous man winks at her and she smiles so hard a vein pops in her forehead. Electricity crackles between them.
“I’m Damian,” he says, unprompted. “I’m twenty-eight, from Dallas. I retired from the NFL last year, and now I’m building a not-for-profit that provides healthy lunches to school kids in low-income areas.”
“Good lord, he’s a philanthropist, too!” Natasha says, fanning herself. “Now, Damian, you have five beautiful women in front of you, but has anyone in particular caught your eye?”
Damian nods at Harmony. “What’s good, queen?” he drawls, and the cheering reaches a fever pitch.
“Lucky girl, Harmony!” Natasha says, clapping with maybe a little less enthusiasm than she did for the others. “Hmm, do I hear another guy rolling in?”