Chapter 7 #3
The waiter arrived with the entrees. He set down Jake’s wagyu burger with a small mountain of fries and a tin of aioli, her filet, and the Caesar on a separate plate. Maddy cut a slice of the steak and checked the pink rare middle, which was done to perfection.
She stabbed a piece of steak with her fork. “And what about now? Any special lady caught the eye of Jake Howell?” She took the bite and chewed. It was as delicious as it had looked on someone else’s table.
Jake looked down at his burger, his dark cheeks slightly coloring. He shrugged.
A small cold spike hit Maddy’s chest. Oh God, had she unintentionally led him on? Did he think this was an actual date?
Jake’s face broke out into a smile. “I may have had a bit of a crush on someone for a while, but I don’t know. It’s complicated.”
A while. Not her. Thank God. Her shoulders dropped. “Complicated how? Is she married? The mother of one of your students?” Maddy paused. “The father of one of your students?”
Jake laughed once. “No, nothing like that. She does have a kid, but it’s not one of my students. As far as I know, she doesn’t even date.”
Maddy held his eye. “Well, if there’s anyone who can change that, it’s you. I take it you’ve never asked her out?” She sawed off another bite of steak.
Jake’s eyes went wide. “No.” He popped a fry in his mouth. “But enough about me. Let’s put you in the hot seat. Tell me about your dating life.”
Maddy let out a sharp huff. “Uneventful.”
“Uneventful? Mads.” The come on implied in his tone.
She shrugged. “I mean, I date, but nothing serious.”
“Ever date the contestants on your show?” Jake wiggled his eyebrows.
“No.” She said immediately. “I have a very firm rule about that.”
Maddy reached across the table and stole one of Jake’s fries.
The rule had been in place since her third season on the show. Emma. The sweet, all-American good girl every season of Marooned & Merciless cast specifically for homecoming-corsage energy, and who always made it to the top-five regardless of skill.
Emma had started finding excuses to come to the production trailer at the end of each shoot day—ostensibly to get de-mic’d ‘in private’ after her last confessional, actually to hold eye contact with Maddy across the bank of monitors with the kind of deliberately flirtatious smile that made Maddy’s stomach swoop.
She’d never considered hooking up with a woman before then, but Maddy’s brain was at least developed enough to know attraction when she felt it.
Maddy had been in her third year as a production assistant on the show, and had worked her way up from being a sweaty field PA wrangling stray trash, water bottles, and sunscreen to being a Story PA who got to sit in the air-conditioned production trailer transcribing confessionals and flagging important beats in the raw footage for the producers.
There was a one-hour dark window when the nightshift crew was taking over and the second contestant camp was finishing their confessionals and no film crews were on Emma’s camp, so they snuck off to Maddy’s pop-up cabin that she shared with one of the nightshift PAs.
It had been going on for about three weeks, when one night, they had been tangled in the sheets, Maddy’s thighs pleasantly aching, the taste of Emma still on her tongue, and Emma had said, honey-sweet, “Don’t the producers decide who makes it to the finale,” she traced a finger down Maddy’s arm.
“I don’t want our time together to end early. ”
And Maddy froze. When Emma discovered that Maddy was a lowly production assistant who couldn’t advance her game, Emma’s face transformed from post-sex glow to arctic fury in a way that was, in hindsight, quite impressive.
“A fucking waste of three weeks of my life!” Emma had screamed as she hurled Maddy’s clothes at her one garment at a time.
She had set the rule after that. Never get involved with anybody on set.
Her romantic life had since compressed into a series of short-lived, off-season relationships.
This year’s roster included Priya, the music composer with kind eyes—two and a half weeks.
Alex, the bartender in Silver Lake with a heavy pour—eight days.
Sage, the DJ at Coachella—three nights. The best man from Sam’s cousin’s wedding whose name she’d completely forgotten—about twelve minutes.
“And you don’t ever break that rule?” Jake’s words were laced with skepticism.
She stole another fry. “Nope. I’m in a long-term committed relationship with my job.”
Jake leaned back, delighted. “You and Noa should compare notes about the no-strings dating life. You’re probably on the same dating apps.”
She lifted her martini to her mouth. “Who knows, maybe Noa and I were always meant to end up together. Wouldn’t that be a plot twist?”
He laughed again, and it echoed throughout the room. “Oh yeah? Is Noa your type?”
Across the room, Aspen looked up. Their eyes locked. This time, Maddy didn’t look away. She let the corner of her mouth tick up into a tiny smirk. Aspen’s dark eyes widened a fraction.
Maddy gave a brief, one-shouldered shrug. “A lot can change in fifteen years.”