A smile forms on her lips as if she’s won, but then I place my hand over her microphone again. “Would you stop?”
She chuckles. “You think messing with the mic will make a difference? What do you think everyone assumed when I followed you in here?”
“I came in here to be alone.”
“Well, according to the show, you and I arranged to meet in here because you like fucking in public.”
I swallow hard. She’s right. That’s all anyone will think. This woman is devious. “Why are you even on this show? Aren’t you the lawyer?”
“I’m the PR girl, and you are desperately losing the audience’s attention.”
“I’m not doing this for the audience,” I snap, moving away from her. I didn’t want to do this at all. If I wasn’t bound by contracts, this is the last place I’d be right now.
“Oh, come on,” Kris protests. “Don’t kid yourself.” She reaches around the side of her dress and unzips. Then she pulls the straps down until the fabric pools at her feet, revealing a black lace bra that would have previous Levi begging to get his mouth on it. “The show owns you and the show owns me. We might as well have some fun.”
I kneel to pick up her dress and maneuver it back onto her slight frame. She scoffs when I feed her arm through the strap. “You’re making a mistake.”
I zip her dress back up. “We’re going to go back out there and sit at the table to finish our meals and forget this ever happened.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“It’s not that you’re not…desirable?—”
“Oh, save it.”
She rearranges her dress to make sure it’s in place and then marches toward the exit, pausing with her hand on the door.
Slowly, she turns to glare at me. “Whatever your reason is for doing this, you’re failing at it. Miserably. If your dates with the other girl are anything like mine, you come across as a jackass, pompous, dickhead football player who can’t be bothered by anything. Have fun with that media firestorm when the show airs, and don’t call me when you’re in the thick of it.” She swings the door open as if it personally offended her and disappears.
My shoulders deflate like a slow tire leak. How have I not noticed before that this is a lot of work? The games. The conversations. The awkwardness afterward. And it’s not even just the show. It’s my dating life in general.
I breathe in deep and stare at the velvet cushion longingly. My phone is still lying there, and I check it for messages again, hoping Micah sent me something else, but he hasn’t. I’ll have to take matters into my own hands. It’ll piss him off, but I feel connected to Tab. That moment we shared was like a time stampin my life’s timeline. An instance I keep coming back to again and again.
I scroll through my contacts and land on McNally. Pressing on his name, I call him before I can talk myself out of it. He answers on the second ring. “I think I’m done with this,” I say. “This woman just accosted me in the bathroom and threw herself at me.”
“Oh, I hope they got that on camera.”
My shoulders stiffen. “I was in the bathroom.”
“They don’t follow you into the bathroom?”
“Why? So everyone can hear me take a leak?”
“Soucy.” An exaggerated sigh comes from the speaker. He’s so smarmy. Like a snake oil salesman. He could’ve picked so many other players on the team, but I’m beginning to think he chose me for a reason. Because he thought I would be into it. Because he thought I was too stupid to see what this would actually do to me. “I have you by the balls. You’re under contract to finish taping the show, so you’re going to go out there, give one of those girls your final necklace, and then we’ll bring you all on to talk about it afterward. You’re almost at the finish line, son.”
“Don’t call me son.”
“What I can call you is mine. At least until the contract is settled. Final necklace. Then after-show taping.”
“Then that’s it,” I warn. “I’m done.”
He chuckles. “Have a good night, Soucy.”
The line goes dead.
God, I hate that guy. But he owns my ass. He’s not wrong about that.
I inhale again—long and slow—then let it out. I had no idea not being true to myself was so exhausting. Like each step forward is another weight added to my shoulders. The steps to the dining room add up to a Mack truck, but when I sit andsmile, that one takes the biggest chip out of me. I want to tell this girl that she’s insane, but I can’t really do that now, can I?
