I read the first one aloud. “Name something from today that pleasantly surprised you.”I grin. “All of it. The fact that Brinley really did show up. I’m surprised that, somehow, she’s managed to look even more beautiful than she was before.” I stop myself from saying more and move on to the next one.
“Question two,” I say. “Name something that unpleasantly surprised you.”An honest answer comes to mind without a moment’s pause, but is it something I want to share? I bite my lip, then shrug. I’d wantBrinleyto be honest if she were answering the same question, even if itwillbe on TV. It’s what we signed up for. Besides, our answers will be used to help us move forward.
“Okay,” I say with a sigh. “I was unpleasantly surprised by the amount of focus Brinley put on her charity when she arrived.” It sounds terrible, even to me, so I hurry and add to it. “That didn’t come out right. I support her charity, and I love her passion for it. But it made me wonder if she was here to really give me a second chance, or if it was more about promoting her organization.”
I clear my throat and nod. “I guess either way,somegood will come of it.”
I skim over the third prompt and fight back a groan before saying it aloud. “Give us a number—1-10. At this point, what would you say the likelihood of you two getting back together is?”I’m tempted to keep my thoughts in my head, but if I come up with a number, the viewers may as well know how I came up with it.
“There’s still chemistry,” I say. “I don’t even think Brinley would deny that. So it’s not like, impossible…” I feel my shoulders slump at the sound of my own words, because there’s abutcoming.
“But,” I add, “chemistry never was an issue between us. I’m hopeful that, in time, Brinley will come to realize that Ihavechanged. I’d like her to figure out that I wasn’t as bad as she thought I was back then too, and that she blew the whole Buffy thing out of proportion, but I’m not sure that’s going to happen.” When I saythe whole Buffy thing, most people will know what I’m talking about since it became such a big deal in the tabloids. Brinley said she wanted us to take a relationship break. Buffy dropped by for a surprise visit and planted an unsuspecting kiss on me that I didn’t encourage or return. In fact, I ended it as quickly as she started it.
Buffy being Buffy made sure to tell a list of people about the tête-à-tête.
I rub a palm over my face as a wave of exhaustion strikes me. “If she’s not able to see that, we’ll be less likely to reconcile long enough for it to last this time.” I drop my gaze back to the digital screen tabletop before me. “A number between one and ten, huh? I’m going to be optimistic and say…six. Just barely tipped in my favor.”
With my job here in the Video Diary Nook done, I shoot to a stand and take my exit. I pace before the patio doors as I wait for Brinley and set my mind on methods to increase my chances here. I want Brinley back, but if that doesn’t happen, if I walk out of here a rejected man, it will not only wound me for life in the love department, it could destroy my career.
Perry’s warning comes back to me. The guy might not be the deepest puddle in the pavement, but what if he’s right?
That thought is knocked right out of my head with the tap of one heel on the top step. I lift my chin to see Brinley standing there in a dusty blue dress. Perry suggested the lighting in this place might suck. That I’d come off looking average since there were no light, hair, or makeup crews on hand. Whether that case is true for me or not, one look at Brinley—with her silky auburn hair and flawless skin—says it most definitely does not apply to her.
I trace the curves of her figure with my eyes and recall what it felt like to hold onto her hips as we kissed.
I blow out a whistle and make prayer hands. “Thank you,” I mouth with a quick glance toward the heavens.
Brinley blushes and looks down at her feet as she takes the final two steps. When I reach my hand out for her, she releases the railing and rests her palm in mine.
I’m about to walk her to the dining area when Cy speaks up from the mounted flat screen.“Hello, house guests. Before you sit down for dinner, we’d like you to step into the studio. There, you’ll earn chances to ask yes or no questions that could help you determine where things went wrong. When answering, please do not elaborate or explain. There will be plenty of time for that later. See further instructions inside. Good luck.”
The screen goes black, and I waste no time escorting Brinley into the studio; perhaps there will be challenges after all. One quick look inside the studio says one-half of the place has been turned into a basketball court.
The instructions are there just as Cy promised.Basketball dropouts,the card reads.You each get eight shots to make a basket. For each basket you make, you win the right to ask a question; your date must give you an honest answer for each question you earn.
We waste no time shooting the hoops, taking turns and keeping score. Brinley misses the first one, but gets the next two with nothing-but-net swooshes. Meanwhile, I miss all three.
“She called us dropouts,” Brinley says as I lift the ball for my fourth try. “Does that mean you used to play once too?”
I toss it and finally make my first basket. “Yep. Just one season, recreational. We were the Kryptonites. I was in fifth grade. You?”
She nods, takes the ball, bounces it a few times—which in her dress and heels is extremely hot, by the way—then lifts it in preparation to shoot. “The Starlights,” she says. “First shot I made during an actual game was for the wrong team.” She shoots and misses.
“Dang.” I can’t help but admire her candor. I don’t mind playing the class clown, but I want to be the one earning that laughter.Withme, notatme. Brinley doesn’t care either way. So long as the audience is anyone but her dad. And her sister for that matter. The pair is her Kryptonite, which is sad. They’re family, after all, but nothing upsets me as much as her dad does. A father is meant to be his daughter’s warrior, and he’s been anything but. Sometimes I could crush that guy’s face in the dirt.
By the time we exit the studio, leaving the halfcourt at our heels, Brinley’s at three; me a measly two. I contemplate my questions as we move through the first two courses: shrimp cocktail followed by a salad. Brinley must be doing the same because she hasn’t asked any either.
We’re making small talk, which only makes the process of phrasing my questions all the more difficult.Did you really think Buffy and I had something going on during our “break” or were you just looking for a way out?
A brick of heat rams into my chest at the mere thought of asking that question. First off, it’s not ayes or noquestion, meaning I’d have to break it into two. But more importantly, the suggestion alone feels like a landmine.
Yet just as I slide my salad plate toward the center of the table to signal that I’m done, Brinley proves that she’s not afraid to set off a few bombs.
“Did you kiss Buffy while we were taking a break?”
I freeze.
Gulp.
