She slid out of bed, grabbed her dress from the heap on the floor and slipped it back on like nothing had happened.
“Are… are you leaving?” Birdie asked, propping herself up on an elbow. Her hair stuck out in a wild halo, and her cheeks were flushed pink.
“Yes,” Alexis said matter-of-factly.
Birdie blinked, clearly still dazed, still catching up. “Do you want my number?”
Alexis felt a flicker of dread. No, she thought, but somehow her mouth said yes before her brain could object.
Birdie leaped out of bed. Her naked body was glorious in the dim glow of the lampshade as she handed Alexis a business card she knew she’d toss the moment she walked out the door.
“You can stay here,” Alexis said, her voice flat and businesslike. She bent to scoop up her heels and dangled them from two fingers. “The room is paid for. Might as well use it.” Before Birdie could reply, Alexis was already at the door.
It was late when Alexis left the hotel, her heels dangling from one hand, the night air cool enough to raise goosebumps on her bare arms.
Birdie was probably still tangled in the sheets, wondering what the hell had just happened. But Alexis couldn’t think about that. Just like she wouldn’t think about Birdie ever again. That chapter had been opened, skimmed, and then shut for good.
~~
The next morning, as she stood at the curb, her phone buzzed. It was an unknown number, and considering she rarely answered numbers she didn’t have saved on her personal phone, she almost let it go.
Almost.
Unfortunately, curiosity was her fatal flaw.
“Hello.”
“Alexis Wolf?” The voice was female, crisp, and confident. “This is Carla fromThree Lab Productions. We’re the team behindThe Sapphic Match.”
Alexis stopped in the middle of the street she was crossing. A car honked and swerved around her. She barely paid it any attention, and for a second she thought she’d misheard, made it up, but then Carla carried on. “We’re gearing up for season six. The network wants to go bigger, fresher, and theythink a familiar face would make waves. We want you as the lead. You know, the bachelorette.”
“What?” Alexis blurted. “Me?”
Carla laughed on the other end, all cheery and sweet, like Alexis hadn’t once tried to blackmail the bachelorette on national television. “Yes, you. The story would be redemption.”
Redemption. Alexis almost laughed.
“Think of it as your chance to show America who Alexis Wolf really is.”
For a beat, Alexis stood there with the phone pressed to her ear. The sounds and lights of the city blurred around her. It was absurd, ridiculous really, that after everything, they’d wanther. And yet, in some twisted way, it made perfect sense.
“Yes,” Alexis said, the word slipping out of her mouth. She blinked, stunned at herself, as if she were watching her own mouth betray her in real time.But she couldn’t take it back. Or maybe she didn’t want to.Redemptionechoed in her head over and over again.
Carla exhaled, bright and satisfied. “Fantastic. We’ll be in touch with the details. Congratulations, Alexis. You’re our next bachelorette.”
The call ended. Alexis stood there as the screen went dark. Her reflection was faint in the glass. Her heart was hammering as if she’d gone for a sprint around the block.
What the hell had she just done?
Chapter Two
Birdie Sinclair was not made for reality television.
She was made for small things. For the paper-and-ink smell of her bookstore, for alphabetizing shelves by obscure categories no one else but her understood. She was known for late-night potluck dinners with friends and early morning walks through Tanner Springs Park. The woman was not made for ring lights, audition videos, or a producer somewhere in Los Angeles watching her sweat through a linen blouse while trying to look effortlessly lovable.
And yet, here she was, standing in the living room of her two-bedroom apartment in Portland’s Pearl District, wishing she was doing anything but this. Her home, which was her sanctuary with its wide windows and chipped white frames looking out over brick warehouses converted into condos, a Persian rug worn thin, and a sofa so soft it practically swallowed whoever sat on it, had somehow become the location for her audition video for the highly rated dating showThe Sapphic Match.
Birdie shifted uncomfortably on the wooden dining chair she’d dragged in front of the bookcase. The spines of her novels formed a colorful backdrop. On the floor, at her feet, sat a half-drunk mug of chamomile tea, cooled and forgotten.
