They both sit down opposite Warren and me, with hellos from Patrick and nothing from Carys. Bridget asks them about their day, and Patrick explains they went to a sushi-making class.
I realise that they probably don’t know that it’s their turn to pick their venue.
‘Hey,’ I begin. ‘Warren and I decided we’re going with the Barbican.’
At this, the camera swings round, clearly filming us. Shit, I was enjoying wolfing down dinner, and I had to go and bring up something plot relevant. Everyone sits up a little straighter.
‘That just felt right for us,’ I continue carefully. ‘And that means you guys get your dream venue too. A win all round.’
‘Oh, Dolly, that’s so kind of you,’ Patrick beams.
I see Carys’s eyes dart from me to the camera so quickly that I almost miss it. She’s suspicious, but she knows it’s time to put on a show.
‘Thank you for always being so considerate,’ she says, so sweetly that my teeth ache. ‘Can I take the opportunity to apologise for my behaviour earlier?’ Her eyes are wide with false sincerity.
I reach out and take her hand, ignoring the spark of heat that rushes through me. ‘It’s okay. Thank you for apologising. I get a little too competitive, so I’m sorry for my part too.’
She sinks a sharp nail into my palm and I try not to wince. ‘No, really, it wasmewho was being out of line.’
Patrick looks very confused about what is going on, and Warren coughs to disguise his laugh.
‘I know we’re not here to make friends, and we don’t have to be that,’ I say, hammering home last night’s point, because that’s what she wants to hear, isn’t it? ‘But I really admire you for this apology. That’s very vulnerable of you.’
Carys gently pats at our joined hands with her free one, and I feel her sharp fingernail hammering against my palm. I’m not quite sure if she’s trying to turn me on, but there’s something rife for psychosexual analysis happening to my body. It’s frustrating to be so chemically attracted to someone who is in actuality a total mess.
‘And I appreciate you for being so open to it. You’re always so thoughtful,’ she adds.
‘Are you two quite done kissing and making up?’ Bridget asks loudly.
I get a tiny thrill at the flush on Carys’s cheeks. I hate to admit that fighting might be almost as fun as fucking her.
Finally Lina and Zack arrive, looking too oily like they’ve just stepped out of the massage parlour. ‘Oh no,’ she says, upon spotting yet more clothing trolleys being wheeled in. ‘What arethose?’
‘Challenge time,’ Bridget says, and I’m not sure if that’s her own deduction or if she heard Reb and me whispering. ‘I have my suspicions about which one.’
‘Come on,’ Whit sighs. ‘Don’t leave us hanging.’
Bridget smiles broadly. ‘It’s got to be the Pulse Race Challenge, babes. Sexy costumes and dancing. It’s time to try to make everyone horny!’
I spy Carys’s eyes flicking up to me and away, over and over. That, my friends, is gay panic in action.
This morning was bad enough. Basically any time one of the Nguyens’ questions was about sex, she looked at me in the mostobviousway.
Compulsory heterosexuality may be a deep closet to hide yourself in, but I wonder how obvious it is to everyone else that she keeps peeking her head out.
Fair play, it’s not like the idea of all of us dancing around in tiny underwear masquerading as costumes isn’t exciting to me. Carys must be losing her mind in among the mothballs.
I shouldn’t enjoy this. I shouldn’t. But, oh, this is going to begood.
Chapter Twenty-TwoCarys
@potatofiend:How do you look angry while getting massaged by your future wife? I swear there’s something up with Zack!
@mellytonin:omg Patrick makes such good sushi I wish he’d make sushi for me
@missgoss:You could not pay me to go paintballing
It’s quite possible that this is the longest day of my life. Whywhy whydidn’t I watch the show before I applied? Stupid me thought it was all cute dates and hopes and dreams, not trying to set everyone’s heart racing through sexy dancing on national television.
