“Ladies,” Monroe says solemnly, “let’s not resort to insults. I’m surenoneof us want anydramathis week.”
Rich, the fiercely grinning director, certainly doesn’t agree.
Seeing the crazy drama in person is something I’ve been looking forward to, but that doesn’t mean I want to be caught in the middle of it, physically or otherwise. Especially not when there are cameras pointed in my direction.
I should have left to go work when I had the chance.
“Idon’t want any drama,” Genesis says archly.
“Well, I don’t, either.” Destyny folds her arms over her chest, probably because her boobs aren’t as big or spectacularly on display as Genesis’s.
“Well, good then.”
“Fine.Perfect.”
They glare at each other for one more long beat, and then Destyny flips her blond hair and storms off, with a sashay that is clearly meant to emphasize her tight, velour-clad ass.
Genesis turns to Monroe and starts to bitch about Destyny, and I take the opportunity to escape. I’m sure I’ll hear plenty of that this week, though I aim to be much farther from the center of it.
I make my way past the tables set up by the caterers who are handing out boxed lunches.The bulk of the trailers and crewmember cars (including ours) are parked in gravel turn-outs along the road leading up to our camp.This dirt lot—on the opposite side of the road as the little winding river that cuts down to the mouth of the canyon—is small, and so there’s only room for a few trailers. Catering, thankfully, is one of them.
I sidle past crew members setting up tents for themselves and the Not-Wives.The latter are stationed on their own about fifty feet away from the rest of ours.Theirs are flanked by a handful of short pinyon pines that I imagine will look better on the camera than the sparser patches of greenery on our side. A couple crew members nearby argue about whether or not they’ll be able to fit the pink couch in Destyny’s equally pink tent.
I scan the area looking for Jason, and it’s not long before I spot him. It’s generally not hard to do, because he’s almost always the tallest guy around, and there’s something about his very presence that stands out. From his spiky hair to his huge, easy grin to his genuine, equally easy laugh, he’s always seemed somehow larger than life—or maybe living life bigger than the rest of us do.
Pretty much from the moment I met him, I’ve wanted to be part of it.
Right now, he’s talking to one of his own film crew guys, Geoff, who Jason met years ago at his favorite climbing gym. Unlike the Not-Wives, Jason looks like he belongs in this canyon, always so perfectly at ease in the rugged outdoors. His skin has a permanent suntan, his faded t-shirt showing off the muscles of his chest and arms, taut and crazy-strong from years and years of rock climbing. He’s gorgeous. Geoff gestures vaguely around the canyon and Jason laughs. Even after all this time, the sound of that laugh always makes me happy.
So happy that I’ve decided to ask Jason if he wants to move in together. It’s been two years, and I’d love to take that next step. We’ve talked before about doing that someday, but never in specific detail about when.
The truth is, though, we haven’t talked in general about any real steps forward for awhile now. I know some of this is my fault—I’m the planner, the one who always instigates progress in our relationship. I was the one to ask if Jason wanted to be exclusive, the first to say I love you. Both times, Jason was thrilled and immediately agreed. If I’m feeling stagnant, it’s only because I’ve been too hesitant to speak up and spur us forward.
Still, part of me worries that maybe this time, Jason won’t be on the same page. Maybe this time, he’ll tell me he’s not ready yet.That would be disappointing, but ultimately fine.
Except that we’ve been together two years. If he isn’t ready now, will he ever be?
The only way to know is to ask.These things have always gone well between Jason and me, and this will probably be no exception.Those moments of disconnect—when I feel like what he really wants is a stepback—are probably all in my head.
But part of me is still afraid that they aren’t.
Ihead over and meet Jason by the tent that he’s just set up for us to share. We’re all in tents, crew and reality stars alike.The real purpose of that, I’m sure, is to make the Not-Wives rough it, and it would be hard to convince these ladies that sleeping in the dirt is necessary if the crew doesn’t do it. Jason and his team are used to these kinds of filming conditions. Jason and I have spent a serious number of nights in that tent together, and I hope we get to spend a lot more.
“Hey,” Jason says as I approach. “You look overwhelmed.”
“I just met some of the Not-Wives. It turns out I have no idea how to do those air kiss things.”
Jason laughs his big, contagious laugh. “Are those required? We should have practiced.”
“We could practice now, I suppose.” God knows I need it.
“Never mind,” Jason says, looking down at my lips. “I’m not actually interested in kissing the air.” He bends down and kisses me on the mouth, sending a zing through my body right down to my toes.
When we break apart, I reach up (way up, because though I’m not a short woman, Jason’s six-four) and run my fingers through his hair. “Your coiffure is looking particularly spiky today.”
“I have no idea what that means,” he says. “But I’m hoping it’s dirty.”
“One of the Not-Wives used that word, and I don’t think she thought it was funny.”
