Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“Me?” I ask, unlocking my front door. He follows me inside. “I’m fine.”
“On our end, things are looking fantastic,” he says, toeing off his Vans. “You really are a natural on-screen, Fizz. Today we cut all the sections we want from the dates and tonight we finished editing in the backstory intros and the testimonials.”
“So the episode is done?”
“It’s done. This is going to be great, and it’s all you.”
I turn to face him after setting my purse down and catch how his eyes have warmed. “Actually, it’s you,” I insist. “You’re the one who took that hero archetype challenge and ran with it. The casting is perfect. They’re perfect.” I gently chuck his shoulder. “And hot. Well done. A veritable buffet of beefcake.”
I say this to compliment him and his efforts, of course, but my words seem to drain the warmth from his eyes again. “Well,” he says flatly. “Good. Would you be interested in watching the premiere together at my place? With the crew, that is, not just me.”
“Sure! I’m excited to see how it all looks on-screen. I don’t think I had much of a connection with Arjun or Tex—”
“I think the audience will pick up on that, too.”
“—but I think the others were okay. Any one of them could hop on the Fizzy Express.” I grin at him as I do a dorky little choo-choo gesture. “This will be fun.”
Connor blinks away, studying his shoes by the door, and it means I get to stare at him. I feel light, elated by the success of the first week of filming, and giddy to be alone in a room with him. The sneakiest of thoughts escapes, unguarded: As great as these Heroes are, none are him.
“Do you want a beer or anything?” I say, distracting myself from this truly awful voice in my head.
A short nod. “Sure.”
He follows me into the kitchen, where I grab us each a bottle and lean against the counter. “Who is your favorite?” I ask him.
“My favorite Hero?” He takes a sip as I nod. “I don’t have one.”
“Come on.” I make a buzzer sound. “Really? I see you as an Isaac fan.”
“They all seem like nice blokes. It’s why I cast them.”
“Well, so far I like Nick, Dax, and Isaac. Jude is great but I’m not sure we click.”
“Not Evan?”
“It didn’t work the first time, but who knows?”
“Okay. Just keep an open mind.”
“Oh, I will,” I say, waving this off. “But if you’re asking me right now who I’m most attracted to, that’s my answer. That’s all.”
Connor looks like he’s debating something before he finally opens his mouth. “So, this brings us to my one piece of feedback, which is perhaps to tone down the come-to-bed eyes a little.”
I feel my smile slip from my face. “The—What?”
“Viewers want to see you forging a real connection.”
“And that doesn’t start with flirting? Have I been doing dating wrong this whole time!”
“It’s the way you flirt,” he says, unamused by my humor.
“The way I flirt,” I repeat flatly, and set my bottle a safe distance away. I may need both hands to throttle him.
“Only thirty-three percent of Bachelor viewers tune in for The Bachelorette. Do you know why that is?”
Oh, I know this one. “The patriarchy.”
“Yes. Viewers are far more accepting of a man dating multiple women than they are of a woman dating multiple men. It’s not right, but that’s the way it is.”
“Look who’s suddenly an expert on pop culture TV.”
“I told you, I’m taking this seriously.”
“So you want me to play harder to get? Romance has fought long and hard to get away from the ideal of virginal ingenue heroines. If you think I’m going to play into that stereotype on this show, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what did you say?”
He shifts on his feet, neck red. “I don’t mean you can’t—Listen,” he says, trying again. “Never mind. You’re fine just the way you are.”
“Oh, well. Thank you.”
A quiet falls then, and it’s like a match blown out, the way the energy evaporates from the room.
“Why are you suddenly mad at me?” I ask him. “What did I do?”
“I’m not.” He shakes his head, looking briefly miserable. “I’m sorry.”
“I said yes to this show because I wanted to take care of the audience in your clumsy hands—”
He laughs dryly. “You’ve made me well aware.”
“—but it’s fun because I’m doing it with you,” I finish, reaching for his hand.
Finally, he looks up. And I think I get what’s happening. God, I am so dumb sometimes.
“I have fun with you,” I tell him, tugging him closer. “This first week on set was great because I’m comfortable with you. I insisted you do confessionals because I like being with you. I risked my life talking to River because I believe in your amazing ideas. You are doing your job so well, and I’m sorry if—”