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)
“I’m dreading the million questions from my family members about why I need a show to find a husband.”
“How are you managing the plus-one situation? I assume you can’t take a date, but it’s your younger brother’s wedding.” He winces. “That’s a lot of attention on you for multiple reasons.”
I shrug. I’d normally bring Jess with me, but she’ll be in Costa Rica with River for a much-needed vacation. Of course, I’m fine going to family events solo, but Evan is right: this wedding will be different. Friends and relatives are flying in from as far away as Hong Kong for the occasion. Alice will be set up in a comfortable chair, very pregnant and very happily married. Peter’s fiancée is a well-known dermatologist who also happens to be the daughter of the most successful plastic surgeon in San Diego. As comfortable as I would be going dateless, weddings are for family, and my mother would want me to attend with someone.
“I suppose I’ll have to brave it without a date,” I say.
“A date to what?”
Evan and I turn at the sound of Connor’s voice, and of course this is the one time I don’t have him on missile lock. “My brother Peter’s wedding.”
“It’s this weekend, right?” Connor asks.
“Yeah,” Evan says. “I met Fizzy through him. I’m not going, though, don’t worry.”
Connor glances over his shoulder and then squats down, lowering his voice. “I told Rory we are absolutely not shooting footage at the wedding, so don’t remind her it’s happening.”
I salute him. “Got it, boss.”
“Can you take Jess?” he asks me.
“She’s on vacation.” I wave it off. “Don’t worry about me. I can go solo. I may be swimming with sharks all weekend, but I, too, am a shark.”
With the popularity of the first episode, I know I won’t be able to fly under the radar. In the past two days, I’ve been stopped at least four times each day. For the most part, the interactions are great. A few of them are readers, most are not. Some ask me about the guys, or the DNADuo, or just want an inside scoop, but every single one of them asks me about Connor.
In fact, according to Jess by way of Juno by way of Stevie, Connor is being bombarded. Ten-year-olds have a tendency to exaggerate, but if it’s happening to me in the ladies’ room at Barnes & Noble, it’s got to be happening to him, too. The common theme: most viewers would like to ride him like a Peloton.
Connor’s attention on me is like a heat lamp, and I’m relieved when it’s time to start shooting. I’d rather watch Evan barf over the side of the boat again than think about Peter’s wedding anymore.
* * *
I half expect Dax to take his socks off at the spa and reveal a missing toe or tattoo of a naked woman on top of his foot—both of which would be fascinating, but for very different reasons—but his feet are sadly intact and unmarked. Despite my concern that he might be bored or restless, he is a champ in the spa chair. He decides he wants his fingernails painted yellow, is ticklish when the pedicurist pulls out the pumice stone and gets to work on his calluses, and is shamelessly flirting with the woman doing his manicure—but sweetly, because she could be his grandmother.
When Connor told me last night at the marina that he’d be in the editing room this morning and his director of photography would be in charge for a few hours, I felt a pulse of relief like, finally, I’ll be able to breathe.
But I was wrong. My brain knows he isn’t here, but my reflexes don’t. I keep looking up at the empty space where he would normally be and find myself scanning the area. It’s a rude awakening to see how often I search for his reaction to things.
“You good?” Dax asks when we’re sitting with our feet and hands held carefully still, nail polish drying. The crew is packing up, having gotten as much footage as they needed, I guess. But still no Connor.
Will he meet us in Coronado when we drive over for my afternoon bike ride with Isaac? Or is he editing all day?
“What’s that?” I ask distractedly.
“Are you okay?” he repeats, smiling sweetly. “Are you in a hurry to get going?”
“No, no.” I must’ve scanned the spa again unconsciously. Why can’t I get my head in the game? I’ve done this before—slept with someone and then gone on dates with someone else later in the week! Sex is sex, it doesn’t have to mean everything!
But, it also doesn’t have to mean nothing.
Shit.
“Sorry,” I say. “I was just thirsty.”
Dax lifts a hand, waving to his new best grandmother-friend. “Can she get a cup of water, please?”