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)
(Though the dick helped, too.)
Evan arrives in a suit and looks objectively hot. I’m so conflicted. On the one hand, I could choose him for the trip. It’s not going to happen with us—I think we both know that—and maybe a relaxing ex-to-friend trip together to Fiji is just what I need. But on the other hand, with the show’s popularity, I don’t want to do the public “breakup,” don’t want to have to pretend to have been in love and fallen out of it.
But if I choose Isaac, I’d be doing us both a disservice. Isaac is exactly who I would have expected to fall for, but in this reality, I now only feel very platonic things for him. Are his feelings genuinely romantic? Would a trip with him be the most excruciating, awkward ten days? Could I maybe learn to like him?
I groan, and Liz gives my chin a gentle pinch, reminding me to hold still while she applies eyeliner.
“What’s with you?” she asks, her breath sweet and minty near my cheek. “You seem stressed.”
“I am.”
“Are you worried the audience won’t choose the one you want?”
Liz has never asked me anything about the show. I always assumed it was a don’t-ask-don’t-tell kind of thing, but maybe it’s as simple as everyone not being a nosy asshole such as myself. A smart woman would say yes. A dumb one—me—says, “I don’t think I want either of them.”
She straightens, and her voice comes out in a whisper. “Which one do you want most?”
I go for broke: “The one who’s seven feet tall with the god-tier bone structure.”
She laughs but seems completely unsurprised. “Yeah, you two are a trip.”
I don’t immediately know what she means, and a self-conscious flush flashes through me. Because then I do know. She means what I feel, too, which is that the real story has been the friendship that has bloomed between me and her boss, Connor Prince. The cameras haven’t captured this most beautiful of all story arcs: how this towering, intentional man and this small, chaotic woman came together first with friction and then with mutual admiration and then with something that felt a lot like love. I had the real story right in front of me this whole time, and blew it.
“He’s been so off,” Liz says, breaking into my thoughts. “Everyone feels it.”
These last words pull me up to the surface again, newly aware. “What do you mean?”
She shrugs, sweeping one last pass of blush to the tops of my cheeks. “Oh, you know.” I can’t press for more without making it weird.
Liz steps back and surveys her work, pulling the protective cloth from my collar. “You’re good,” she says. She lifts her chin, and I turn to see a PA standing behind me.
“Ready?” he asks, and gestures to the trailer outside. Panic ignites in my bloodstream. “Rory wants a confessional first. You can head on out. Connor’s waiting for you.”
forty-two FIZZY
I’ve been in this trailer a dozen times over the past few weeks, and until today it has been my favorite hunting ground. It’s small but comfortably furnished, with cameras secured in consistent places that make it easy to film these interviews no matter where the set takes us every day. There are two couches: one for Connor, one for whoever he’s interviewing. The shades are pulled, the lighting soft and designed to feel private and intimate. Bottled water (labels facing out!) and a box of tissues are helpfully within arm’s reach. This is where I give my thoughts on how things are going, how I’m feeling, my impressions of the Heroes. It’s also the only time each episode where viewers get to see Connor as he walks us through each of the dates. I don’t follow the show hashtags, because I’m not a masochist (and also, it’s in the honor code that I don’t track how the voting is going), but Jess mentioned again the other day that Juno told her that Stevie said people are loving him. Our little gang is like the Pony Express, but with gossip.
I don’t blame these Internet women. Who could see this man on their TV and not fall for him? Hopefully it shows Blaine what a valuable asset Connor is, and it puts the ball in Connor’s court for a change.
I’ve settled on the couch when the small trailer door opens and Connor ducks inside. His presence shrink-wraps the space, sucking up all of the oxygen.
No hi or hello. Just a quiet “Test your mic, please.”
So we aren’t going to be friends today. Noted.
Connor makes his way to his seat and slides a hand down the thigh of his dress pants. It really is taking a Herculean effort to not launch myself facedown into his lap. “One, two. One, two. Down with the patriarchy, up with romance, let women love who and what they love.”