Page 17 of Playing With My Heart Strings

“What happens with the rest of them?”

“You’ll have more time with everyone in a group setting. Then on Wednesday, based on how your interactions go, you’ll choose seven women to continue on. At the end of the episode, viewers will get to save one of the bottom three women during live voting.”

Damn, so they’re cutting two people right off the bat. They don’t mess around here.

“How will I know who to keep?” This whole thing suddenly feels a bit overwhelming. Sure, I’ve had fans showing their affection for me, but I’ve neverdatedten people at the same time.

“You’ll have your favorites, of course. But the production team can help you make your decisions. After all, we want a good show, right?” He winks at me, and then the car comes to a halt.

I step out of the Range Rover, and production staff instantly flock to me, guiding me into the massive property.

Immediately upon walking into the house, I notice a chandelier overhead and a checkered tile entryway opening to a massive sitting area with a fireplace. I walk across the living area to double doors that open to a huge deck. It overlooks a pool that looks like it came straight out of a scene from ancient Rome, with its marble columns and sculptures.

“There’ll be time for a tour later.” A voice over my shoulder startles me. “But it’s stunning, isn’t it?”

I look back, and it’s just Jarrod, the show host. I assume we’ll become best buds by the end of this experience if he’s anything like the old host of theBachelorfranchise shows, Chris Harrison, was.

“Yeah, it’s definitely way out of my budget.” I laugh.

“Well, get used to it, because you’ll be staying here for the next few weeks.” He claps me on the shoulder as he walks away and stylists take over. They lead me to the master suite bathroom where the entire hair and makeup department is set up.

By the time late afternoon rolls around, I’m already exhausted and ready to call it a day and we haven’t even started filming anything. I can already tell it’s going to be a long night.

“Dusty, over here.” Film crew members direct me to the spot I’m supposed to stand.

“Let’s get a shot of Jarrod and Dusty together!” the director yells. “Action!”

Jarrod puts a hand on my shoulder. “How’re you feeling, man? You ready for this?”

I put on an artificial smile for the cameras, although the pit in my stomach isn’t fake. “I’m a little nervous, to be honest. I’ve never dated this many women at once.”

“Man, I would’ve thought a big country music star like you would have women falling at his feet.” Jarrod chuckles.

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Sure, they do tend to fall at my feet, but that doesn’t mean I date several of them at once. Musicians may have the reputation of getting around and having fun, but some of us are just trying to put food on the table and get by.

I give him a playful nudge instead and say, “You’d be surprised, Jarrod.”God, this is so cheesy. This isn’t me.

“Cut!” the director calls. “That was great, guys. The women will be here soon, and then we’ll start filming again.”

About twenty minutes later, a touring bus pulls up in front of the house. Not quite what I was expecting, considering the house we were filming at, but maybe they didn’t want to use a limo for fear of really ripping off other dating shows.I’ll never understand reality TV.

One by one, women file off the bus. They’re all ushered inside, but that doesn’t stop some of them from waving or trying to steal glances at me.

“Dusty, we’re going to have you stand here.” A producer directs me to the small courtyard next to the house.

Another fifteen excruciatingly slow minutes pass, and nothing happens. My mind starts to wander a bit, and my stomach growls.I’m hungry. Is there going to be any food here?

After a little while longer, the directorfinallycomes back, as well as the executive producer.

“All right, everybody, the moment we’ve been waiting for.” She claps her hands together. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

The cameras start rolling, and Jarrod dramatically walks toward me. It all feels so scripted, except I have no idea what to do.

“Hello, Jarrod,” I say, wanting to break this awkward silence.

“Dusty. We’ve got ten amazing women here to meet you. Are you ready?” he asks as if we didn’t already have this conversation.

“I am.” Is it hot out here? Maybe a suit jacket was a bad idea for early summer in Nashville. At my side, my hands are slick and clammy. Am I nervous? There’s no way I’m nervous; this isn’t real. It’s all just for show, right?

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