Page 21 of Heart to Heart
He nodded, but I saw the turmoil in his forest green eyes. The same ones he’d passed on to me. “Okay,” he sighed, “but when you get there, or if at any point during the show, you feel like you don’t want to continue, leave.”
“I will, Dad. If you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of a big girl now.”
He chuckled. “Indeed, you are. Sometimes, it’s hard for a parent to remember that, especially when it comes to a father and his daughter.”
Holding back tears for the sake of both my parents, I hugged my father, just as my mother and brother walked over to join us. “I should start making my way through security.”
“Call us when you get to L.A.,” my mom said, pulling me in for a side hug.
“I will. But remember, I have to give up my phone when I report there. If you need to reach me, you’ll have to call one of the numbers the producer gave me.”
“How long are you going to be gone?” Josh asked, sounding vaguely interested in my life for the first time since before he started puberty.
“I really don’t know. The show is filming for eight weeks; the first elimination will be at the end of this week.”
“Okay, so you’ll be coming home at the end of this week, then?”
“Jerk,” I giggled. A gentle ribbing was Josh’s way of showing affection.
I play-punched him on the shoulder before saying my final goodbyes to my mom and dad and making my way to security. They watched me walking away, I was sure of it. Only I wouldn’t allow myself to look back, because I knew if I did, I wouldn’t be getting on that plane.
Squeak.Squeak.Squeak. The wheels of the beverage cart heralded its arrival long before it could be seen from my window seat near the rear of the plane. I was fortunate enough to have been seated next to a middle-aged man who was just as introverted as I was. Shortly after we were seated, we gave each other a courtesy greeting and proceeded to whip out our respective paperbacks; bookworm speak for leave me the fuck alone, please.
I nodded at the flight attendant when he offered a small package of honey-roasted peanuts and a bottle of water, which he passed over to me without so much as a flinch from my neighbor. After seeing the less than flattering image of me online, I’d forced myself to look up the other contestants on theHeart to Heartwebsite, and as I sat on the plane on my way to meet them, I scrolled through their profiles once more. I would be spending the next few days with these women, at the least, and eight weeks, at the most, with some of them. It only made sense to learn who they were so I could make friends and form alliances like they did on Big Brother and all the other reality shows.
But the further I scrolled through their photos, the more screwed I knew I was. There were two different Jennifers and three Brittneys, alone, all but ensuring the likelihood that Iwould mix up Jennifer D. with Jennifer T., which was probably akin to a mortal sin in the reality television world. Not to mention, all the women were accomplished in their chosen fields, making my status as a future law school student all the less impressive. Like Tristan, they were established. It was hard to imagine he would want a work in progress as a potential spouse, or that a person like me would make it very far on the show.
But if it hadn’t been a mistake, then what was it about me they’d found so appealing? Why had I been selected? Next to me, my neighbor finished his book and grabbed his small carry-on bag from where he’d stowed it underneath his seat, packing the book inside. Just when I thought our blessed silence was coming to an end, he doubled down and pulled out a sleep mask and headphones, telling me without saying anything that he wasn’t going to be listening to anyone’s shit on this flight. Forget Juris Doctor, I wanted to be this guy when I grew up.
Taking a page from his book, I turned my phone off and rested my head against the fuselage wall, staring out the window at the carpet of clouds beneath me. My selection for the show had been a long shot, and I was hoping against hope that I hadn’t set myself up for anything but disappointment, that this wouldn’t turn out to be the biggest mistake of my life.
CHAPTER 11
AVERY
Beinga contestant on a reality dating show is a lot like being kidnapped, or at least the Hollywood version of a kidnapping. When I landed in L.A., I was escorted by a young, frazzled driver for the show named Jay, who ushered me out of the airport the moment I stepped across the threshold from the air bridge and into a—I shit you not—windowless van. The very kind every after-school special warns children about.
Inside the van were a handful of women. They blinked, shielding their eyes when the door was pulled open and sunlight flooded into the cabin, making me wonder what exactly it was I had signed up for. Visions ofSquid Gameflooded through my head, unnerving me because in no way could I kick ass at Red Rover.
I looked back at Jay, who’d assured me no fewer than two dozen times that my luggage was being taken care of, along with the cake my mom had packaged for the flight, and that they would make it to wherever I was being smuggled to. Forget all the new dresses I would never wear again and the shoes I knew would give me blisters, it was the cake I was the most concerned with as it was going to be used for my introduction to Tristan.
Some women impressed men with their boobs; I chose baked goods. With any luck, it would make me memorable enough to survive the first week. After that, well, I hadn’t thought that far.
“Hi, I’m Brittney L.,” a pretty redhead, with a figure I would have to give up carbs for a year to achieve, greeted me as I took a seat next to her in the van.
“Avery,” I answered, pointing to myself like an idiot. She was hands-down one of the most beautiful women I’d seen, with her Cupid’s bow lips, spray tan, and the form-fitting dress that left little to the imagination. One thing was for certain: Brittney L. came to play.
I looked down at my yoga pants and T-shirt withLet’s Taco Bout Itprinted across my boobs, complete with a cartoonish smiling taco, as if the whole ensemble weren’t ridiculous enough. Pair that with worn, but sensible, sneakers and you have an outfit guaranteed to have suitors lining up around the block. Was I even wearing a bra? God, I couldn’t remember. Gemma fromHeart to Heart’s production team had been vague on the details after my arrival. I’d just assumed I would be taken to a hotel and wouldn’t have to look presentable until tomorrow.
I had been very, very wrong.
“I’m Sasha,” a girl behind me introduced herself. I looked back to see her pointing at herself with a sly smile. She had deep brown eyes, a pixie cut, and an expression that screamed mischief.
I liked her already.
“Hadley,” the brunette next to Sasha proclaimed, seemingly bored to be sharing the same space as the rest of us. Introduction over, she resumed her blank stare straight ahead. Hadley was a mood; I just wasn’t sure which one.
“Brittney Q.,” a beautiful woman with long black hair that looked like it belonged in a commercial for hair products, introduced herself. She smiled sheepishly as though whollyunaware of how breathtaking she was and how insecure her very existence made me—and probably every other woman within a twenty-foot radius of her—feel.
