Page 26 of Heart to Heart
“So,” she began as she pulled away to stand in front of me, “I know you’re going to be seeing a lot of cute little gimmicks from the other ladies, and I may not have a vibrator or a picture of my childhood dog.”
“Thank God,” I chuckled, nervously. “At least the vibrator, anyway.” It was then that I wondered whether those items she’d listed were lifted directly from items brought by a few of the others. If so, I was going to have to tell my conservative eighty-year-old meemaw not to tune in for this episode—or any of the others, for that matter.
“But I do have something that may be of interest to you. A talent of mine that we could put to good use later.”
My eyes instinctively dropped down to her lips, full and bright red, as the tip of her index finger slid inside her mouth. The bright red should have been as good as a stop sign, telling me to look away and that danger was ahead. Instead, I stood watching her, my attention rapt, my pulse quickening as she withdrew a cherry stem that had been tied into a neat bow with, presumably, her tongue.
“I did this on the walk up here.” She smirked, holding the stem proudly between her thumb and index finger. “And I can do so much more with my mouth.”
Without further elaboration necessary, Bianca smiled a small, confident smile that reflected with absolute certainty that she knew she wasn’t going anywhere, and like a horny teenager, I watched her walk away, my mouth agape. One thing was clear: I would remember the name Bianca for the rest of my life.
I turned back around, motioning for the cameraman to pan the camera away from me and divert its attention to the approaching limo, allowing a moment for me to readjust myself as Wanda’s advice to sow my oats but to keep my heart in check replayed in my head. If I was meeting twenty-four more Biancas tonight, I was in deep trouble.
But then again, I knew that wouldn’t be the case—or at least, I didn’t think it would be. Because there was one contestant whose name had played on repeat in my head for the last several weeks and one face I would know as soon as she stepped out of that limo.
CHAPTER 14
AVERY
My ankle wobbledas I took the next step, holding the box containing my mother’s cake firmly in my grasp. Either I was more nervous than even I had anticipated, or I should have practiced walking in these heels before scaling this man-made Mount Everest to meet the man I would never be able to allow myself to fall in love with.
Step. Step. Wobble. Step. Step. Wobble. Just a half day’s climb and I could throw these shoes off and change back into my slippers, which had hopefully found their way to my room. A room I was also sharing with Sasha (because God had taken pity on me), Bianca (but not too much pity), Hadley, Brittney Q., and Kennedy, a psychologist from Cleveland who, under no uncertain terms, had made it clear she would not be listening to our bullshit. Definitely a slogan she should use on her business cards.
My ankle twisted slightly as I took another step, hoping I projected more confidence on camera than I felt. The whole country would be watching me, judging every move I made along with my motives. Any misstep would be my undoing and lead to several months of mockery online or, worse, a meme.
Step. Step. Wobble. With the box growing heavier in my hands and my unsteadiness worsening by the second, I foolishly allowed my gaze to drift up to the man waiting for me only a short climb away. The man whose smile sucked me in the second I laid eyes on him, making me forget my unsteady legs. In fact, I could no longer feel my legs at all, which had only happened to me one other time before, when Guy fell asleep on them while on the couch, and I was trapped for two hours with a full bladder.
This was decidedly more pleasant.
Temporary paralysis aside, Tristan had the kind of smile that melted your heart and, as Kiki would say, drop your panties. Yes, it was indeed a panty-dropper of a smile, and I hoped the pair I had on were more stable than these shoes because, if they weren’t, this was about to turn into a whole new show.
The corners of my lips curved upward into a smile, despite the abject terror that had taken hold. That must be another one of his superpowers, making women feel comfortable in his presence, erasing all fear with a single twitch of a lip and twinkle in his hazel eyes; his six-foot-two frame making them feel safe. At least, those were the stats presented byTiger Beat: six-foot-two, hazel eyes, brown hair, and an ass that just wouldn’t quit. Okay, so that last one was all teenage me, etched with a pink glitter pen on the poster of Tristan I’d had hanging in my childhood bedroom. I was confident now that karma had come for me for that one.
The specks of green in Tristan’s eyes were more vibrant tonight than in any magazine or movie I’d seen him in. And as my foot crested the top of the stairs, I was unable to focus on anything else other than his square chin with the hint of a five o’clock shadow, his prominent cheekbones that put damn near all the actresses’ in Hollywood to shame, and the rest of the rugged, boyishly handsome face that, with any luck, I would bespending a substantial amount of time getting to ogle—I mean, know. Definitely getting to know.
“Hi, Avery.”
He knows my name? The stars ofHeart to Heartrarely, if ever, addressed the contestants by their names the first time they met them. He must have studied up.
Hi. I’m Averywas my line. I’d rehearsed it all day. I would introduce myself and then segue into awkward small talk about the cake. If all went well, I would come across as the cute, quirky Midwestern girl-next-door who was just mysterious enough to be interesting.
Instead, I stood befuddled at the top of the stairs, my brain malfunctioning as I tried to think of the simplest of words I could cobble together to form a sentence. A sentence I needed to throw out there ASAP, as I’d been paralyzed, gawking at Tristan like an idiot for about fifteen painfully silent seconds already.
“Yup, I’m Avery.”
Fucking brilliant job, brain. I’ll remember that the next time you tell me to pick up a book instead of scrolling through TikTok videos.
By some miracle, Tristan’s smile deepened, and a slight, barely audible chuckle escaped from his full, perfect lips that made me feel like we were the only two people standing together outside the biggest house I’d ever seen, cameras pointed at our faces and all. My heart rate began to level out, my nerves started to ease, and I mentally composed myself, even managing a smile as I took a step toward him.
And that’s when it happened—the incident that launched a hundred thousand tweets and gifs that would haunt my children’s children.
A sharp crunch preceded my ankle twisting as the heel of my shoe snapped off, causing me to lose my footing. At the same time, the forward momentum propelled my fall right intoTristan, which would have been romantic and very on-brand for a quirky girl from the Midwest if not for the fact that said girl was carrying a box containing a cake, the lid of which popped open when she began to stumble. And as said girl fell forward, self-preservation dictated that she should throw her arms out to catch her fall. However, also catching her fall was a certain movie star, one who was chivalrous enough to try to save a woman in peril, putting himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Tristan’s arms wrapped around me as I fell forward, knocking into him. Unlike me, though, he managed to maintain his footing, only stumbling back a couple of steps as his arms wrapped around my waist to catch me, which would have been the perfect end to an otherwise cataclysmic event if not for one significant detail.
I gazed up to see one of my hands squarely on Tristan’s broad, obviously toned chest. While the other, the one that had been holding the cake, was still holding the cake where it landed: Square between the legs of the hottest action star in Hollywood.
My eyes widened in horror at my buttercream-covered hands clutching the remnants of cake firmly against Tristan’s groin.
