Reality Girl: Episode One Page 2

  I was nervous.

  “I’m not a fan of the--” He tilted his head toward the kid with the camera. “The cameras.”

  I’d completely forgotten about them.

  I shot the camera boy an evil glare. “Can you go away for a few minutes?”

  He didn’t move. Or respond.

  “Go away,” I snarled.

  “Sorry, I can’t do that.”

  Rhett shrugged and then turned toward a lounge chair positioned beside him. “You want to watch the sunset?”

  With you?

  Fuck yes.

  I tried to contain my excitement, and offered a shrug. “Sure.”

  He sat down, reached for the chair beside him, and pulled it to his side. “So, is Lou a nickname?”

  “Nope. It’s my name-name.” I chuckled and sat down.

  He looked over his shoulder. “It’s cute.”

  I was once again lost in admiring him. His hair, when left free, would probably be to his chin. He kept it swept back, but it had no product in it, so it naturally fell into his face often. He constantly – and probably without thinking – cleared it away. Each time he did, he offered an apologetic grin which added a little something to his seemingly shy personality.

  I felt bad for immediately spending one-on-one time with him before getting to know the other men, but not sitting with him seemed nothing short of impossible.

  He was that attractive.

  He brushed the creases from the thighs of his jeans and gazed out at the ocean. “Beautiful isn’t it?”

  The sleeve of his shirt inched its way up his arm, revealing a tattoo. I studied it as he focused on the setting sun. An eagle, perched over and anchor, with its feet clenching a pistol and what appeared to be a Neptune-ish trident. It seemed an odd choice for a tattoo.

  My curiosity got the best of me. “What’s the tattoo mean?”

  He pulled his sleeve down to cover it. “I was in the military.”

  “Oh really? Which branch?”

  “Navy.”

  I wouldn’t have guessed him for a sailor. “You were a sailor?”

  “A SEAL,” he said flatly.

  A SEAL? Wow. Modest much?

  “You were uhhm.” My heart skipped a beat. “You were a navy SEAL?”

  He met my gaze, nodded, and then turned toward the horizon. “Yes, I was.”

  Do not fuck this guy. Do not fuck this guy. Do not fuck this guy.

  My decision was made. I didn’t need to wait another day. I was prepared to tell Kelli what my plans were.

  I was ready for a month with Rhett the shy but oh-so-gorgeous Navy SEAL.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Technically, it was probably still late morning. I was sitting alone at the bar, and a waitress was serving the few patrons who were seated in the dining area.

  I raised my index finger and focused on my freshly manicured fingernail. The red I’m not really a waitresspolish went in and out of focus. I was mentally prepared for my month with Rhett to begin, but physically, I was slightly impaired.

  “One more,” I said in a demanding but playful tone.

  Facing away from me, the bartender coughed out a laugh. “You sure?”

  I shrugged. “Why not?”

  The production company was shipping the five men out of the house, and filming each of their departures. After an interview with Rhett, they were situating everything in the home, fitting it with a few more microphones and cameras, and then our time together was to begin.

  He turned around. “You’re walking, right?”

  I scrunched my nose and returned a slightly drunken glare. “Yeah, why?”

  He met my gaze. “If you weren’t, I wouldn’t serve you.”

  He was tall and thin with long dark hair that went everywhere and a fairly lengthy beard. He looked like every other tattooed hipster I’d seen at college, but seemed slightly more mature. His arms were covered in random tattoos all the way down, including the back of his right hand. Even his knuckles were tattooed. Despite all of the distracting ink, he was still a rather attractive man – especially after three margaritas.

  “You wouldn’t serve me?” I realized my index finger was still high in the air. I lowered my hand to my lap. “Who are you? The margarita Police?”

  “I’ve got responsibilities,” he said. “Salt or sugar? You’ve had both.”

  “Salt.”

  He turned away. After a moment, he placed my drink in front of me. “So, you’re doing a reality show?”

  I pushed my drink to the side and shot him a look. “How’d you know?”

  “The only thing that house has been used for in the last ten years is filming. At least that’s what everyone says.”

  I was shocked and slightly confused. “How do you know where I’m staying?”

  “I saw you get out of the taxi last night.”

  “Oh.” He didn’t seem the type to live in the neighborhood, so I had to ask. “You live close by?”

  “The front door of the place you’re filming in faces my next door neighbor. I’m across the street.” He chuckled. “Couldn’t afford backing up to the beach.”

  “Oh wow.”

  I reached for my drink. “So do you…” I started to ask him what he did for a living, but realized I already knew. He was a bartender. I had no idea what a home in the area cost, but I was pretty sure there was no way he could afford to buy a home on a bartender’s wage.

  Before I could recover from my half-finished sentence, he read my mind. “No, I don’t live with my parents. I bought the place three years ago – at the same time I bought this bar. I fired the bartender last summer. Decided afterward I liked working the bar. Been back here ever since.”

  I took a drink of my margarita and wondered where he got the money to buy the house and bar.

  “How old are you?”

  “Take a guess,” he said.

  I studied him for a long moment. With the bar only a few blocks from the house, I decided we needed to become friends for the next six months. After a month with Rhett, I was sure to need a few drinks to get me through the remaining five men. The margarita man could be my sounding board for all of the complications that were sure to develop.

  “Twenty-six,” I blurted.

  He shook his head. “Thirty-three.”

  “You sure don’t look it,” I said. “I’m Lou, by the way.”

  “Just Lou?”

  I nodded. “Yep.”

  He nodded. “Franky.”

  “Franklin? Frank?”

  He glanced down, pressed his palms to his scalp, and brushed back his hair. As he looked up he grinned. “Franky.”

  “Nice to meet you Franky. I’m going to be here for six months. This won’t be the last you see of me.”

  His eyes went wide. “Six months?”

  “Mmhhmm.”

  “Six fucking months? What’s the show about?”

  “It’s new. Reality Blows. Or sucks. I don’t remember. I live with six different guys. They film it. When it’s over, I get paid.”

  “You and six random dudes?”

  I nodded.

  His eyes narrowed to slits. “Why?”

  I shook my head. “Everyone wants to watch people fall in love. This is a new spin on it, I guess. I pick a guy, we live together for a month, and then another guy, and live with him for a month. After six of them, I get paid a lot of money.”

  “So it’s about money? You’re doing it for the money?”

  “No.” I sighed. “Not exactly.”

  He stared at me for a moment, shook his head, and turned away.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Go do your little show.”

  I raised my drink to my lips. “Don’t get all butt hurt about it.”

  He turned around and shot me a look. “You’re gorgeous. Like, fucking gorgeous. You could have pretty much any man’s attention if you wanted to. Do you really think the chick that does those shows is going to hand select your soul mate?”

>   I thought of Rhett and shrugged. “It’s hard saying, she might.”

  He performed a dramatic eye roll.

  “And thank you for saying I was pretty.”

  He leaned against the inside edge of the bar, locked eyes with me, and stared. He was all of a foot from me, directly in front of my face.

  “I didn’t say you were pretty.” His eyes narrowed slightly. His mint gum infused breath was thick on my lips. “I said you were gorgeous.”

  I struggled to swallow a mouthful of salivation.

  “Fucking gorgeous,” he said.

  And he turned and walked away.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was day one of filming with Rhett. We’d spent the entire day together, and were sitting on the back patio relaxing. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was any way that I could make it to the final episode of the show without choking someone or simply walking off the set.

  Having remote cameras positioned throughout the home was one thing, being all but assaulted by a film crew while attempting to have a private conversation was another. As much as I believed I had prepared myself to relinquish my privacy, I was wrong. Sitting by the pool with a view of the ocean should have been a breathtaking experience – especially with Rhett – but it wasn’t.

  I felt as if I was being descended upon by the paparazzi. I turned my head to the side and glared at the camera boy. “Can you give us a little room, please? I mean, really. This is ridiculous.”

  With his camera still trained on us, he acted as though he heard nothing I had said. I cleared my throat, shot him my best fuck off glare, and let just a little of my rural upbringing shine through. “Back up, asshole.”

  He didn’t budge.

  Although he’d remained relatively mild-mannered about everything thus far, Rhett stood from his seat, turned toward the camera, and folded his arms in front of his massive chest. The look that followed was anything but welcoming.

  “What’s your name?” he asked. The tone of his voice was one hundred percent Navy SEAL combat veteran. It seemed as though he was interrogating a prisoner of war.

  The cameraman stumbled backward, then caught his footing. “Bobby,” he stammered.

  “I’m going to need you to back up a little bit, Bobby. You’re making Lou uncomfortable.”

  I twisted in my seat and waited to see how the twenty-something year old cinematographer-at-heart as going to react to Rhett’s demand. The camera lowered slightly, revealing his widened eyes and a look of genuine concern, but he didn’t budge.

  Rhett cocked his head to the side slightly and took a step forward. “I’m not going to ask you again.”

  Bobby took a half-dozen fearful steps back and then raised the camera to his shoulder.

  Rhett fixed his eyes on me. “Better?”

  I returned a smile. “Much.”

  He sat, then brushed his hair from his face. “Where were we?”

  My frustration about the cameraman quickly turned to giddy excitement. A tingling ran through me as I found myself admiring Rhett’s good looks and willingness to stand up for me. Like a high school girl infatuated by the handsome quarterback after a winning football game, I ogled every detail of his face and gave my response in the form of a flat whisper. “I don’t remember.”

  “You were comparing the Midwest to the coast.”

  I shook my head. “Oh. Right.” My thoughts quickly returned to my temporary home in southern California, and of the time I was going to spend with Rhett. “It’s a lot different than I thought it would be. I really don’t know what I expected, but being here--” I waved toward the coast line. “It’s just…I love it.”

  He grinned. “It’s tough to be in a place like this and be angry, isn’t it?”

  It was easy to get lost in his smile, and I was doing just that. I hoped I could make it through at least the first day without making a complete fool of myself, but was beginning to wonder if it was even a possibility.

  “Yes,” I responded.

  I was facing the ocean, but found Rhett’s handsome looks and athletic body to be far more interesting. After glancing toward the horizon for a moment, he turned and met my stare. I felt like I had been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, and shifted my eyes to the table that separated us.

  “What made you choose to do this? This show?”

  “I really don’t know,” I said, although I did. It was the money.

  “You have no idea?” he asked. “You just did it?”

  I started to respond, but before I could, he continued.

  “What did you…no, what do you hope to gain?”

  “I don’t know. I lived in the Midwest all my life, and one night someone noticed me at a college football game. The thought of living here for six months was pretty exciting. Before I knew it, I was in a producer’s office signing a contract. What about you?”

  “Me?” He chuckled lightly as if amused. “After I got out of the Navy, I opened a sandwich shop in San Diego. About six months ago, someone from the production company came in to eat. After we talked for a while, he asked me to audition for a show. I said I wasn’t interested. It was something ridiculous about former Special Forces military. Then, they called me about this one, and after seeing a picture of you, I said yes.”

  I was surprised at his response. A sandwich shop owner wasn’t at all what I expected his profession to be. Furthermore, it seemed strange for them to show him pictures of me, when Kelli was so reluctant to reveal of any of the men in our initial meeting.

  “They showed you a picture of me?”

  “They sure did.”

  I decided it must have been when they were courting me for the part. I laughed. “Was it a good one?”

  “I thought so.” He smiled. “You were dressed in jeans and some riding boots.”

  “Was I standing by a tree?”

  He grinned. “That’s the one.”

  The photo was one of a series I had taken immediately following them approaching me for the show. I had hired a photographer to take professional pictures of me that conveyed my youthful charm, in hopes that I could beat the other female contestants for the part in the show. The Victoria’s Secret Bombshell bra I chose to wear for the photoshoot made me look like a promiscuous college graduate looking for a date, not the charming country girl I had hoped for. I used the photos nonetheless.

  “I took those pictures to try to get this part,” I explained.

  He shrugged. “Well, the one I saw got me to come here, so they worked.”

  He was right. And now that I was sitting across from him, I had very little desire to meet the other men. He was the only one I was interested in, and I was convinced he was the only one I would ever be interested in.

  “I’m glad,” I squeaked.

  “You didn’t answer my question, though,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I asked you what you hoped to gain from being here. You didn’t answer me.”

  Still somewhat infatuated by his muscularity, and incapable of prying my eyes from his perfect physique, I opted to respond while I continued to stare. Considering my answer, it seemed appropriate.

  “I guess I hoped on meeting someone who’d be compatible with me. I don’t expect to fall in love with my soul mate, but I hope to find someone I can spend time with and have fun. You know, without feeling like I have to hide who it is that I am. So, here I am. Hoping.”

  He brushed his hair away from his eyes and smiled. “Hoping for what?”

  “For that guy, I guess,” I said. “Most girls hope for Mr. Right to come along. I’m just hoping for Mr. Compatibility. Douchebags and assholes seem to be all that’s available, though. So, same question to you. What did you hope to gain from this?”

  “Douchebags and assholes, huh?” He chuckled. “I don’t think I fall into either of those categories.”

  “No you don’t,” I said. “Actually, you’re quite the opposite.”

  He smiled again. “Thank you.”


  He really needed to stop with the smiling. His natural alpha-male characteristics – combined with his boyish grin – was almost too much. I nodded and returned a smile. “Now, if you could just play the guitar, sing, and were…”

  I paused. I had refused to drink on our first day together, knowing if I did that I would certainly do – or say – something ridiculous. I was half a sentence away from making a fool of myself.

  “And what?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  He coughed a laugh, then ran his fingers through his hair. “We’re both adults here. Say whatever it is you were going to say.”

  “Probably not a good idea,” I said. “I get myself into trouble when I say what I’m thinking. My only filter is a little bit of common sense, and it seems to disappear when I drink. So, I guess it’s a good thing I’m not drinking.”

  “You know, people say that. I have no filter. If we filter our thoughts, we really aren’t being honest. Say what you were going to say.”

  Hearing his explanation made me feel slightly guilty for not continuing. The thought of speaking my thoughts caused me to grin. “Seriously?”

  He nodded. “Seriously.”

  I covered my mouth with my hand. My eyes fell to the table as I took a shallow breath. “If you could play the guitar, sing, and were hung like a porn star. That’s what I was going to say,” I said through the space between my fingers. “It was more of a joke than--”

  He laughed.

  I looked up.

  He stood up. “I do, I can, and I am.”

  I was at a loss for words, but I managed to allow a simple one to escape my lips. “Huh?”

  “I play the guitar, I sing, but not well.” He extended his hand toward me. “And the other thing?”

  My throat went tight. I reached for his hand and nodded, incapable of speaking.

  “I am,” he said.

  He turned toward the house and tugged against my hand, pulling me with him. He reached for the door, and glanced over his shoulder. The cameraman, following close behind us, stopped in his tracks.

  “Don’t even think about following us,” Rhett said.

  Navy SEAL?

  Polite, yet protective?

  Sings, plays the guitar, and is hung like a porn star?

  As I stumbled toward the stairway hand-in-hand with him, all of a sudden, the money didn’t matter.