"I'm open to it. Why? You're not—"
"Me? No! My cousin."
He looked relieved. I didn't take it personally. The old me might have, but the new me was slightly more confident thanks to the makeover.
"She'll be at the filming tonight," I said.
"You'll have to introduce me."
"This could be a whole piece for you. Matchmaking behind the scenes of Hitched or Ditched. You two could be the next couple on the show."
"That's not a bad idea." Out came the BlackBerry again.
I didn't warn him Ana was anti-long-term.
"You know," I said, "you're cute, you're good at your job, have a good personality—why are you still here?"
"Here?"
"In Cincinnati? Why not Hollywood, the mecca for all entertainment reporters?"
He shrugged. "I like it here. There's something about being a big fish in a little pond I find appealing."
Was that a little arrogance poking through? Maybe there was hope for him and Ana yet.
Seven
"Sure enough, there were picketers," I said to Ana, trying to focus on driving. It was tough. I was still mad. "Two of them. Didn't say a word to me, just walked in little circles in my front yard." There had been a camera crew there too, compliments of Carson Keyes. I didn't mention to her I'd spent nearly an hour with him that afternoon.
Ana would kill me.
She touched my hair. I slapped her hand away. "That Perry's a genius," she gushed. "I love the sweeping bangs. Gorgeous. Just gorgeous. He might actually rival Angie. And that's saying something."
We drove across the Norwood Lateral and headed to 71 south and the Edwards Road exit, which would lead us to the HoD studio.
"Are you listening to me rant? What good is ranting if you don't listen?"
"Shush. Let me look at you. Those eyebrows! The arch is perfect. And your scar is completely hidden. Why didn't you do this before now?"
I'd had a little run-in with a freight train a while back that left me with a scar on my forehead. The makeup artist at Azure taught me how to cover it with concealer. Who knew?
I shrugged. "I don't know."
I wasn't ready to tell Ana about my self-discovery quest just yet. And not just Ana. Anyone. I had to do this on my own for a little while.
"You look so great. You look better than me!"
I raised a freshly waxed eyebrow.
"All right. Almost as good as me. What did your mother say?"
"I haven't seen her."
"She's going to have heart failure."
"She'll be all right." I waited a beat. "I need to get rid of them. How?"
"Who?"
"The picketers! How's my house supposed to get done if the construction guys won't cross the picket line?" I took the ramp to 71 south.
She dug through her purse. "You met Carson yesterday, right? Is he as cute in person?"
"Ana!"
"Stop worrying, Nina."
I took a deep breath. She was right. I needed to stop worrying so much. So what? There were a couple of guys picketing my house. Big deal. They'd eventually go away. The construction crew could work then.
And being a pretend fiancée to Bobby wouldn't be so bad.
And everything at work would be okay.
And I was being delusional, which was breaking a top commandment.
"Are you nervous about tonight?" she asked as she applied clear lip gloss.
"A little."
"About being on TV?"
"About Bobby."
"Ah. He's hot."
"I don't need the reminder." I changed lanes, sped up.
Roxie and Nels had ditched me at four, to head down to the studio with the day's footage. For a while I was free of cameras. I wondered if higher-budgeted shows had those car cams. Right now I thanked my lucky stars Willie Sala was a cheapskate.
"As soon as the show ends and he finds Mac a place to live, Bobby will go back to Florida. Which, I hope, will be sooner rather than later. I can't hold out much longer."
"I don't know why you're holding out at all."
"My sanity."
"Oh that. Right."
"You're not helping." I exited the highway, turned left.
"Sorry."
Her smile told me she wasn't sorry at all. I didn't hold it against her. She just wanted me to be happy—and she believed Bobby made me happy.
Which he did. But it wasn't as easy as that.
"Do you want to do a little undercover work tonight?" I asked.
"I'm hoping I'll be under covers with Carson by the end of the night."
I rolled my eyes. "How about getting a date first?" Carson didn't strike me as a one-night-stand kind of guy. "Maybe play hard to get?"
"Yes, Mom."
I thought about Ana's mother. "Don't make me call Aunt Rosa." Though I wasn't all that sure Aunt Rosa wouldn't take Ana's side. The apple and the tree.
Great. I'd gone and done it again. I moved "stop using revised clichés" to the top of my self-discovery to-do list.
Ana pointed with the wand of her lip gloss. "You wouldn't."
"Tempt me."
"Fine. What do you want me to do?"
I explained about Willie, Genevieve, and Thad. "Just keep your eyes open."
"This could be fun!"
"You absolutely can't say anything to Carson Keyes. I don't think Josh Drake wants the sexual harassment case publicized yet."
I pulled into the Hitched or Ditched lot, found a space near the back. The security guard let us in, and someone with a clipboard directed us to the first fl oor studio.
Ana spotted Carson Keyes bent over a folder and made a beeline toward him, sashaying in her four-inch heels.
I looked around for Bobby but didn't see him on set. I took a minute to soak it all in. The design was very similar to the Newlywed Game. Two booths sat side by side, where the contestants would sit. But instead of a lectern for Thad, there was a heart-shaped hot tub, like you'd see in an ad for the Poconos. I walked over to it. Steam rose and the water bubbled.
For a second I let myself remember the time Bobby and I had driven down to Gatlinburg, Tennessee, for a weekend getaway. There'd been a hot tub in our hotel room. We'd made good use of it.
"Nina?"
I spun.
Bobby stood there, eyes narrowed. "Is that you?"
"Hi." I tucked my hair behind my ear.
His gaze traveled me up and down, darkening with each trip. Finally, it rested on my lips.
I gulped.
"You look amazing."
"Thanks."
"Really amazing."
Okay, I'd had it with people saying that. "What was I before? Chopped liver?"
He laughed. "Not at all. You've always been beautiful. This . . . this just puts the shine on the diamond."
I turned back to the hot tub. My. Heart. Ached. "Well, if that wasn't the cheesiest line I've ever heard." I was proud my voice stayed strong despite the lump in my throat.
His chest brushed my back as he came up behind me. "Cheesy, but true." He dipped his thumb in the water, then slid it over the back of my hand. "Remember Gatlinburg?"
I sidestepped away from him, my face fl ushed. And not from the steam. "No."
Blue eyes sparkled. "Liar."
Where was Ana? Both she and Carson had disappeared. Great. I did spot Perry and Mario across the room and practically sprinted for them.
"See? What did I tell you?" I heard Perry gushing to Mario, an artist in awe of his masterpiece.
I was never happier to see people in my whole life.
Perry kissed both my cheeks. "Doesn't she look gorgeous?" Perry asked Bobby, whose body heat practically seared my silk shirt.
"More than."
Mario nodded, approving. "Delectable."
"Stop it, you guys! I can't take so many compliments in one day."
"Well, sugar, you better get used to it," Perry said.
I wondered if I could. It was just . . . weird.
&n
bsp; "Ms. Quinn?"
A short, slim redhead introduced herself. "I'm Sherry Cochran. Thad's wife? He spoke to you about doing a makeover?"
"Oh hi." I made introductions.
She shifted on her kitten heels. "I was hoping we could talk for a minute tonight after the taping."
"All right." I wondered if I could worm any information out of her regarding Jessica Ayers and why she'd been fired. It would be nice if she could confirm what Perry had heard so I could call Josh and have this whole charade over and done with.
Wait. I'd forgotten about the contract I'd signed with HoD. With or without the case against Willie, I was obligated under contract to see the show through.
Great.
I made plans with Sherry to meet in Thad's dressing room after the show and watched her walk away.
"I'm going to go say hi to Louisa," Bobby said. "Be right back."
I tried not to be jealous. Tried really hard.
"She's not much of a looker," Mario said.
"Who, that Louisa?" I asked, taking heart.
"Oh sugar," Perry consoled, "Bobby only has eyes for you. No need to worry."
"Me? Worried?"
Mario put an arm around me. "I was talking about Sherry Cochran."
"Oh." I wouldn't have called her attractive, but she wasn't unattractive, either. She was just . . . plain. I wondered if she had any idea her husband was a cheating louse. Which reminded me of Kevin. Which reminded me of home. "Could you believe those picketers?"
Mario fingered my new bangs. "Great job," he told Perry.
"Thank you, thank you."
It was a good thing I didn't have an aversion to touchyfeely people. "Hello? Picketers?"
"Oh, they'll be gone soon enough." Mario leaned in close, looked to be inspecting my pores. "We just need to wait them out."
Said like a man who didn't have construction workers refusing to cross a picket line.
The next hour was a blur of makeup and run-throughs. At 6:55 Thad came out in a robe and dropped it in a dramatic show, revealing an itty-bitty Speedo. He climbed into the hot tub. The cleft in his chin looked even deeper tonight, and I wondered if the makeup people had shadowed it.
Next to me, Bobby leaned in. "You sure you don't remember Gatlinburg?"
I remembered all too well Bobby slipping into the hot tub with nothing on at all. "Nope."
He grinned. "Maybe I'll have to remind you sometime."
Was it me or was it hot under these lights?
Genevieve Hidalgo Sala came out in a bikini and heels. I immediately determined she'd had all sorts of plastic surgery, because I was being catty and didn't care whatsoever if it was on my self-discovery list or not.
As I took a closer look, though, I saw she looked rather skittish, her eyes on the wild side. Without a doubt she looked terrified.
Looking left, I noticed Carson directing his cameraman to film Genevieve.
Was her fright an act for the news camera, to keep the story on the air?
If it was, she was a good actress.
The overdone theme music came up, and before I knew it, Perry and I were backstage in a soundproof closet while Mario and Bobby answered questions about us.
"Have you heard anything else about Genevieve?" I asked him.
"The drama queen, you mean?"
"You think she's acting?"
"Better than Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie."
Laughing, I said, "Do you have a straight brother by any chance? I have this cousin . . . "
"The smokin' hot vixen in the killer heels throwing herself at Carson Keyes?"
"That'd be her."
"Sugar, I was thinking about leaving Mario for her."
I smiled. "I'll let her know."
"Give her my card—I'd love to get my hands on her hair."
The closet door creaked open. "Nina, Perry. It's time," Louisa said to us, then mumbled something into the headset she wore.
My stomach did nervous cartwheels as we stepped onto the set and took our seats, me next to Bobby, Perry next to Mario. Bobby held two large white cards facedown in his lap, as did Mario.
Mind you, there were no points kept. The questions were solely for the home audience to get to know us better and to judge whether we should be together or not.
It would have been nice to get something out of this charade —a TV or a stereo like the real Newlywed Game.
Perched on the edge of the hot tub, Genevieve held out a card. Thad read it carefully. "Perry, what was Mario wearing the first time you met him?"
Oh my God, I thought. What was I wearing the day I met Bobby for the first time? It had been last spring, in his office at the high school . . .
I didn't even hear Perry's answer—just knew he'd gotten it wrong by the pout on Mario's face.
"Nina," Thad said. "What was Bobby wearing the first time you met him?"
Wait. What was Bobby wearing? Easy. "A cheesy sixties style suit, snakeskin cowboy boots."
Bobby held up a sign. It said, SUIT. Fake applause filled the studio. Bobby whispered, "And you don't remember Gatlinburg. Right."
I avoided eye contact, but I could practically feel Bobby preening next to me.
Genevieve flipped the cards, and Thad read the question silently, making a show of looking bashful. Before seeing him with Genevieve in Willie's bathroom, I would have bought his good ol' boy act. Not anymore.
"Nina," Thad purred, "if Bobby were writing a book on his bedroom experience, would it be a boring how-to manual, a hot, steamy romance, or a rip-roarin' sensory stimulating thriller?"
Oh. My. God.
Next to me, Bobby shook, as if he were trying to hold in a laugh. Glad he found this so amusing.
I glanced over at Perry. He was watching me, totally engrossed.
Ana wasn't to be seen, the rear of the set in shadow.
Thad had a bemused look on his face.
Genevieve was no help either. She kept looking left and right as though she expected someone to jump out of the corner and bump her off.
I thought that a bit overdramatic of her.
"Nina?" Thad prompted.
All I kept thinking about was my mother. How she was going to watch this show. And Riley! And oh, God, Brickhouse and Mr. Cabrera!
"Nina?" Thad said.
Wincing, I said, "I'll, uh, go with hot and steamy."
Bobby held up the sign. ROMANCE had been his answer. More applause filled the space, echoed.
"Kiss her," Perry urged.
I wanted to throttle that Perry.
Bobby cupped the back of my head and pulled me toward him. He kissed me full on the mouth, then let me go.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ana stepping into the dim light across the set, fanning herself. Carson stood behind her while his cameraman aimed the camera at Perry as he answered correctly too—a how-to manual. Poor Perry.
The set dimmed as we broke to get ready for the next round.
I needed air.
Ana was busy flirting with Carson Keyes, and Bobby looked like he wanted to talk about Gatlinburg some more. I hightailed it out of there.
Someone had used a brick to prop open a side door. Cigarette butts littered the ground. I walked along the side of the building, out of the way of anyone coming out for a smoke, and leaned against the brick facade.
The crisp autumn night cooled me right down. I didn't know how I was going to last a week with Bobby kissing me like that.
A quick lap around the building to clear my mind, and I'd go back in and pray there wouldn't be any more sex questions.
A girl could only take so much.
Dried leaves crunched beneath my shoes—boring pumps I'd pulled out of the back of my closet.
Wait. When did I start caring if my pumps were boring? It was a disconcerting thought, to say the least.