Damn nature to hell! I shook my fist and sighed as Cat finally made her way to me and smiled.
Her smile scared me. It was wide and not inviting, and swear on Reid’s life she had two very sharp teeth that looked a hell of a lot like she’d filed them down so she’d look like Edward’s sister, the vampire, not the snake. Note the difference.
“So . . .” She reached toward my arm, and I watched in utter horror as her long talons latched on, much as a mama eagle latches on to its baby bird and never lets go. “Where are we going?”
Hell. Ha-ha.
“We’re going to go scuba diving.” I sighed. “You up for it?”
“I’m up for anything!” She smiled brightly and then winked at the camera.
I tried to engage in typical date conversation: What’s your favorite food? Do you like goats? (Hey, no judgment, Hades was a permanent fixture in my life now.) What do you do for a living? Things seemed to be going pretty well, I mean pretty well given that she didn’t eat goat meat or cheese, score one for Hades, and when she said her favorite food was spaghetti I was like, sure, I can dig that.
But things clearly couldn’t last that long.
Going on a date with these women was like playing Candy Land with a small child. You think you’re going to win because you’re smarter and you keep missing the Molasses Swamp and whatnot. So when you get to the end, you’re all What’s up bitch! Winner! Except you played way too fast, so the damn kid wants to play again.
Meet every single woman on Love Island.
I stepped through each ring like a monkey on a pole (ha, because monkeys on poles would be hilarious) and after I was done doing the whole dance they wanted to repeat the same process.
So what should have lasted . . . oh, I don’t know, maybe a few minutes? I mean how long was small talk supposed to last?
Well, it lasted a hell of a lot longer.
In all my dating experience, you have small talk, you laugh, you touch, then you move on. These girls? They talked in absolute circles about nothing that made sense! I wanted to end Candy Land once I reached the final card—they wanted to start over and talk about their favorite color again!
Oh, and here’s my favorite part. Plot twist! This girl? Her job is to be.
And no, I did not forget to finish my sentence.
That’s her job.
To be.
Or, according to Cat, “I merely exist to bring pleasure to others.” Right, let that sink in a bit.
I’ll wait.
Jury’s still out, but who wants to bet she’s a prostitute? Anyone? Anyone?
“Oh, I’m scared!” Cat hissed.
“It’s fine.” I pried myself away from her clutches. “See?” I dipped my fin in the water and offered an encouraging smile. We were out on the boat in around twenty feet of water. We’d been hanging out there for the past thirty minutes, and each time our instructor asked us to jump in, Cat got scared.
The instructor jumped for us. Land on your feet, bitch! Seriously, someone get me alcohol.
My date was officially a scaredy-cat. See what I did there?
“Cat.” I licked my lips. “Would it make you feel better if I go first?”
She nodded.
Cool. Fingers crossed a giant shark ends my life so I don’t have to go through with the rest of this date. The old Max would have liked the attention.
The old Max would have kissed every single girl, gotten into their pants, made no apologies or promises.
But apparently I’d started to change, because not only was I bored out of my mind, but every minute with these girls seemed like a waste of time—when I could be with THE girl. The one I really wanted.
Cat giggled.
It sounded like nails on a chalkboard.
I glanced around, my eyes hoping to find a shark. Then again, I was pretty sure Becca wouldn’t want me going out like that. Now, death by whiskey? She’d probably high-five my corpse and take a shot over it. I mean she was cool like that.
The splash of water was warm, inviting, a bit soothing. Hell, if Cat didn’t wanna go scuba diving, I was perfectly fine entertaining myself.
“See?” I swam around a bit. “Totally fine out here.”
Cat smiled.
And then that same smile froze.
The instructor’s eyes bulged nearly out of his head as he held up his hands and said in a strained voice, “Don’t move.”
I thought I’d gone over this with people. Worst thing ever to say to a person who was voted most likely to panic in tense situations. I was the dude who ran into the burning building not to save someone but because I was so freaking disoriented I just ran toward the light, feel me? So saying, “Don’t move” was like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
So I moved.
Cat screamed.
Our instructor paled.
And something nudged my leg.
Please let it be Hades.
I looked to my right.
A shark.
Not huge.
Not small.
Just right.
Like the three bears, it had found the perfect spot, a sweet spot, so to speak, and it was nestled right next to my left nut, also known as Mighty Max Jr.
“I’ll never sire children,” I whispered.
“Hit its nose.” The instructor made a sweeping notion with his hand.
“How hard?” I asked.
“Who cares?” Cat screamed. “Just hit it, Max!”
Ah, I knew she had a brain in there somewhere. With a curse I moved with deadly precision and hit the shark right on the nose.
It let out a war cry, or maybe that was me. At any rate there was a lot of splashing, someone pulling me back into the boat, and then Cat’s mouth was on mine before I could do anything.
“Breathe!” She pounded my chest. “Breathe, damn it!”
“I’m—”
“Breathe, Max!”
Finally I turned to my side as she smacked my back, hell, why hadn’t I pushed her in with that shark? She would have terrified the shit out of it.
“Thanks,” I muttered, voice hoarse, pretty sure she’d done more damage than Sharky.
“He’s alive!” she yelled to everyone on the boat.
There was applause and because it was a date where my date at least cared enough to want to save me, I quickly turned and kissed her across the mouth. “You stay.”
She beamed.
And I instantly felt guilty for being such an ass.
But what was worse? I’d just kissed a girl who wasn’t Becca and I hated it. I hated every single part of it. What should have been easy was hard because as much as I wanted it to be her, I still had two more dates to go.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
MAX
It was lunch.
I was starving and I was in some serious need of alcohol.
With a sigh I waited for the third date. At least after this I was halfway through the individual dates, right?
Rex handed me a protein bar and patted my back. Holy shit, was he actually soothing me? Did he suddenly see the error of his ways?
I looked down at the protein bar.
It was called Aphrodisiac Delight.
Um. No.
I was half-tempted to chuck the bar at his head. Instead I mumbled a thanks and tucked it in my back pocket. No way was I letting any of those girls near that thing.
A pretty girl started walking toward me. I semirecognized her and tried to channel the whole chart in my room but I kept coming up with a blank, so by the time she reached me all I really had to go off of was my charm.
And let’s be honest, I was practically dripping with charm. I held out my arm and said, “You look lovely.”
Her eyes narrowed as she looked behind me at the camera and made some obscene gestures with her hands. Holy crap. What did I do?
“She does not speak English,” the producer said. “We thought it would be fun to show some diversity in the show.”
“Well, I know s
ome Spanish,” I offered lamely. How the hell had I not interacted with this girl yet? I’d met her when we’d gotten on the Island and I’d waved, but when she hadn’t talked I’d just thought she was shy!
“You know Portuguese?” the producer asked, an amused grin plastered all over his shit-eating face.
I laughed. “Aren’t they the same thing?”
The producer groaned. “You’re lucky she doesn’t understand you.”
“Wait.” I held up my hands. “How are we supposed to communicate?”
“And that,” Rex said from next to the camera, “is part of your date. You woo her with your native tongue—”
“My tongue isn’t native. I mean it’s been some pretty crazy places but I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s in possession of a passport or anything.”
Rex rolled his eyes. “You use gestures to show her how you feel.”
“So is the middle finger to her as it is to me?”
“What?” Rex’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Hey, I’m just being cautious. Hand gestures mean different things in different countries, like a thumbs-up can actually mean ‘up yours.’ I don’t want to insult her by being encouraging!”
“Then don’t use gestures,” Rex said in a strained voice.
“But you just said—”
“Max!” Rex barked, and then regained his posture of control. “We’re running out of time and have two dates left after this. Could you please carry on?”
“Fine.” I clenched my fists. “What’s her name?”
Rex groaned. “We’ll edit that out.”
“What?” I roared, “It’s not like they’re wearing name tags and I haven’t spoken to her once!”
The girl gave me a concerned look so I flashed her a smile and wrapped my arm around her while I said in perfect English to Rex, “Look how good I’m doing with positive body language. She probably thinks I’m saying she’s hot and here I don’t even know her name. Point Max.”
“Good Lord.” Rex patted his head with a hanky. “Her name is Ella.”
“Ah, Ella Enchanted. Anne Hathaway, terrible film. Pretty sure it got a few rotten tomatoes on account that she was the only one in the entire damn film that spoke in an American accent. Hashtag stupid Americans.”
“You done?” Rex asked.
“Yup.” I winked and then strolled along the beach with Ella. I pointed at seashells. I picked one up and then handed it to her like she was my queen.
Honestly, it was the perfect date. I got to talk all I wanted about things that were important to me like Hades, golf, football, the Costco hot dogs with green relish, and she had no choice but to smile encouragingly. I imagined this was what it would be like to be married to the perfect woman.
But an hour into the date, I started getting bored.
So I may have, possibly, started getting slightly . . . inappropriate . . . not with my gestures. Nah, my gestures were solid. I held her hand, I smiled, I waved. I was awesome.
My words? Not so much.
“So if I told you I had a secret clown fetish, would that be a deal breaker?” I asked.
She smiled and nodded.
“Oh, good.” I sighed. “Because I have a clown fetish.”
Her smile brightened.
“No? Not scared? Not running in the opposite direction?”
She nodded.
“Last year I ate my best friend’s goldfish. She’d named it and everything, and well, you know about eating pets that have names. It’s basically like stealing their soul, so the soul of Goldy resides right there.” I placed her hand on my heart. “Forever.”
I then made a fish face.
Which she took as an invitation to kiss me.
I pretended to trip over my own feet and managed a solid blush and shrug.
She laughed.
I laughed with her and made a cutting motion with my hand toward Rex. Our date was supposed to be a picnic lunch while riding on horseback.
But we never made it to the horses.
Because I wasn’t going to keep her—and even I wasn’t so heartless as to make her go through with the rest of the date.
“Look,” I said, and sighed. “You’re really pretty, but you gotta go.”
She smiled.
I patted her hand. “Mm-kay, pumpkin? It’s time . . . oh, wow, how do I say this in Portuguese?” Instead I just waved bye-bye.
She waved back.
I groaned and looked at the producer.
Finally she was escorted away from me.
She waved the entire way back to her hut.
“She’s a strong one, didn’t even shed a tear.” I sighed.
Rex rolled his eyes. “She thought you were proposing when you tripped, just FYI, so remember you can’t hold us legally responsible if she sues.”
“I hate you.”
“Next date.” Rex slapped me on the back and walked off.
One more girl.
And I was Becca free.
Not home free.
Becca free.
Way better.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
BECCA
I was on my third mimosa and it was only one in the afternoon. I saw the beginning of each date. Max was a perfect gentleman to each of the girls. I hadn’t been worried about any of them until Colton decided to inform me that he’d actually chosen a girl who was normal.
“You what?” Milo roared, smacking her husband in the shoulder. “You chose a normal?”
“As opposed to . . .” Colton looked at all of us, his brow furrowed in utter confusion as to why he was getting beaten by his wife. Yeah, I was one bad choice away from grabbing a voodoo doll of Colton and poking it with something.
“As opposed to”—Jason slurped his drink; poor champ had had at least seven but was still able to have a complete conversation without slurring. It was impressive—“a cray.”
“Cray?” Colton repeated.
“Or as Max calls them”—Jason took another sip—“a cray cray.”
“Like Jayne,” Milo explained.
“Ohhh.” Colton blinked. “But why would I choose a crazy when it’s all about finding love and—”
“Colt!” Milo shouted. “He likes Becca!”
My body erupted with a fiery sensation—my skin had to be bright red by now.
“I know.” Colton rolled his eyes. “I’m not stupid.”
Jason snorted.
Milo gave him a pointed look.
“I have my reasons for choosing another normal. Wanna hear them?” Colton leaned forward.
“Doubtful they’re good reasons, but sure.” Milo grabbed another drink from the bar. “Hit us.”
“So this whole scenario makes you think you’re falling in love when really you’re not given a choice. Most of the girls that are here are absolutely bat-shit crazy, making it so Becca’s an easy choice, and if I know girls, which let’s be honest, I’m like a master at reading the female mind . . .” Yeah, that earned a lot of laughter and pointing. “Whatever.” Colton rolled his eyes. “Becca doesn’t want to be the best option out of the crazies, she wants to be the best option period. Max has to see it and Becca has to see it.” He smirked. “You’re welcome, world.”
“Wow,” Milo sighed. “You almost made up for being an ass right then.”
“Aw, babe.” Colton smiled. “Nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
I watched and tried not to be jealous as they cuddled and kissed. Jason made eye contact with me over their heads and made a gagging motion with his hand, then promptly fell out of his chair. Right, so he was three sheets to the wind already. Clearly the alcohol had affected him more than I’d thought.
The wind picked up a bit; I glanced back at the beach just in time to see Max’s fourth date approach. Out of all the girls, she was the one I was most worried about. Quiet, pretty, normal.
Great.
I silently prayed she had spinach in her teeth and was defeated when I noticed Max’s face light up when she gave him
a warm hug and grabbed his hand.
Pangs of jealousy attacked me from all sides.
“Hey.” Milo squeezed my arm. “It’s going to be fine. He likes you.”
Right. He liked me. I’d slept with him already because, what? I was that convinced that what we had was going to last past two weeks? Suddenly nauseated, I ordered another drink.
It had taken me two weeks to not only fall for the guy, but also to sleep with him. I hadn’t kept my cards close, if anything I’d laid them all out in front of a complete stranger in hopes he’d love me.
But Max was . . . Max. He had everything—what if I wasn’t enough to keep someone like him entertained? What if I wasn’t enough to keep him, period? Clearly he’d had lots of dating experience and when guys were that experienced they bored easily. Insecurity hit me again square in the chest . . . what if this was just an infatuation for him, brought on by the show? What if, once we were back to our normal lives, whatever there was between us proved to be too normal for him?
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
MAX
Thank Hades. They chose a normal. A normal! As in someone who doesn’t have multiple personalities, a fetish for sharp nails, the inability to speak English—a normal.
Little G popped up from my pocket and froze. He was so astonished that we weren’t getting attacked by another crazy girl that he’d stopped breathing altogether.
“Hey.” The girl smiled. And it wasn’t scary. You know what I’m talking about. Some girls have the creeper smile where you’re not sure if they are going to attack you or just say hi. She meant to say hi. And I actually liked the smile. So I returned it with one of my own.
“Hey.” I pulled her in for a hug. “You ready for our date?”
“Sure.” A blush tinted her cheeks, making her look really young. Damn, was it possible she was younger than me? Great, so now I was the old creeper. “What are we doing?”
“We are . . .” I looked around. “Honestly, I don’t remember. I mean I think they’d like you to think I totally plan these dates on my own but spoiler alert, today they’ve actually been doing it for me. But can I get points for dressing myself?”
She laughed out loud, throwing her head back a bit. “Yeah, you get points for color coordination.”