Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“When can I see you again?” he asks, his voice smooth and steady.
The breeze picks up the ends of my hair, causing them to flutter around me.
I rack my brain trying to remember when we are supposed to meet again. Then I realize the producers can edit the video to say whatever they want.
“So there is the promise of a second date?” I ask, smiling up at him.
“Of course, there’s a promise of a second date. I’d be out of my mind not to want to spend more time with you.”
I wonder how many times these lines have worked on other women—those poor souls.
“I might have a night this weekend available,” I say.
“Even if I didn’t before, I do now.” He takes a step closer. “Can I text you a time and date?”
“You better.”
We exchange a slow smile, milking it for Greg, who stands off to the side with his camera angled at us.
My heart starts to pound as the world around us stops. I’m caught up in the waves in Ripley’s eyes and the anticipation of what comes next.
Do we kiss? Do we shake hands and call it a night? Will someone call cut like they do on television?
I’m not prepared to kiss Ripley, and shaking hands feels very business-y. So I stare up at him like a woman who just had the best date of her life and really, really likes what she sees. The last part isn’t all that hard.
Ripley begins to lower his mouth to mine when I take a step back.
“Cut,” I say loudly, laughing to hide my nervousness.
He runs a hand over his jaw, smiling.
My heart thumps as Myla and Greg join us, and I wish I could run to my car and fly home. I need some space from all of this. I glance up at Ripley, who’s still watching me. And space from him.
“You two did a phenomenal job,” Myla says, clapping softly. “I watched the live feed and was so impressed with your chemistry. Have you two taken acting lessons?”
“It was much easier than I thought it would be,” Ripley says.
I snort at his weak attempt at winning Myla over. “It turns out that it’s not impossible to pretend to like Ripley.”
He bristles at my side.
“You will film yourselves on your next date,” Myla says. “Use the cameras we gave you on Monday, and you can even use your phones if you want to. Remember—the more material you give us, the better. We can edit things down but can’t easily create new content. Just send us everything you have by noon the next day.”
“We understand,” I say, ignoring Ripley brushing against my shoulder.
“Great. Greg, can you film Ripley’s confessional?” Myla asks, looking around. “Over by the pampas grass should be good. Do you have the questions to ask him?”
“I do.” Greg nods at Ripley as he unstraps a camera from his back and hands it to Myla. “Follow me.”
Ripley looks down at me as if he wants to say something, but instead, he turns away and follows Greg across the parking lot.
“If you put your back to the brick wall right there, we’ll knock this confessional out,” Myla says. “Don’t forget to record one of these after your next date. I’ll email you both a set of questions to use as a starting point.”
“Great.”
I get situated, and Myla sets up the camera on a mount.
“I’m going to ask you a series of questions,” she says. “Be candid with your answers. If you start going down a tangent with something, feel free to follow it. There isn’t a right or wrong answer here.”
“Got it.”
She touches the camera. “Here we go. First question. What was your first impression of Ripley when you entered the restaurant?”
I glance across the parking lot at Ripley and wonder what he’s saying about me.
It doesn’t matter. This isn’t about him; whatever he says is a lie, anyway. This is about Sutton.
Oxygen fills my lungs, and I stand tall.
“My first impression of Ripley was that he’s extremely good-looking. I had a hard time not wearing a goofy smile the whole night. It’s one of those situations where you see a hot guy, and you think you’d play it super cool if you met them, but then you do meet them, and you’re not cool at all. I just prayed the entire time that I didn’t make a fool of myself.”
“What kind of a first impression do you feel you made on Ripley?”
He watched me walk down the hallway carrying my books. His smile chased away the chill from my fear of starting a new school, so I’d say he liked me back then.
“I feel like we had an instant connection,” I say, figuring that’s what I should say. “Our conversation flowed easily, and he seemed interested in what I had to say.”