Reality Check

5. Mingle All the Way

"CUT," Henry shouts. "Contestants, please filter out of the cabana. Do not speak to one another. Your first interactions should be natural."

He didn't say anything about holding hands, so Noelle, Maddie, and I clutch each other, trying not to fall as we traipse across the sand in our heels. I know that there's a simple solution to our problem called 'take off your shoes,' but everyone still has them on, and I'm not brave enough to be the first, just like I'll never hit up a buffet for a second round until someone else does.

We watch the sun set over the seascape while the crew scrambles around inside the cabana, presumably moving furniture out of the way so we can mingle without bumping into cute wicker chairs. Quite a few bangs and curses find their way outside. Ava Smith raises her eyebrows, unimpressed. Claire DiLeo crosses her arms in disapproval. Tyler Davis gazes into Noelle's eyes. I move mine back to the sunset.

If you recall the unfortunate debrief, you might be concerned. Is this an ADHD Cinderella situation? Will I make it through this event before my medication wears off?

Fear not, friend. I probably will. The sun sets early in California. This shindig wraps up at 6:30. Then, we write down names and head on over to the cabana, when we line up and await our fates.

I should have told everyone I was a poet instead of a tutor.

Anyway, the goodbye portion of the night can't take all that long. We flew through the introductions in less than an hour. Saying our names won't be much of a time commitment. I'll probably be a bit distracted during the ceremony, but I won't enter La-La Land for a few more hours.

"Hey."

Max Vaughn is standing behind me, hands in his pockets, smirking. He was dreamy as fuck on stage. He's dreamier face-to-face.

"Hi." I swallow. "Uh, I think Henry might get mad if he sees us talking."

"You're going to follow all his rules?"

His voice is so gravelly I already need new panties.

"I mean... I'm not trying to get kicked off right away." I might not be brave enough to take off my shoes, but I've got the courage to flirt with this fine specimen. "I can't leave without at least one night in the cabins."

He bites his lip. I squeeze my legs together. He smirks.

"What are you doing tonight?"

Is that a real question? "Uh..." I look around. "This?"

"We've got time for more." I open my mouth to reply, but Max places a finger on my lips. "Shh. Later. We'll get in trouble."

Let me clarify something before we continue. I'm a feminist. When men suggest I smile more, I either demand they give me a reason or delve into a lecture, depending on my mood. I counterprotest the crazies at Planned Parenthood a couple times a year.

I really should bitch Max out. I really, truly should.

But.

There's something so unbelievably sexy about his touch. Also, I think he's teasing, using my words against me.

I decide to raise my Devin-crafted eyebrows and wait until we're inside to further analyze his behavior. He does have a point. There's a strong possibility we get in trouble if the crew or producers see us chatting. I want my $10,000.

"Alright! Come on in," Sarah hollers.

I wrench my feet out of the sand and start marching into the cabana. I'd prefer to walk like a normal human being, but I have to get my knees up if I don't want to spend the remainder of the night standing like a scarecrow on Coral Beach.