Page 6 of Changed By You
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Okay, so go shower and get changed. Mallory is your wardrobe person. You can get your clothes for tonight from her. Then, report to makeup. We’ll start shooting the cocktail party at six fifteen sharp.”
“Makeup? And I can’t wear my own clothes?”
A flicker of annoyance passes over Alex’s face. “The makeup won’t show. It’s just so you aren’t shiny or blotchy on camera--every contestant has to do it. And not all clothes look good on camera. Just trust the professionals to handle this stuff, okay? The actors are all used to it. I forget that the athletes aren’t.”
I scrub a hand down my face. “Yeah, okay.”
“Great. Remember, lots of smiling tonight. Lots of energy. Give mewistful and hoping to fall in lovevibes.”
I force a smile. I was really just hoping to have a good time here, have some beach house sex and maybe come out of it with a famous girlfriend I like a lot. But they won’t be filming us the entire time, so hopefully, I can still get what I really want when the cameras are off.
three
Alice
Dalton Lorenzo looksridiculous.
It’s a shame, really. He’s got a body that doesn’t stop. He’s tall, broad-shouldered and lean, even the visible parts of his legs defined with muscle. But put a wild-patterned Hawaiian shirt with too many buttons undone on the man, and he looks like a porn star. All he needs is a bushy stache.
His shorts are fine--just plain khaki. And his simple Birkenstock sandals are also fine. That shirt, though. There are so many buttons undone that I can see the first few inches of his dark chest hair. He really should be standing beneath a disco ball.
JP doesn’t look much better. He’s wearing a pastel pink and blue striped polo that belongs at a gender reveal party. But like Dalton, his body helps make up for his unfortunate apparel. One of the other contestants is a rock star, and he’s so thin he looks like a teenage boy next to Dalton and JP.
Of course, Farrah looks fabulous. She’s wearing a sleeveless pale-yellow dress that shows off her golden skin. The producers insisted she wear something from the show’s wardrobe, but shefought to wear something she actually likes instead of what the wardrobe person picked out for her.
Hmm. Maybe Dalton and JP were dressed by the wardrobe people. I have nothing against JP, but Dalton deserves to look embarrassing on national television. My knee still hurts because of that asshole. Ice didn’t help at all. Farrah was practically feral with hunger by the time I got back from my second shopping trip, so I had to talk her down before I could take care of my knee.
“Action!”
I freeze in my chair near the show’s production people, reflexively knowing that when the cameras are rolling, I can’t sniffle, sneeze or even breathe hard. I have to be completely silent, or I won’t be allowed to stay during filming. And I know from past experience that my life will be much easier if I can watch the filming. Farrah will want to break down every interaction and conversation she has tonight, and it’s so much better if I actually see them instead of her relaying her versions to me.
We once had a forty-five-minute conversation about whether a costar gave her a dirty look. When people look at Farrah, they see a confident, stunning woman without a care in the world. But truthfully, she has the same insecurities and neuroses as the rest of us.
The contestants are mingling, servers discretely bringing around hors d’oeuvres and flutes of champagne on trays. Farrah takes a glass, but I know she won’t have so much as a sip. She’s strict about not having alcohol or sugar.
Dalton is talking to June Calloway, giving her that sameboy next doorgrin he tried on me earlier. She’s eating it up, fluttering her lashes as she looks up at him and laughs.
I can still roll my eyes. That’s silent. I see men like Dalton trying to get with Farrah all the time. They expect women to fall at their feet just because they’re successful and attractive.
Which...in fairness, is more than any of the men I’ve gone out with have had to offer. It’s been years since I’ve been on a date. But when I did date, I liked quirky, sweet men.
I’ve only had one serious relationship, and it started my freshman year of college. We’d been together for almost a year when he called me one night asking me to bail him out of jail. He had stolen several bottles of cologne. I broke things off with him after that, and of course, he never paid me back the bail money.
I don’t miss having a partner. There was never anything grand or romantic about my relationship with Derek. We were more like good friends who also had sex.
I’m not a woman men look at like they do Farrah. Sometimes I see the heat and longing in their gazes when they look at her. I wonder what it would feel like if a man looked atmethat way, like he was starving and nothing but me could satisfy him.
“I do. I love football,” I overhear Farrah saying to JP. “You were on my last fantasy team, actually.”
He laughs, looking pleased. She had no idea what fantasy football was until I explained it to her, and she’s definitely never had her own team. I told her he’d be flattered if she said that, and it looks like I was right.
“Hope I did well for you,” he says, his dimple showing when he smiles.
She does the coy, slow blink, with a one-second glance away that makes men forget they ever had common sense. When Farrah wants someone, she always gets them.
“You did great,” she says with a wide, perfect smile. “Some of my others...well, it was a frustrating season.”
