The True Love Experiment

I half expect Dax to take his socks off at the spa and reveal a missing toe or tattoo of a naked woman on top of his foot—both of which would be fascinating, but for very different reasons—but his feet are sadly intact and unmarked. Despite my concern that he might be bored or restless, he is a champ in the spa chair. He decides he wants his fingernails painted yellow, is ticklish when the pedicurist pulls out the pumice stone and gets to work on his calluses, and is shamelessly flirting with the woman doing his manicure—but sweetly, because she could be his grandmother.

When Connor told me last night at the marina that he’d be in the editing room this morning and his director of photography would be in charge for a few hours, I felt a pulse of relief like, finally, I’ll be able to breathe.

But I was wrong. My brain knows he isn’t here, but my reflexes don’t. I keep looking up at the empty space where he would normally be and find myself scanning the area. It’s a rude awakening to see how often I search for his reaction to things.

“You good?” Dax asks when we’re sitting with our feet and hands held carefully still, nail polish drying. The crew is packing up, having gotten as much footage as they needed, I guess. But still no Connor.

Will he meet us in Coronado when we drive over for my afternoon bike ride with Isaac? Or is he editing all day?

“What’s that?” I ask distractedly.

“Are you okay?” he repeats, smiling sweetly. “Are you in a hurry to get going?”

“No, no.” I must’ve scanned the spa again unconsciously. Why can’t I get my head in the game? I’ve done this before—slept with someone and then gone on dates with someone else later in the week! Sex is sex, it doesn’t have to mean everything!

But, it also doesn’t have to mean nothing.

Shit.

“Sorry,” I say. “I was just thirsty.”

Dax lifts a hand, waving to his new best grandmother-friend. “Can she get a cup of water, please?”

The adorable woman brings me some in a small plastic cup and Dax watches, concerned.

“Better?”

I nod. “Thank you.”

“It’s a lot of pressure, huh?”

“It is.”

“I have about a million questions for you,” he says, “about your job and your life.”

“Yeah?” I smile over at him. Look at this man right here, attentive and fun. A thought hits me like a door blown open.

Dax could be my soulmate.

The cameras aren’t even rolling, and he gives me a disarmingly kind smile. “I’m really hoping I get a third date.”



* * *



Connor isn’t in Coronado waiting for us. But the tandem bike is, and so is Isaac, with his knowing, crinkly-eyed smile and addicting belly laugh. We noodle around the island with cameras mounted on the bike frame and a cameraman ahead of us riding backward on a Vespa. Isaac is obviously a genius and makes me laugh the entire way, with the kind of off-the-cuff, quick-witted humor I find intensely sexy. It’s impossible to ignore that there’s something between us, and when he suggests we stop for spontaneous milkshakes I immediately agree. I want more time with him, face-to-face, close. Side by side, at a picnic table overlooking the ocean, we share stories from when we were kids, and for the first time on any of these dates, I forget that the cameras are right there.

I also realize, as I get to the bubbly bottom of my milkshake and Connor finally steps into view, sweaty and breathless, almost like he ran the whole way here, that I haven’t thought about him since my date with Isaac began.

Isaac could be my soulmate.

And yet I still want Connor.

Get it together, Fizzy, I think, and turn my attention back to Isaac and his caramel milkshake and the cherry he’s dangling for me to eat. No doubt viewers will compare this moment to the one with Nick yesterday, as I close my eyes and eat it with a smile. I tie the stem in a knot with only my tongue and open my mouth to flirtatiously display it. It gets the impressed reaction I’d hoped for—Isaac claps and gives me a sexy “Dang, girl”—but it takes every ounce of effort to not look at Connor to see what he thinks about it, and to wonder whether he’s thinking about what that tongue of mine felt like gliding over his neck, his bottom lip, his jaw.

We’ll have our confessional later, but my plan is to escape as soon as Rory says cut. My head is a mess, and I need to sift through my feelings for both men: my attraction to Isaac and the strange way it makes me feel like I’m betraying Connor, even though connecting with other men is literally the point of the show. But after the confessionals are all done and Isaac—who waited for me to finish—gives me a sweet hug goodbye and a gentle kiss to my cheek (pants feelings, we meet again), Connor’s hand comes around my arm.

I think he’ll ask me about Isaac, or tell me why he was late, or one of a dozen other possibilities.

What I don’t expect is for him to quietly lean in and say, “Let me take you to Peter’s wedding. It’s easy to explain why I’d be there. I don’t want you to have to face that alone.”





thirty


Episode Two Confessional Transcript

Connor Prince: Well, here we are again.

Fizzy Chen: Hello, Connor Prince. You were away for some of our shoots this week. It was weird.

Connor: I know, and I apologize. Unfortunately for me, I had some things related to the show that I needed to take care of. Fortunately for you and our viewers, you had six handsome men to keep you company.

Fizzy: Am I allowed to say I missed you? Because I missed you.

Connor: That’s very kind.

Fizzy: It was a hot day and you’re really tall. We could have used the shade.

Connor: There she is. Brenna, please make a note to insert a rim shot in post.

Fizzy: Okay, stop, wait. All I want in life is a sparkle sound to announce my entrance into any room. If I knew we could add sound effects in edits, I would have gone insane in that editing booth.

Connor: This is precisely why you aren’t allowed in the editing booth. Shall we get back to your dates? The week was quite a whirlwind.

Fizzy: It was busy, but the Heroes were great. I’m really hoping you cut when I slipped down the stairs at Balboa Park and my dress slid up to my neck and I showed everyone my butt, but I suspect you’ve already planned to include it.

Connor: You suspect correctly. But fear not, Felicity, we can also edit in small images to protect your virtue. Would you like the peach emoji or waving hand emoji over your bottom?

Fizzy: [stands and looks directly into the camera] America, are you seeing this?

Connor: [laughing, pulls her back to her seat] Let’s get to the dates, shall we?





thirty-one CONNOR




Come on up. Room 1402.

My brain stutters.

When I texted Fizzy to tell her I’d arrived, I expected her to meet me down in the lobby or direct me to the banquet hall. But meeting her in a hotel room feels like the exact problem I anticipated when I gave myself a stern lecture in the mirror at home.

“Escort her,” I’d said to my reflection. “You’re her handler, the executive in charge of her. You are not her date. You are not her lover. You are doing a job.”

I can meet you down here, I type, but if she’s upstairs and asking me to come to her, it’s possible she needs help with something.

I delete it, typing, Is anyone up there with you? which sounds possessive and awkward. I delete that, too.

I see you typing, she texts. Don’t be weird. I need your help.

Laughing, I delete everything again and type simply, On my way.

I hit the button at the elevator bank and suck in a deep breath; my pulse is climbing its way up my throat. Ideally, I need the elevator ride to take a half hour. Unfortunately, I suspect today will be a continuous series of reminders that I should not have offered to escort her to this event, because I am not equipped to handle being alone with her.