Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Jess frowns. “Will they go for that? Isn’t the point of these shows for it to be this intense, forced-proximity experience, and if you’re let back to your real lives you might talk to your families about the show and get tips and feedback?”
“Yes, but that’s how dating works! If I went out with one of them in the real world, we’d go home after and talk to our people about how it went. Especially if it went well, we’d want to talk it out and include our community in the excitement. I’m tired of these portrayals of romance in a vacuum, making people think once you find that special person, you don’t need anything else. That isn’t a healthy take on love! I want to date the guy who has the support of his family and friends the entire time, not the one who tells his loved ones they have to accept this new person they know nothing about who he swears he’s in love with after three weeks. Haven’t these people ever read a romance novel? A supportive community is, like, half of the happily ever after!”
“Oh my God, Fizzy, take a breath.”
I pause and take a calming sip of my tepid vanilla latte. “But that—the dating structure is easy. Do you want to hear the best part?”
“No, of course not. Boring details only, please.”
“I sent over a list of romance hero archetypes that Hot Brit has to cast if he wants me.”
Her expression flattens. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I sent him a list of twenty archetypes—hot nerd, professor, rock star, Navy SEAL, et cetera. He’ll cast eight Heroes that fit those categories.” Off her dubious look, I add, “It’s not that hard.”
Jess waves her fingers for me to hand it over. “Let me see the list.”
I pull it up on my phone and pass it across the table. Jessica’s blue eyes scan the screen, widen, and then she starts again from the top, reading some of them aloud. “A prince?”
“Or royalty more generally,” I say, casually examining a fingernail. “I’m not fussy.”
A pause, then she snorts. “Scottish rogue. Fizzy, my God.”
“Keep going.”
“The One That Got Away?” She laughs. “Talk about casting a wide net. You sure you want that?”
“Frankly, I didn’t want any of it, but if they managed to pull this together it would be amazing. I can’t write a damn word lately, which means the ‘Coming Soon’ page of my website is getting about as many visitors as my vagina. But if I can reach a romance audience with this, it would make my readers—and Amaya—happy.” My literary agent, Amaya Ellis, is a badass worth more than her weight in gold and absolutely does not deserve the headache I have been for the last year.
“Amaya thinks this is a good idea?” Jess asks, skeptical.
“I don’t know if I’d go that far, but both she and my film agent think it could be great exposure. And since I have literally nothing else going on, I was ‘strongly encouraged to consider it.’ She also reminded me that the whole reason I did the DNADuo in the first place was for research and I should go into it with that mindset.”
She briefly looks up. “And, you know, the whole possible soulmate thing…”
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” I say, watching her absorb the list and work to keep her shit together. “So, what do you think? I put some real thought into it.”
“That much is clear.” Her gaze snags. “Vampire? You expect them to cast a vampire?”
“Hot Brit tripped on that one, too. How they do it isn’t my problem, is it?”
Her eyebrow points skyward and she looks over the top of my phone at me. “Dom?”
“Gotta respect the genre.”
She reads some more, smothering her smile with a hand. “Twenty percent or more need to have gone to therapy, thirty percent are required to have a female friend they have never had sex with? Fizzy, you’re such a troll.” She shrieks briefly: “No poets.”
“This might be the greatest idea I’ve ever had. Unfortunately, it’s never going to happen.”
She tilts her head side to side, a maybe, maybe not gesture. “What do you do if he agrees to your terms?”
I wave this off. “I won’t get my hopes up. And even if he did, I’d really have to wrangle my shit into order and bring my A game.” That truth sinks in. I hadn’t actually imagined a situation where Hot Brit would agree to these preposterous terms. There’s been safety in my outlandish demands; literally any other woman on planet Earth would make this show easier than what I’ve just requested. To think, even briefly, that I might end up doing this makes my stomach clench. I’d have to be funny, and engaging, and—shit—convincingly fake being open to love.
“There’s absolutely no way he wants me bad enough to say yes to all of this.”