One To Watch(24)

“Hi,” he said tentatively, well mannered but clearly perplexed. “Are you … Bea?”

“Yes, hi, I’m Bea.” She struggled to maintain composure even though her heart was pounding. “What’s your name?”

“Brian,” he replied. “So, you’re the person we’re going to be dating? Sorry, I’m just a little surprised.”

That makes two of us, buddy, Bea thought—this guy didn’t bring a new look to the show in any way whatsoever. She smiled wider.

“Yep, that’s me! I guess you should head over there, and we’ll talk later?”

Bea nodded toward the risers behind her where the men were meant to stand and wait as the rest of them filed onstage. Brian wandered off, looking dazed—Bea felt the same way. Was this just ratings bait, throwing out a stunning Adonis before Bea got to meet the diverse range of men who might actually look like they had any interest in dating her? That must be it. Of course that was it. Bea squared her shoulders and mentally prepared herself to meet the next man, someone she could sell to the world as her Prince Charming. She could do this. She was ready.

Then the second man appeared.

He was imposing and Latino with powerful arms and pillowy lips, like a young Javier Bardem with a mischievous smile. He wore fitted jeans and a button-down, but the ten-gallon Stetson made the outfit.

“Well, howdy,” he greeted her warmly with a thick Texas accent, and Bea was momentarily so captivated that she forgot to be horrified.

“Hi, I’m Bea.”

“Bea? Jaime. It’s a damn pleasure to meet you.” He kissed her hand. “Can I say damn? I don’t know the rules.”

“Who cares about rules?” Bea blurted, and Jaime let out a full laugh, a great laugh—the audience appreciatively joined in.

“Talk more soon, I hope.” He gave her hand a squeeze and headed off—Bea didn’t bother not to stare at his ass as he left. Talk about damn.

Except—wait. That was two men who could just as easily have been Calvin Klein models as contestants on this show. But before Bea could think too much about what was happening, the third man walked onstage: He was young and Black with a broad, muscular frame, a thick mustache, and a dazzling smile, the spitting image of Michael B. Jordan. No. This wasn’t happening. These were all the same men you always saw on Main Squeeze—more diverse by skin color, sure, but so far, Bea thought these men looked far more likely to give advice on weight-lifting technique than give her the time of day.

Bea needed to talk to Lauren—crap, they were on live television—could she maybe signal a producer? Get someone’s attention? She turned to see who might be around, which of course was the exact moment the third man extended his arms to give Bea a hug hello, and poked her directly in the stomach instead. Bea closed her eyes and imagined the moment replayed in slow motion on YouTube, an unflattering GIF of her mid-section shimmying up the list of trending topics on Twitter.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry, I was trying to hug you—”

But Bea didn’t care what Mustache Man had to say, she just needed to get through this, needed to get to the next break so she could talk to Lauren.

“It’s fine,” she insisted through gritted teeth. She willed her facial muscles to relax. “I’m Bea. What’s your name?”

“Uh—Sam,” he sputtered, thrown off by her bizarre behavior.

“Great!” She tried to sound normal, but her panic was bleeding through. “See you soon, Sam!” She gestured toward the risers, and off he went.

Two more until commercial, she thought. Keep it together. Two more.

The next man was already walking toward her, a laid-back guy with a golden tan.

“Hey, am I in the right place?” he joked. A few audience members laughed uncomfortably.

“I hope so!” Bea smiled. “I’m Bea, and you are?”

“Confused,” he retorted. “This is Main Squeeze, right? I’m on television right now?”

“If you’re not, I’m not totally sure what all the cameras are doing here.” Bea fought to maintain a light tone. This guy needed to move the hell along.

“Cool. Um. I think I’m gonna go?”

Bea’s heart stopped, and all the noise of the set—the hum of the generators, the grind of the cameras, the whispers of the audience—fell suddenly silent.

“What?”

“Yeah, I gotta—it was nice to meet you, though.”

And with that, he turned and walked offstage, passing man number five on his way. Bea closed her eyes, seized by a sudden compulsion to burst out laughing. What kind of a waking nightmare was this? What would happen if she left too? How would Lauren fill the rest of the hour?

“Hello, Bea. I’m Asher.”

Oh, the fifth man was here. He was really attractive—Asian American with black glasses and thick salt-and-pepper hair.

“Fantastic. The risers are right over there—or you can just leave now if you prefer?”

“What? Do you want me to leave?” Asher looked perplexed.

“Makes no difference to me!” She flashed him a grin that she was sure bordered on deranged, but she was fresh out of fucks to give about who these men were or how they saw her. Asher tentatively backed away and headed over to the riser, and then Johnny was onstage to close out the segment and take them to commercial, saying something about this dramatic season being off and running while Bea smiled and gazed blankly ahead.