Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(21)
“Shut up. You just want to kiss my girlfriend.”
“Worried?” Valerie asked, sauntering toward the door. You could tell she already knew she’d won. “Afraid he’s a better kisser than you?”
“Heck, no,” Dan said, grabbing Valerie’s waist. He licked her ear. Beth could see his tongue snake out. “I’ll make sure you only reach heaven with me, baby,” he said.
Gag!
Beth did her best to blend in with the upholstery, horrified at the turn of events. This was so not where she belonged. A make-out game? Ack! No amount of reading Trish’s Cosmos on the sly could make her good at that.
She could hear voices outside the front door. Great. More people to ignore her.
She took a step back into the curtains, waiting for everyone to leave so she could go find a restroom. Hide. But, just as they were about to disappear into the kitchen, Valerie turned and looked Beth straight in the eye.
“Coming?” she said.
CHAPTER TEN
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CARTER KNOCKED LIGHTLY before entering his grandmother’s living room. It was one of three small rooms on the ground floor in Ma and Pop’s house Grams had been given to use after her knee replacements. He scootched by the TV and Grams’ recliner and pulled a slip of paper from the pocket of his sweats.
“Here’s your ticket and receipt. The lottery commission thanks you again for your donation.”
Grams snatched the scratch tickets out of his hand. “We’ll see who’s laughing when I hit the jackpot. Ooh! Shh! They’re starting again!”
She set the lottery tickets on a side table by her chair and waved impatiently for him to sit.
“Sorry I missed dinner. I—”
“Never mind that.” Grams waved away his apology. “Leftovers are in the fridge if you want to take them home. Okay. You’ve already missed the recap of last week’s episode, so I’ll bring you up to speed. They’ve done the little vignette on each of the three finalists. Now he’s gone into seclusion to decide which two he wants to take on the final adventure.” She leaned forward in her recliner to see around him as he toed off his sneakers.
Carter plopped onto the loveseat. “As if he can actually find ‘true love’ after ten episodes. This show is completely rigged.”
“Is not,” Grams retorted, riveted to the screen. “I read about him in People. He’s a lonely widower and would love to find love again, but it hasn’t happened. Let’s face it, he’s thirty-five now. Time’s a tickin’. As he pointed out in the article, this show isn’t any different than having a friend set you up on a blind date.”
“Except my friends don’t follow me around with a camera crew.”
“Pfft. Marcia says the couples forget the cameras are even there.”
‘Marcia’ was the host of the popular reality show and the supposed “matchmaking guru” who used her own proprietary romantic screening process (probably a Magic-8 ball) to “handpick” candidates to date the lead. Unlike other dating shows, Marcia believed real-life challenges were what made or broke relationships, so dates were less about wine and cheese picnics and more about changing a tire in the rain, hosting a birthday party for a pack of preschoolers or getting lost (i.e. dropped) in the woods and having to find your way back to civilization with only a roll of aluminum foil, a rope, a chocolate bar and a towel between you. (That was a fun episode.)
“Go ahead and poke fun. I love this show. It’s the classic tale of finding true love.”
“As observed by twenty million Americans in their living rooms.” Carter helped himself to popcorn and settled in for the season finale. They had the same conversation every Monday night. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Grams lit up when she talked about true love. Who was he to deprive her of that?
He just needed to keep creepy old men from capitalizing on her naiveté.
“Don’t make that face, young man. It’s not becoming. True love is true love regardless of whether it’s on national TV. And if you keep this up, I may write Marcia and sign you up to be the next bachelor. Hmm. Or maybe Ian…” She tapped her lips thoughtfully with her index finger.
“Oh, no!” She sat up straight. “Did you see his eyes in that shot? I don’t think he’s going to pick her! Can you believe it? Tsk. That’ll be a mistake.”
“You think that’s a mistake? What about last week when he ditched the masseuse? That was a mistake. And, no, you may not sign me up for this show.”
Grams slid him a derisive look. “The one with the purple hair streak? She was trampy. And don’t push me. I have e-mail, and I know how to use it.”
“Trampy in a good way. Remember the slumber party episode? Maybe you should sign me up. That pillow fight looked entertaining…”
Grams snorted indelicately and reclaimed the popcorn bowl. “Fine. Ian would make a better bachelor anyway. He’s got that whole successful, lonely bachelor persona. It would serve you right if he got his own slumber party episode.”
Carter flattened his hand to his chest. “So now I’m not good enough for the show? I’m crushed.” He grinned and tossed a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
Grams ignored him. They sat through a couple ofcommercials in silence. “So, have you submitted your bid for the fountain job?”