Page 18 of Most Eligible
I take a breath and nod. “Honestly, my mind went totally blank. I don’t really remember it happening, just a sort ofwhooshand then… nothing.” I run my hand through my hair, acting more affected than I feel. “But when I came to, Roland was thefirst thing I saw.” As I slide my eyes to Roland, then back to the camera, I feel the silence around me, the producers and other women hanging onto every word of my lie—or rather, this new TV truth. “He was the first person I thought of when my brain turned back on. And when I opened my eyes, he was right there.”
Lainey bugs her eyes at me, nodding for me to continue. I grit my teeth as I lay it on even thicker. “I probably seem silly”—I bat my eyelashes in anextremelysilly fashion—“but I felt like a damsel in distress, and Roland was my knight in shining armor.”
“Cut,” Lainey calls. I hope this footage never sees the light of day, but the grin on Lainey’s face tells me I won’t be so lucky. “Excellent, Georgia, excellent. Let’s get everybody back on the court!”
Norbert scuttles around, arranging us by the net opposite Roland, who’s currently toweling his sweaty hair with far too much gusto.
“Where’s Rhett?” Lainey snaps at Norbert, who mutters into his headset.
Seconds later, like he’s been conjured, Rhett reappears at Lainey’s side, looking sulky. My stomach flip-flops, which must be because of the tennis ball smacking into my face. Besides, if Rhett’s going to act like a greeting card, telling me he’s here if I “need” him, then shouldn’t he be the one rushing to my side when I’m attacked during organized sports?
“Quiet!” Lainey shouts. “Rolling!”
The word is like an On button. Immediately Rhett’s face lights up.
“Ladies,” he says. “I hope y’all had a good time playing tennis with the master, five-time Wimbledon champion Roland Marchetti.” As if we—or anyone watching at home—would forget his name. “You served up your best shots, and we’re impressed.” Rhett deserves an award for the way he delivers the line, no sarcasm, all seemingly genuine sparkle. But I know better.
“Roland, how was the date?” he asks.
“It was great, Rhett. I really connected with the girls on a deeper level.”
I swear he shoots me a look, a feeling confirmed when a camera swings heavily to my face. I try to manufacture a blush, but it’s possible I look more seasick than charmed.
“And since the game had to end a little early, there wasn’t a winner,” Rhett explains. Beside me, Monica looks ready to cry. If it weren’t for Addison’s sabotage—I mean, my “accident”—Monica would have won. “So, Roland, it’s your choice—who will be joining you for some romantic one-on-one time?”
“I really enjoyed spending time with everyone,” Roland says. “But there’s one girl who really went above and beyond today, and I’d like to spend a little extra time with her. Georgia?”
He holds out his hand, smiling as wide as can be. My mouth drops open. Is this really happening? I thought I’d ruined my chances by dropping to the ground like a sack of potatoes. I attempt my best squeal of pleasure. This is what I wanted, right? A chance to get closer to Lainey? If only I didn’t have to cuddle with Roland in order to do it.
Around me, the other women pretend to be excited, but I distinctly hear someone mutter, “‘Above and beyond?’ All she did was get knocked out.” Can’t help but agree.
Someone else says, “I bet she did it on purpose.”
I open my mouth, about to retort—how could I possibly have gotten hit by a tennis ball on purpose?—then shut it. Better not to get too involved in the drama since viewers are like rabid dogs when it comes to women’s flaws.
Ignoring the others, I let Roland wrap his arms around me and plant a kiss on my sweaty forehead. As Roland’s lips meet my skin, I meet Rhett’s gaze. His face is impassive, drained of all that camera sparkle. His lips part like he’s about to speak, butof course he doesn’t. We’re surrounded by dozens of people and unlike the night we met, they’re tuned in to our every move.
“Rhett, go,” Lainey says.
Rhett tears his eyes from mine, hooking his mouth up into a grin for the cameras. “Georgia, are you excited for your one-on-one time with Roland?”
“So excited,” I say, patting Roland’s chest. My hand comes away slick with sweat, and I try to subtly wipe it off as I continue. “He’s such a sweet guy and I can’t wait to learn more about him. Not to mention those biceps.” I wink at the camera. “I’m certainly hoping our date involves a hot tub.”
Roland plants another sloppy kiss on my forehead, and when he finally removes his lips, the cameras cut.
I fidget with the waistband of my shorts, stealing another look at Rhett. He’s standing with his arms crossed, watching the footage back on a monitor. His brow is creased, mouth pulled into a tight frown.
Is he watching me? Replaying Roland’s lip-attack on my face?
Either way, he doesn’t seem happy.
“I’m looking for a really great girl to spend the rest of my life with. I’m ready to start a family, settle down, and have that solidity that you don’t get when you’re on the professional circuit. I’ll still be playing, sure, but my family will be my rock.”
—Roland Marchetti, season 20 lead ofLove Shack, in an interview withSports Weekly
Chapter Eight
Our date does, in fact, involve a hot tub. My bet for total hot tub appearances this season would be somewhere north of fifty. By the end of this, I’ll be shocked if my skin isn’t permanently puckered.
