Page 38 of Most Eligible
Behind us, the producers are frantically shuffling paper. “What are the gifts?” someone whispers.
“Just in case you get lonely,” Dr. Dora says. Then she reaches into the duffel and pulls out a handful of long silicone objects.
“Holy shit,” Addison whispers.
I glance at Lainey, who looks stunned. No matter how skimpily she wants us to dress, how much she wants us to throw ourselves at Roland, I have a feeling dozens of vibrators weren’t on her radar.
“Oh my god,” Brooklyn slurs, her eyes glazing over. “She’s even better than Oprah.”
“You get a vibrator!” Dr. Dora screams, lobbing a long pink one toward us. “You get a vibrator!” A blue one goes to Monica, who looks at it like she’s holding a dead rat.
Lainey runs forward, trying to stop Dr. Dora, but soon we’re engulfed by flying vibrators.
“No!” Lainey screams. “CUT! CUT! CUT!”
Norbert and Jules run into the fray and start picking up the vibrators, shoving them into their pockets and back into the duffel bag. “Shut it down!” Norbert bellows. “Get the women out!”
As we’re herded from the room, Addison manages to steal a few vibrators from the duffel, and Philippa grabs two from Jules’s back pocket, holding them up to her face like walrus tusks. The last thing I see is Rhett trying to calm Lainey as she shrieks at Dr. Dora, and Roland in stitches laughing, trying and failing to catch the last of the flying vibrators.
Sometimes, when two contestants have a particularly intense rivalry, they will be sent on a two-on-one date. Think of it as a fight to the death. Only one can win.
—Shacking Up: The Definitive, Unauthorized Guide to WinningLove Shack
Chapter Fourteen
The card arrives early the next morning. All ten of us are seated on the U-shaped couch, and since I was the last to come downstairs, I’m squashed in the corner between Addison, who’s leaning so far forward I’ll hardly be visible on camera, and Olie, who smells suspiciously like Roland’s cologne. I wouldn’t put it past her to never shower again after their one-on-one time yesterday.
Norbert hands the creamy-card-stock invitation to Chloe, who bounces up from the couch to stand in front of us. She unfolds it, and her pink lips drop open in surprise.
“Georgia and Addison,” she reads.
I sit up as Addison whirls around, staring at me like I’m an annoying younger sibling with pudding on my face. I must have heard wrong.
Chloe looks nervously at us and keeps reading. “Georgia and Addison, let’s take things up the coast.—Roland.”
Addison marches over to Chloe. “Let me see that.” She grabs the card and scans it, then hands it back. “She’s right,” she says. “It’s both of us.” Taking a breath, she steadies herself. She didn’t enjoy being out-sexual-compatibilitied by Olie, and this is another hit to her pride.
“What do you think you guys are going to do?” Philippa asks.
“Maybe we’ll go sailing,” Addison says, tilting her head to smile down at me. “Can you swim?”
“Yeah.” I laugh lightly. “Were you hoping I’d drown?”
“That would be too much to hope for,” she grumbles, then sweeps from the room to get ready.
Once she’s gone, Olie turns to me, looking scared. “If you’re anywhere near water, you be careful, okay?” Next to her, Brooklyn is wearing a similarly terrified expression.
“Relax,” I say. “She’s not going to drown me. It’s just a two-on-one date. I’ll be fine.”
But as I head to the bunk room to change, my heart is pounding. Two-on-one dates are infrequent but not unheard-of. Usually, they’re designed to pit rivals against each other, with only one woman making it to the next week.
I didn’t think Addison and I rose to quite that level, but there might be more to it than I’m aware of. She could be trashing me in interviews while I’ve been wasting my time blathering on and on about Roland’s teeth or whatever the fuck Jules asked me last time. Maybe I’ve been too distracted to remember that this is, first and foremost, a competition.
Only one can win. And I’m sure Lainey would rather it wasn’t me.
For the date, I decide on high-waisted jeans and an orange halter top that reminds me of the sunset. The straps make it difficult to find a bra that won’t show, so eventually I give up and put boob tape over my nipples, then slip into flat sandals so I can’t be accused of being too tall for Roland.
“Let’s take things up the coast” could mean any number of things, but I’ve been told a car will collect us at noon, so I wave goodbye to Nina, who’s video-calling with her daughter Sofia inthe living room under close supervision. She blows me a kiss and points the screen to me.
