Kiss and Confess (Love Unscripted Book 1) (3 page)

Luke turned to Jen. “Your couple, then. The athletes. I run. I could go with them. Make sure we don’t miss anything.” He rubbed his upper arms, hating the desperation he heard creeping into his voice.

“Oh, sweetie, why would you think I couldn’t do that, too?” Jen, who teetered on the plump side and favored morning donuts over treadmills, smiled up at him, but he could see her gritting her teeth.

“You can. Of course.” Giving up, he jammed his hands into his pockets. He never should have said anything. Bad move. These two could sniff out a cover story like bloodhounds. “Forget it. Just an idea.”

Tasha tapped a finger to her chin. “Just an idea,” she repeated slowly. “Do you believe that, Jen?”

“I do not, Tasha.”

“So give it up.” Tasha’s fingers beckoned him impatiently. “Tell us what’s wrong with the two you’ve got.”

“Hey,” Burt shouted from the door of the house. “People. Let’s go.”

“You heard him,” Luke said to his colleagues.

When he started for the door, Tasha put a hand out to stop him. “Come on, why do you want to switch couples? Now that I think about it, you volunteered to pick that woman up at the airport. Gotta be a good reason for you to haul your ass out there on a Sunday.”

He exhaled. “It’s not a big deal. I just used to know her.”

“Used to know her or used to date her?” Jen asked.

“It was a long time ago. Way,
way
in the past.” He made a vague sort of gesture.

Jen and Tasha exchanged looks.

“Used to date her,” Luke conceded. Which didn’t exactly cover it. He’d dated a lot of women. Charley was in a category all by herself.

“Interesting,” Tasha said.

Irritation pricked at Luke. He gave Tasha a hard smile. “Forget I said anything.”

“Not likely,” Jen said to Tasha.

“Not likely at all,” Tasha agreed. “But I like the turn this is taking. It’ll be great to have you as producer for your old girlfriend and her new love.”

“Personally, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Jen said cheerfully.

Luke began striding toward the house, his every step pounding hard on the pavement. He’d been raised by a single mother. He had sisters. He worked with mostly women. Even his dog, a rescued Lab named Ethel, was female.

He knew when to exit a conversation.

Each expert and contestant were to be filmed individually in the small guesthouse at the back of the property; its name, the Kiss and Confess. This being a reality show, they were hoping for a lot of both.

The guesthouse’s spacious living room had been staged with a plush dark purple armchair, a crystal vase of white roses, and rows upon rows of candles. The huge framed painting on the wall behind the chair contained only a few well-placed brushstrokes in vivid colors. Strategically placed lighting had been focused on the armchair.

A box of tissues was within reach of the designated Kiss and Confess-er. Tears were a big part of the game. It was a little early yet, but still on the table.

When Luke, Tasha, and Jen reached the guesthouse, the candles had been lit and the first
Make Me a Match
expert, marriage counselor Bill Stanhope, settled into the chair. A slight man with a silver beard, round midsection, and eyes lined with deep smile wrinkles, he looked like Santa on SlimFast. Bill had a waiting list of clients but was going through his own third divorce. Apparently, he kept his work and home life separate.

Burt pinned the three tardy producers with a look and gave the
action
signal. Tasha hurried over to take her seat, then asked the off-camera question to get Bill talking.

Tasha was good at her job and blew through the interview with Bill. Next up was the show’s sexologist. Dr. Kevin Kzyrmrski, known as Dr. K., was a tall, thin, serious guy with comb marks in his gelled hair who tossed the word “bondage” into conversation like a tennis ball he hoped Tasha would hit. She didn’t.

The psychic was flowy, all scarves swirling and bracelets jangling, who put questions to the universe and received answers that were difficult to explain.

Luke tuned her out as he scanned the room, on alert to any sign of Charley. Though he knew the contestants weren’t due up yet, he couldn’t help his vigilance. He still had no idea what he was going to do when she showed. Give her one of his hey-great-to-see-ya smiles and pretend everything was fine? Or keep his distance and give her only a brief nod of recognition?

Neither seemed right.

Caught up in his own drama, he missed the psychic’s departure. Now, watching Blake Wall make his entrance, Luke half wished he’d stayed locked in his brain. The inventor of MATE, the computer algorithm designed specifically for the show, was not only an ass, but also Jonathan’s previously unemployed nephew who probably developed the program to find himself a date. Luke didn’t have much confidence in Blake or MATE.

When Ask-Me-Anything-Addie, a small woman with a helmet of gray hair who had become an Internet celebrity by posting videos containing her relationship advice, took her seat, Luke breathed a sigh of relief. This one should balance out the crazies on the panel.

Married for sixty-some years before her husband passed, Addie was opinionated and blunt. She got millions of YouTube hits, and now, with technical help from her great-granddaughter, authored a blog that had proven to be just as popular.

A stepstool was produced and one of the crew helped Addie mic up. She put her hands in her lap, adjusted the sweater that hung loosely on her frame, and turned sharp eyes on Tasha.

“Addie, you were married for a long time. What can you tell us about the secret to a successful relationship?”

“I’d like to know that,” Jen murmured.

Addie thought for a minute then said, “Blowjobs.”

Tasha looked at Luke. Luke looked at Jen. Jen looked back at Tasha.

Addie wasn’t done. “It doesn’t take that much to go down on him a few times a week. And you get so much in return. Of course, you have to be good at it. No cutting corners. It’s all about the suction, isn’t it?” Her deeply lined mouth pursed in a helpful demonstration.

Okay. Whoa.
Luke pulled his cell from his pocket to examine the screen and took a step to the side, toward the door.

Jen grabbed his arm and held on. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“A little tongue doesn’t hurt,” Addie added. A pink one flitted from her mouth.

Tasha recovered enough to ask, “It’s that easy?”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?”

A cough came from somewhere in the room. Then another. Luke again tried to sidle out, but Jen’s hand tightened on him like a vise.

Tasha straightened her shoulders, apparently determined to weather this. “Do you have any other tips, maybe not about, you know, sex, but more the emotional part of things? Not that sex isn’t emotional, but…?” The producer’s hands flailed helplessly.

“Sure, honey. Lots of them.” Addie seemed oblivious to the discomfort in the room. “I think a marriage is about two imperfect people doing their best to work through everything that’s thrown at them over the years. It’s easy to argue. It’s the making up afterward that can be hard. But you have to do it. Make up.”

Several audible sighs of relief swept the room.

Addie kept going. “Every night before we went to sleep,” she continued, “me and my Harold touched toes. There were some nights when I was so mad at him, I didn’t even want to look at him, let alone kiss him good night. And there were some nights when he felt the same, let me tell you.” Her smile was gentle. “But every single night, we touched toes to say, I might not like you very much right now, but I still love you and I will always be here.”

“Ohhhh.” Tasha touched her heart. “That’s lovely.”

“Right before he passed, I took my shoes off, climbed up on that hospital bed, and touched his toes with mine so he would know that wherever he was going, I would always love him.”

“I think I’m going to cry,” Jen said under her breath. Her hold on Luke relaxed.

The image of Addie’s suction-ready mouth, flaking lipstick and all, was still burned into Luke’s mind’s eye. How the fuck did he unsee that? “I gotta go,” he said to Jen.

“You can’t. The contestants are up next.”

Just kill me now.
He folded his arms over his chest, wishing he could wash his mind’s eye out with bleach as Addie was helped from her chair.

Luke had moved from worrying about what he was going to do when he saw Charley to worrying about what
she
was going to do when she saw him. He wasn’t sure which had him more wound up. All he knew was that he wanted to escape before he had to find out. He’d deal with the whole Charley thing tomorrow. Or the next day.

Stepping back from Jen without making a sound, he made a move for the door.

Just like that, her hand reached out to grab his wrist. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Things to do. I’ll watch the tape later.” He shook off her hold.

She turned to him. “You don’t want to see this woman,” she said slowly, as if turning the idea over in her mind. “If it’s that big a deal, you should have told us about it before things got this far.”

He curled his arms behind his head, looking everywhere but at her. “It’s not.” Why did he always defer to women? With a guy, he could have said,
Stay out of my fucking business
, and it would have been done, over. Man language.

Suddenly realizing how awkward the thing with his arms made him look, he dropped them back to his sides.

“Prove it,” Jen said. “Stay here through the interviews.”

“Okay. No big deal.” He spread his arms out and leaned forward. “I’ll stay if it means that much to you.”

She eyed him. Not nicely. “It does.”

“Fine.” He turned his attention, scattered though it was, back to the purple armchair. It would be a hell of a lot easier to work with women who didn’t care about him or try to mother him as much as these two did. It was a full-time job convincing them he didn’t need their help running his personal life.

First into the Kiss and Confess-er was Brittany Smith—tall, with a killer body. She bounced as she walked, like a boxer ready to circle, fists up. She hopped into the interview chair, flipped her dark hair over her shoulder, and waited, red fingernails tapping, her t-shirt stretched tight over her breasts.

Even Curt Burt didn’t know where to look, finally settling for a spot over her shoulder.

Tasha looked at him and rolled her eyes. “Okay, Brittany,” she said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to ask you some questions about yourself so the people at home can get to know you.”

“Sounds good.” Brittany’s head bobbed up and down.

“Let’s start from the beginning. Who are you?”

“I’m Brittany Smith. I live on Bainbridge Island, outside of Seattle, and I’m a part-time personal trainer, part-time nanny. I run, ski, hike, and ride horses. Pretty much anything that has to do with the outdoors.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’ve been in a couple of serious relationships, plus some not-so-serious ones, but I’ve never found someone who really gets me. You know what I mean?”

Tasha murmured a noncommittal answer and Brittany rolled on.

“I have a lot to offer. I take care of myself, am a vegetarian, work out all the time, don’t drink alcohol.” She paused. “Or not much, anyway. You know, the whole healthy mind, healthy body thing. I mean, I’m even careful to eat Bogo-free vegetables.”

That one caught Tasha by surprise. “Bogo-free?”

“I know, right? I didn’t even know Bogo was a thing, but it must be. Last week, the store had bags of potatoes or broccoli…maybe it was cauliflower…with a sign that said it was Bogo-free. I figure it must be a pesticide. Something new to worry about, like we need anything else. But I was sure to buy those. You can’t be too careful.”

Shit. Luke couldn’t believe this woman was for real. Was she serious? Bogo-free?

Understanding dawned on Tasha’s face. “Bogo.”

“Right. Free of bogo. Whatever that is.”

“Actually, I think that means Buy One, Get One.”

Brittany’s chin dropped. “Are you kidding me?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Brittany’s cheeks pinked. “I was sure it meant it was free of something bad. Um, don’t use that part, okay?”

“Go ahead and tell us more about why you’re here.”

As Brittany continued to talk, Luke caught sight of movement by the door. He looked closer.
Charley
. He closed his eyes and willed the blood rushing through his veins to slow, his heartbeat to return to something that came close to normal. When he opened his eyes again, it was to see her walking toward him.

It didn’t help that she looked much the same as she had twelve years ago. Her straight dark blonde hair still brushed her shoulders and her turned-up nose softened dark eyebrows and high cheekbones. She’d never liked her lips; she’d said they were too thin. Luke disagreed. He thought they formed a perfect sort of an almost-heart. Not too big, not too small. Just right.

He tried to pretend he was busy looking at his clipboard, but from the corner of his eye, he watched her, all legs and lithe movement; her eyes were on the floor as she picked her way through the cables and equipment. She wore a white suit that hugged her curves in all the right places. Curves he’d known and loved.