A perusal of my Google history from the early hours of Saturday morning will yield the following results:
- Why sex with a coworker is bad
- What to do if I slept with someone I shouldn’t have and it was great
- How to avoid sleeping with someone you’re attracted to
- How to avoid sleeping with someone twice
- Can my boss fire me in California?
- Producing jobs in San Diego
- Producing jobs near San Diego
- Jobs in San Diego
- The effect of an absent father on daughters
- Time machines
Unsurprisingly, none of these were much help.
I didn’t go to Fizzy’s intending to have sex. I went over wanting to celebrate a great first week of filming, to see what we could do better, see how we can make things more comfortable for her. But I also went over there already knowing that if I kissed her, she would kiss me back. And I went over there knowing that I want her intensely, have fallen a bit in love with her, and I don’t manage jealousy well. I wanted her to be mine, still. She’d been right, what she said at the beach; I hadn’t realized how hard it would be to share her once the show began.
In hindsight, I realize it was inevitable that we would have sex. And that sex inevitably would be messy, hard, tender, and spectacular. And now I am royally fucked, because all I can think about is doing it again.
A few hours before the premiere, I find Nat in my kitchen, where she’s opening a bottle of wine. None of the Heroes will be joining us tonight—they won’t spend any time with Fizzy that isn’t captured on film for the show—but most of the crew is here. A few have already descended on the extravagant catering spread set up out back (another budget perk), and the rest are chatting among themselves, anxiously waiting to see if our little show will be a hit or if we’ll all be looking for jobs tomorrow morning. There’s so much money being poured into this that, success or failure, the scale will be massive either way.
Fizzy should be here any minute, which is why I’m hovering in the kitchen doorway like a creep.
Nat must sense me behind her because she glances over her shoulder. “Hey,” she says, and pulls the cork free from the bottle.
I move to stand near the stove, not sure I want to have this conversation, but knowing I will go insane if I don’t talk to someone. “Hey.”
She reaches into one of the cabinets for a glass. “Where’s the kiddo?”
“In her room.” Stevie was prepared to wait in the front yard for Fizzy to show up, but I convinced her that Ocean Beach traffic is always bad this time of night, especially on the weekend. She relented but only after I promised I’d let her know the minute Fizzy arrived. “Who knew it only took a visit from Felicity Chen to get our daughter to finally clean in there?”
Nat snorts while she fills her wineglass. “Fizzy is a good sport. The hero worship is strong in our offspring.”
The reminder twists my stomach because it’s not just my life that will be affected if this all goes wrong, but Stevie’s, even Nat’s. We’ve never gone through this before, because I’ve never really been involved with someone. Not that we’re involved-involved, I remind myself. It was sex. People have sex every day.
But… people do not have sex like that every day.
My silence earns another look in my direction. “Everything okay?”
“Sure, sure.” Another moment passes and I change my mind no fewer than five times regarding simply turning around and dropping the whole thing. “I had sex with Fizzy last night.”
Nat’s mouth opens; she blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Do you really need me to say it again?”
“I just…” she says, rightfully at a loss for words. “The last I heard, you turned her down because it wouldn’t work. That was weeks ago.” I grimace, because I haven’t told Nat about the beach. “I thought you told me it was just a professional relationship.”
“It was.” But that’s not entirely true. Our relationship was professional for approximately one millisecond; the crumbled boundaries look like a pile of rubble in the rearview mirror. “And then it wasn’t.”
I look up when my best friend Ash’s voice booms down the hall. “Everyone relax, the chips are here!” I groan as he and Ella walk into the kitchen carrying at least a dozen bags of tortilla chips between them. He’s also got his sweater on backward, but at the moment I’m too anxious to be entertained.
“You know there’s only going to be fifteen people here, right?” I ask. “And you’re two of them?”
“I was so excited I don’t even remember being at the store!” Ella says. “We went on a shopping spree—” She mimes pulling everything off a shelf. “Straight into the cart!”
Oblivious to what they walked in on, she drops her collection of bags onto the counter.
But while Ash can’t focus on physical details to save his life, he is far too observant when it comes to people. He’s gone still beside Ella, looking from me to Nat. “What’s with the mood? Did we interrupt something?”
Nat gives me a look that says it’s my story to tell. This isn’t how I wanted to do this, but I’m positive they’ll find out eventually anyway. With a quick glance around to make sure there’s nobody else nearby to overhear, I whisper, “I was telling Nat that I had sex with Fizzy last night.” The silence that follows is so long, the depths of it so dark, I finally add, “Somebody say something.”
“Fizzy?” Ella asks. “As in the star of the dating show we’re all here to watch?”
Ash follows up with the hottest of takes: “That seems like a bad idea, Connor.”
“I didn’t intend to do it,” I explain.
He frowns. “I’m trying to picture accidental sex and am confused by what I see.”
“Okay, back up,” Nat says. “You are the least impulsive person I know. You were dead set against this. What happened?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” I say. It was like a drain stopper was pulled and every bit of my objectivity and reason went spiraling down. I had no right to critique her behavior; she’s been fantastic. I had no right to feel jealous, I still don’t. “I got a bit peeved when we were talking about the other blokes, and—”
“Other blokes meaning the men you cast as Heroes on the show?” Ash asks with a you’re such a dipshit wanker lean to his voice.
“Right, fuck off, but then she seemed to get it,” I say. “Honestly, she sees right through me.”
Nat lets out a happy little whimper and I point at her. “Not helpful.”
“Sorry, I just like the idea of her seeing through you.”
“Well, it’s got us in a fucking mess now, hasn’t it?”
“You’re not suggesting you put your dick in her because she’s perceptive,” Ash says, and Ella smacks his shoulder.
“No. It’s because”—I scrounge around for an answer—“Fizzy is so…” I end the thought with a growl. “Fizzy.”
“Connor,” Natalia says gently. “You like her. A lot.”
“I do.” My shoulders go slack like I’ve been punched in the stomach because now the truth is out there: my feelings are a pile of tangled complications and there is no way to safely maneuver myself out of any of it. “And I’m supposed to find her soulmate.”
“What are you going to do?” Ella asks.
“My job,” I say with a shrug. “What choice do I have? I’m definitely not having sex with her again.”
“Unless it’s another accident,” Ash says.
“Fuck off.”
He laughs. “Well, maybe the show will flop.”
Ella smacks his shoulder again. “It’s not going to flop,” she insists. “Why would you say that?”
“Because maybe that’s Connor’s way out! He didn’t want to do this. It was their idea. If it flops, then clearly it wasn’t a good idea, and that’s not on Connor, that’s on Blaine!”
“Blaine was pretty clear about what I’m supposed to do. And they’ve sunk a fortune into this, so I have no excuse. It has to work.”
When the doorbell rings, everyone freezes.
“Here we go,” I say, pushing away from the counter. I stop in the doorway to the hall and turn to face them. “Please, don’t stare at us the whole time. It’s already going to be weird.”
“Of course not,” Nat says.
“Or ask her a ton of questions,” I add. “On top of everything else, she’s probably quite nervous.”
“You look quite nervous,” Ash says.
“Piss off,” I say under my breath.
As I walk through the house, I give myself a little pep talk. I am thirty-three years old. I’m producing a show with an enormous budget that’s about to premiere on national television. I’ve overseen entire productions under some of the worst conditions in the most inhospitable places in the world. I’ve helped keep an actual human child alive for over ten years and not lost or seriously mangled her once. I can do this. I can manage my feelings for Felicity Chen.
I open the door and immediately know I’m fooling myself. She’s beautiful—she’s always beautiful—but I register that the world is divided into people who know what it’s like to make love to Fizzy Chen, and people who don’t. I’m now one of the lucky, broken ones. I know how her skin tastes and what it’s like to kiss her until she melts. I know her sounds and the way her eyes drift closed right before she comes. I don’t know how to go about the rest of my life pretending I don’t want her with a force that rivals the pull of the tides.
Last night we fixed our clothes and she walked me to her door. We stood facing each other, just like this. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks still flushed from exertion. I leaned forward and what was supposed to be a simple goodbye peck melted into something warm and greedy. Time tipped sideways. I immediately wanted her again, right there against the wall or maybe kneeling over her on the couch, her legs wrapped tight around my waist. I hadn’t left yet and we’d already made a mess of things, what did it matter?
But it does matter. There’s no room in my life—personally, or professionally—for a fling. And Fizzy has never indicated that this is anything more than that. Hell, I wouldn’t even be involved in this show if Blaine hadn’t forced me, and he couldn’t have forced me if I didn’t absolutely need this job. Having feelings for Fizzy doesn’t change any of that.
With my hand cradling her jaw, I’d dragged my lips up her neck, placed a kiss to her cheek. I’d straightened to meet her eyes and saw the same want and confusion reflected back at me. Neither of us knew what to say, so we hadn’t said anything. Instead, I’d walked out to my car knowing that if I didn’t leave right then, I wouldn’t leave at all.
“Hi,” I say now, taking a step back and motioning for her to come inside.
“Hi.” Her hair is in a sleek ponytail, her cropped pants and sweater both black but feet framed in bright orange heels that bring her a few inches closer to eye level. She’s wearing a slash of dark eyeliner, her lips a screeching, house-on-fire red. I want to see that color smeared all over my skin.
I’m glad we’re alone because the air pulses with shimmering want.
“Should we get the awkward out of the way,” I ask, “or drag it out for peak discomfort later?”
She lets out a small, relieved laugh. “Let’s take pity on everyone and kick the elephant out of the room now.” She pulls in a steadying breath. “I’ve been practicing this.”
“By all means, let me have it.”
“Last night was one hell of a way to break a dry spell.” She’s close enough that anyone in a nearby room wouldn’t be able to hear, and her eyes are molten and intimate. “But it’s also really complicated. I think we both get that.”
I nod. She’s giving me this out and I’m going to take it. I’m going to take it and run with it and do my best to ignore how naive we’re being and dig my head deep into the sand. “Absolutely.”
“We’ll just have to drive everyone nuts with all this unresolved sexual tension.” She grins. “I’ve written about it, I’m an expert, you know.”
“I’m pretty sure I know how those books end.”
“Then let’s agree this is a buddy comedy, not a romance.” With a little wink and a squeeze to my forearm, she steps in past me. I follow the way her eyes move over everything and wonder what she sees. It’s a nice place, with tall ceilings, weathered wood beams, a good-sized yard for the area, and a great kitchen. I bought it about three years ago, and while I’ve never had much of a need or a want to really decorate it, I’ve tried to make it feel like a home for Stevie.
Fizzy stops in front of a snapshot of twenty-three-year-old me holding a newborn Stevie. “Oh, this is unfair,” she says, picking up the frame.
I look exhausted, young, and stupidly, naively happy. I had no idea what I was doing, or what it even meant to be a dad, but I instantly loved that little girl in a way I hadn’t known was possible. There were already cracks showing between Nat and me, but I figured we could make it work. I’d find a way.
“Nobody told me that Fizzy was here!” Stevie races around the corner in her socks and wraps her arms around Fizzy in a tight hug.
“It just happened!” Fizzy says. “And I have something for you.” Stevie steps away long enough for Fizzy to reach into her purse and pull out a small package with Wonderland’s logo emblazoned in iridescent lettering. Stevie tears into it and I realize it’s the only concert DVD she doesn’t have.
“Thank you!” She squeezes her eyes closed and hugs Fizzy again.
“Make sure to watch it with your dad. He’s got some dance moves to work on before the next tour.” Fizzy meets my eyes over Stevie’s head and gives me a teasing wink.
“All right, that’s enough. Come on.” I pick Stevie up and swing her over my shoulder, trying to tamp down the confusing mix of anticipation and dread I feel at the prospect of the next few hours. Stevie squeals and I glance back to where Fizzy is giggling and following behind us. “We’ll be starting soon, and there are some people I want you to meet.”
The minute Fizzy is in the kitchen, it’s clear Nat and Ella can’t help themselves. Nat gushes about Fizzy’s books, how she’s read every single one, and how she can’t wait for what’s next. She sweetly, obliviously asks Fizzy when that might be, and to her credit, Fizzy gives an answer that she’s clearly used many times before and that nicely balances “it’s going to be a while” with “I’m so excited about it.” Nat tells her all about walking in on me that first day mid–Fizzy googling before Ella interrupts to breathlessly explain that she isn’t a big reader but knows everything about every dating show ever and cannot wait for the show to start tonight. Ash mostly stands off to the side smiling at the countertop and trying not to make direct eye contact.
I’ve been so wrapped up in the Fizzyness of the situation tonight I’ve barely let myself think about the show. But when it’s time and everyone crowds into my living room, the nerves finally kick in. Likewise, Fizzy declines food or a glass of wine, saying she’s not sure it will stay down. Everyone tries to get Fizzy to sit on the couch in the center of the room—she is the star, after all—but she insists it will only make her more anxious. She needs space to pace and possibly escape if needed. Everyone laughs, and that’s how Fizzy ends up standing in the back with me.
The room falls into silence as the opening notes of the theme song play. The glossy True Love Experiment logo appears on the screen, followed by our host. Just as we hoped, Lanelle Turner is the perfect amount of funny and relatable as she introduces herself and explains the premise of the show. We’ll meet our Heroine, and her eight Heroes. Along with Fizzy, each contestant has undergone the popular DNADuo screening, and the results have been sealed. Not even the producers know the outcome. It will be up to the audience to follow each date and vote for who they think is Fizzy’s soulmate. Each week the votes will be tallied, and two Heroes will be eliminated. In the final episode, the DNADuo scores will be revealed, and we’ll see if the audience or science has been a better predictor of Fizzy’s soulmate. The Hero chosen by the audience will win a $100,000 cash prize, and, after the scores are revealed, Fizzy will have the chance to choose who she takes along for an all-expenses-paid trip to Fiji. Hopefully, the audience correctly chooses her true love and happily ever after.
But first, the audience gets to meet River. When Lanelle mentions his name, the room around me fills with applause, the loudest—including a few catcalls and whistles—from Nat and Fizzy. When I asked Fizzy how she managed to convince him, she first told me she used nature’s credit card. When I didn’t get it—
Sex, Connor. Oh my God, a dirty joke doesn’t work if I have to explain it!
—she said she told him that by laying out the science himself, he controlled the narrative, and therefore how people would see it. It didn’t mean he was necessarily backing the show, only his technology.
Now, footage of River walking through the halls of the Salk and working in a lab fills the screen, followed by a voiceover of him explaining the initial idea, and the years and years of research that went into developing it. He’s careful to clarify that it isn’t about finding people with similar DNA. Quite the opposite: it’s about compatibility as predicted by hundreds of validated scientific and psychological evaluations. Despite his hesitance, he’s thoughtful and charming while remaining completely impartial to the idea of the show. He’s perfect.
With the format clear, Fizzy is introduced, and again, the room fills with noise, much more exuberant this time. There’s a video montage that includes footage of her speech at UCSD, a brief breakdown of her impressive literary career, and then an interview with Fizzy on her couch at home.
“I have success and happiness on my own,” Fizzy tells the camera. “I guess what I’m looking for is someone to be my best friend and lover. Someone with whom even the silly small things are fun because we’re doing them together.”
Next to me, Fizzy groans and covers her face with her hands. When she leans forward, I see a small bruise sucked into the skin behind her ear. The sight of it makes me go hot all over. “Are you kidding?” I nudge her and redirect my focus back to the TV. “Look at you. You’re perfect.”
On-screen, the Heroes are being introduced. Because Fizzy didn’t have much of a connection with Arjun or Tex, we’ve edited it to show less of their stories and dates than the others. We won’t always be so heavy-handed, but with eight guys to get through and limited time to show it, we took Fizzy’s preferences into account and made the call. There are glimpses of the guys at home and snapshots of each of their backstories. We see Isaac with his mum and grandmother, and leading a research meeting in a glass-walled conference room. Stevie quickly announces that she wants Isaac to win. Most of Nick’s intro takes place in his veterinary practice. There are shots of him with puppies and kittens, and it gets the predictable reaction of awwwwwww from almost everyone in the room. Dax is shown jumping out of an actual plane, hanging from a cliff somewhere in Arizona, and then at a table in his parents’ home, talking about what he hopes to find on the show. We see Evan on the campus of UCSD, jogging up the steps to the engineering building. We follow him to the coffee shop where he works part-time, see him laugh with his coworkers as they good-naturedly tease him about being on a dating show. In just a few minutes on-screen, it’s clear everyone loves him.
Beside me, Fizzy spends the first half of the show looking like she might be physically ill, but by the third commercial break, she’s relaxed enough to want some wine. A good sign.
She follows me to the kitchen during commercials. The living room behind us is a rambunctious mix of voices, all shouting out their opinions and shared enthusiasm for the show. Any questions I had about its watchability and success are put to rest as the minutes go on and it’s clearly an entertaining program. Brenna is monitoring social media and says people are loving it. The show’s tags are trending. I can exhale for the first time in a fucking eternity.
Fizzy leans against the counter while I open a new bottle of wine.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Better than I expected. It’s really good, Connor.”
“You’re really good.”
“I’m serious. You took my suggestions—which, let’s be honest, were really just me starting a big game of power-play chicken—and turned them into something totally unique. A lot of people are going to watch this show and love every minute. Hell, I’d watch it. With someone else as the star, that is.”
“That’s a fucking relief, and I mean it.”
Remembering the wine bottle in my hand, I reach into the cabinet behind her for a glass, and freeze. The moment is so reminiscent of the one last night: our bodies close, sharing the same breath, my hand on the cupboard door for leverage as I pushed into her over and over, harder and harder.
Her breath catches and I watch as goose bumps erupt along her neck. I could kiss her now, and I think she’d kiss me back. If I asked her to stay after everyone left, I think she’d do that, too.
In the other room, music cuts through the air, signaling the end of the commercial break. I follow her back just as the first confessional begins. The guys each have their turn solo, and each is charming and obviously interested in Fizzy. Frankly, the idea that any of these men wouldn’t fall all over themselves to be with her is unfathomable, but our editing team—myself included—has done a good job of creatively tempering Tex’s and Arjun’s enthusiasm so no one feels too bad for them when they are likely voted off over the next twenty-four hours.
And then my confessional with Fizzy begins.
I’d neglected to mention this part to any of my family, and as my face appears on-screen, the room explodes with their noisy surprise. Nat is fucking delighted, Stevie is dancing on the couch and shouting that that’s her dad, and Ash lets everyone know that he’s just been issued a free pass to give me shit for the foreseeable future.
Next to me, Fizzy is as smug as I’ve ever seen her. “Do you see that charisma?” she calls to the room, glass held in front of her. “Hollywood, please hire me as your casting director.”
When it quiets again during another commercial, she taps me and motions to the TV. “Is now when you tell me I was right?”
“Let’s manage expectations.” Most of the room has emptied out during the break, everyone waiting for the loo or off to the kitchen to refill their drinks. “We’ll get numbers tomorrow. Your phone must be blowing up with messages. What’s everyone saying?”
Fizzy drains her glass and leans back against the couch. “Not ready for that level of reality yet. Let me stay in this soft-launch enthusiasm bubble until at least nine tomorrow morning. Then I’ll tiptoe into opinions. But for now”—she motions to the TV—“I was right about you. Say it.”
“You are occasionally clever.”
“Always.”
“An average amount.”
“Tell me I’m the best.”
I smile. “You, Fizzy, are the best.”
“Thank you, wow, I never expected such a compliment, but it means so much.” She hands me her empty glass. “Now please, more wine.”
