AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Actually, he said you reminded him of Zooey Deschanel,” Nico said. “And by the way, your arse is perfect.”
“I notice you didn’t comment on the wax.”
“Look, stop taking the piss. You’re perfect, okay? I think so, and Baz agrees. He really likes that you’re a scientist. He said having a boffin on the show would be good for ratings, and as far as your arse goes, he said you were g—” He stopped, stumbled over whatever he’d been about to say, and then finished, “Very good-looking.”
“Okay, clearly that’s not what he actually said, Nico. Spit it out.”
“I, um… I can’t remember his exact words,” Nico said, but his ears were reddening, his invariable tell whenever he was lying, and I began to tickle him, digging my fingers into his ribs and the soft skin beneath his collar.
“Nico, what did he say?”
“Stop it!” he ordered, ducking away from me and trying not to laugh. “Lyla! I’m warning you—”
“So tell me what he said! If I’m going on this show—”
“If?”
“If. I have a right to know what the producer thinks of me. Or should I ask him?”
“Stop tickling me!”
“I’ll stop when you tell me what he said!”
“All right, all right! He said you were… girl-next-door fuckable.” He spoke the words slightly shame-facedly, acknowledging my reaction even before my expression of disgust had formed.
“What? That’s gross!”
“He didn’t mean it that way,” Nico added hastily, aware that he’d made a faux pas and anxious that I didn’t turn against the idea of going on the show. “He said I’m fantasy first boyfriend, if it makes you feel better.”
“What? No! It doesn’t make me feel better! That’s gross too, you’re twenty-eight. You shouldn’t be anyone’s first boyfriend!”
“Fantasy, Lil! That’s the point. You know, when you’re thirteen and you want a kissable poster on your bedroom wall—someone sexy but not too threatening. Zac Efron. Jacob Elordi. Personally, I think I’m a bit too old as well.” He threw a glance at what I knew was his own reflection in the mirror over my shoulder, appraising the laugh lines that were just starting to form at the corners of his eyes. “But you know, he’s just talking types, not saying that’s how he thinks of us.”
“Still.” I was barely mollified. Girl-next-door fuckable. Girl-next-door fuckable? Was it a compliment? No matter which word I put the stress on, it didn’t feel like one. “What else did he say? Any news on dates?”
Nico nodded.
“They want to move fast. It’s for a new reality TV network that’s launching later this year, so they’ve got a really tight deadline to get everything filmed and tied up.”
“Which means?” I followed him into the room that doubled as our living room and kitchen and watched as he put on the kettle.
“Your guess is as good as mine, but it sounded like they want to start filming in a matter of weeks. He kept saying the word asap.” He pronounced it as two syllables, ay-sap. “I’ll get my assistant onto you asap. The researchers will be in touch asap. That kind of thing.”
“Oh.” I was calculating in my head. “I mean… from my perspective that’s probably a good thing. I can get the time off now, but in a couple of months, who knows. Where are they filming?”
“Well, that’s the best bit—they’re aiming for the Love Island audience, so it’s being filmed on this exclusive boutique resort in the Indian Ocean, which sounds pretty sweet.”
“Wow.” I was impressed in spite of myself. “I thought Ari said they didn’t have much budget?”
“I don’t think they do. Baz let slip that the resort’s owned by an old school pal of his. It sounds like it’s kind of a new venture—I’m actually not sure it’s open to the public yet—and I got the distinct impression Baz is getting it for free… like, PR? You know, if people see the show they’re going to want to travel to the island, that kind of thing.”
“Are we going to turn up and find they’re still building it?”
“Baz’s assistant sent me some pictures of the island,” Nico said, not quite answering my question, but not quite evading it either. He turned off the kettle and opened his phone, passing it to me. While he put teabags in mugs and poured the water, I clicked on the WhatsApp link—to a site dubiously named “Effing Productions”—and a gallery opened up, the screen turning an almost unbelievable shade of blue that seemed so out of place in our dark little attic that I blinked.
“Wow! Sorry, that has to be a filter.”
“Right? Wait until you get to the coral.”
