Page 2 of Reality Girl, Ep. 3

I lowered my head in feigned shame. I wasn’t sorry I tried for the ménage, I was only sorry he didn’t agree. After wallowing in pretend self-guilt for a few seconds, I looked up. “I’m sorry. It was sheer sexual greed.”

His eyebrows raised slightly. “Was it?”

“Uh huh.”

“I was thinking it was you trying to satisfy me.” He looked to the side and raised both eyebrows. “Maybe I was hoping that.”

I coughed a drunken laugh. “If I was trying to satisfy you, I would have brought two women over. Instead, I brought cocks.” I raised my hands, held them eight inches apart, and looked at the space between them. “Big gay cocks.”

“If it had to do with the show, it wouldn’t matter who you brought over. I tried to explain that to you when you asked. Things like that shouldn’t be done out of a feeling of necessity or at someone else’s prompt. They should be spur of the moment decisions made in the heat of passion.”

I rested my forearms against the edge of the bar and let out a sigh. “You’re probably right.”

“I am right.”

It wasn’t the botched threesome that was really bothering me. It was knowing Eric was going to arrive in a matter of hours, and that I didn’t want to spend two weeks with him. In fact, the mere thought of spending any measurable amount of time with the remaining four men made me cringe.

I wanted the show to magically end, and then they could pay me half a million dollars. After that, everything would fall together, and I would live happily ever after.

“Okay. You’re right.” I looked up. “So, what am I going to do now?”

“Now? Like right now, or--”

A dramatic sigh escaped me. I twisted my hair into a messy bun, and then rested my head on my open palm. I tried to look innocent and sweet, but it was anyone’s guess what I accomplished. “Eric’s coming.”

“The next guy?”

I gnawed on my margarita straw and muttered my response against my palm. “Uh huh. And, he’s got a really big dick.”

I couldn’t believe I said it. I damned sure hadn’t intended to, but somehow the words spewed from my mouth.

“What?” he gasped. “Did you say he has a really big dick?”

“Uh huh” I raised my head. “In his bio pics. I mean. It was just. Huge.”

“You saw it in his bio?”

“Not it. But yeah. He had on jeans. Tight jeans. It looked like he was trying to smuggle a cucumber out of the grocery store.”

“You’re stuck with Mr. Pickle Pants for two weeks.” He shook his head. “Great.”

I could tell he was starting to get about as frustrated as I was with the entire situation. “Yeah, it was gross,” I said, hoping he couldn’t tell I was lying. I let out a long sigh. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Do what?”

“Fake it any longer. It sucks.”

“What are you faking?” he asked.

“I want you, Franky. Not them.”