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If last week hadn’t gone all weird I’d probably be here as a spectator too, if for no other reason than to support all of Drew’s hard work. He’s logged plenty of overtime the last couple of months getting this competition set up.
Naturally, my interest in being here has nothing whatsoever to do with the possibility of seeing Cooper again. Even if I did see him, he’s surely busy working. Considering he’s the host, he’ll likely have cameras on him constantly.
I remind myself of that as I wait in line to check in. Cooper and Drew are both here to work, and considering they’re both in high demand today, I’m not likely to see either one of them.
Which is fine. Fine.
And if I’ve woken up every day since needy and hot from dreaming about them—either one, both of them, all of us together... Jesus wept, knock it off already—that’s my business.
The line shuffles forward slowly, giving me plenty of time to school my thoughts. Fantasizing about two men is one thing. Obsessing is another—especially when it involves two people I know in real life. Though I have to admit, it’s a nice change of mental scenery from being pissed at my ex. Torturing my celibate self with slightly guilty fantasies of Drew and Coop is a vast improvement, if you don’t count the masochistic element. Because there is zero chance it would ever happen. None.
Damn it.
It’s silly to waste time regretting something that’s never going to happen, and besides, I’m here for growth. It’s high time I did something just for me. Something less destructive than, say, cutting my bangs with kitchen shears. Lord knows I do not have the bone structure to pull that off again. What was I thinking? Luckily my hairdresser was able to squeeze me in to get that fixed. If only all my problems got fixed so easily.
According to the Sizzle competition website, the competition was capped at two hundred participants. Realistically, the chances of me getting to the next round, let alone the finals, are slim to none but it doesn’t matter. I’m here because I want to be, and nobody’s going to bring me down. This is fun, goddammit.
The person in front of me walks away with their paperwork in hand so I step up to the table.
“Hi, I’m Bailey Ross. I’m here to check in.”
“Ross, Ross,” the brunette shuffles through the box of files on the table, withdrawing a folder and handing it over. “Here you… Shit.”
I look up and realize I’m standing face-to-face with Drew’s bitchy coworker, Mila.
“Ah,” I say eloquently, clearing my throat. “Hi.”
“You. You’re competing?”
“Looks like it,” I say, channeling all the fake politeness I can manage. My mother would be so proud of me right now. “Nice to see you again, Mila.”
She snorts, dropping the file on the table before I can get a grip on it.
“Hardly,” she says, crossing her arms. “I can’t believe they let you sign up.”
The producer I went to college with—the one I met at the gala—walks up around the table, scribbling notes on a clipboard, a frazzled-looking younger man hurrying to keep up behind her.
“There a problem here, Mila?” she asks, then looks at me and smiles wide. “Bailey! You’re here. I take it you signed up after all?”
“Looks like,” I say, smiling at Kenna Burch.
“Ms. Burch,” says Mila, turning her back to me to address Kenna. “This…this woman isn’t eligible to compete. She’s Drew Hicks’s girlfriend!”
“Sure she can,” says Kenna. “The rules only forbid immediate family members.”
“Do you really think she should be allowed—”
“I certainly do,” says Kenna cheerfully. “I’m the one who told her to sign up in the first place.”
Mila doesn’t know what to make of that, her mouth gaping wide.
“Good luck today, Bailey!” Kenna makes another mark on her clipboard and waves as she walks off. I grab my folder off the table and make a beeline out of there.
“Jeez, what crawled up her butt?” comes a voice at my elbow.
I turn to look. A statuesque redhead I recognize from the registration line falls into step beside me as I follow the signs for the competition floor.
“Nothing good,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m Bailey.”
