Act One
“People should fall in love with their eyesclosed.”
Andy Warhol
Chapter 1
JAXSON
New York City,USA
Two MonthsAgo…
“Getting dumpedon National TV is worse than getting kicked in the fucking balls.” I flash an innocent smile at the ladies sitting around the table, and the studio audience goeswild.
I’m on the set ofThe Scoop, talking to the hosts about my stint on the popular reality TV show calledDate Me, Then MarryMe.
The show that basically ruined mylife.
You see, I joined the cast ofDate Me, Then Marry Me,hoping to find truelove.
Okay. Holdon…
Before the jury gets reeled in for a judgmentalyou’re-an-idiotverdict, let the record show I knew the odds of finding true love on a nationally televised reality show were slim-to-none. But, after being named the nation’s most eligible bachelor byAlpha Male Magazine,women were literally throwing themselves atme.
Sure, it was a thrillride.
For awhile.
I mean having women galore? That shit fed my ego like it was some ravenous VIP at a Las Vegasbuffet.
Yet, the rocket boosted thrill-ride crashed just as soon it set off. One night stands left me feelingempty.
I wanted to find truelove.
When the producers ofDate Me, Then Marry Mecontacted my agent, requesting I’d be their star contestant, I was more than ready to meet my future wife on a show that boasted a ninety-five percent success rate. A success rate that was far greater than the failure rate I had, trying to find a wife on my own. Dating apps likeHappn, Tinder, andOKCupid, proved not to be cut out for a celebrity-type like me—even though Hollywood viewed me as a mere B-list actor. Besides, at thirty-two, I had enough of the typical dating scene. None of the women I was meeting were working out and regardless if it was them or me, I needed to find a different method of meeting Ms. Right for JaxsonMalone.
With that in mind, I gladly acceptedDate Me’soffer to be on the show which meant for six weeks, I had to live in Atlanta, Georgia—the show’s filminglocation.
I was presented with thirteen amazing—fine as hell—women to date. Doctors, lawyers, teachers, entrepreneurs, and a sultry southern belle model / actress named DixieLane.
Damn. Even her name waseverything. Not to mention it’s always been hard for me to resist a southern belle—something about that southern drawl that sucks me in like a storm drain during aflood.
The platinum-blond-haired, green-eyed fox stood out from the pack in every possible way: confident,poised.
I did say sexy,right?
Having the same interests and the same career paths, the two of us were like fine wine and cheese—perfectlypaired.
Even the show’s three-million viewers dubbed us The Perfect Couple. Why she decided to dump me after a romantic dinner on the beach in front of millions of viewers on National TV, was beyondme.
When I got down on bended knee with that twinkling five-carat Harry Winston I was eagerly waiting to slide on her finger, her standing before me with the light breeze whipping through her long curly hair—believe me, the last thing I expected Dixie Lane to say right then and there was, “Um no. Just no,” before she fled the set, like a fugitive chasingfreedom.
Dumbfounded and rightfully wretched by The Ultimate Jilt, I was left there—just me, the rhythmic crash of waves sounding off in the distance, the orange glimmered sunset, that damn ring, the jaw-dropped camera crew, and Dixie’s rejection spilling into the atmosphere like a fucked-up stinkbomb.
Devastation washed over me like a tidal wave, it’s force crushing my heart and my elation of finding awife.
To make matters worse, TV viewers practically broke Twitter as#UmNoJustNowent viral with over two-milliontweets.
