"Okay," Ellison shrugs. "Why not?" She fires a finger gun at me. “We’ve got nothing to lose. What’s the worst that could happen?”
"We’ve applied a gazillion times to WME and never gotten in," Lily says with a shrug, leaning back. She blinks, her eyes focused then unfocused then focused again. "You’re all so pretty,” she adds dreamily.
"Focus,” I bellow. "It’s a combination adventure and survival... and dating. And they have an ASAP Option. Immediate filming for their first season."
I don't wait for their sluggish brains to process the wordimmediate. I pull up the pre-loaded tabs on my phone, the electronic signature lines blinking, waiting for their consent. I pass the phone to Ellison first.
"Just sign electronically right here. Put your info in. Let's go."
It takes them way longer than it should.
There are trips to the bathroom, an erratic attempt to make another pitcher, and Ellison genuinely forgets how to spell her own last name for a solid two minutes.
“It’s too close to Allison,” she complains. “My parents cursed me and auto-correct was the spell they used.”
She soldiers on. She might have a real shot at winning. I narrow my eyes at the competition.
But one by one, their thumbs press the screen.
The final confirmation page flashes on my screen:APPLICATION SUBMITTED. PREPARE FOR IMMEDIATE RECEPTION.
A triumphant grin spreads across my face. I did it.
I actually did it. We are going to be on television. I’m going to get my mansion on Sueva, my girlie girls are going to be saved from their godawful day jobs, and I am going to find a giant, winged alien who thinks I’m the center of the universe.
Literally, I am living my fucking dream.
Somewhere between the start and finish of the eighth pitcher, Lucy begins snoring like a chainsaw. Ellison and Lily pass out cold on the floor, curled around a pillow where they passed out mid-ranking World’s Most Eligible bachelors.
I stand up on wobbly legs, smoothing down my slip, waiting for the cameras to appear. My slippers are fluffed. My curls are popping. My boobies are boobing boobily.
A brilliant blue light streams through Ellison’s apartment window. The TV screen blinks on and off, static humming through the room.
The air pressure drops so fast my ears pop.
I grin directly into the blue light, lifting my chin, making sure my angles are perfect for the broadcast.Work, cover girl, work it now.
“Take me to my fated mate,”I whisper, and if I do a little twirl, so what?.“We’re ready for our close-up.”
CHAPTER 3
POPPY
If looks could kill,there would three separate murder trials, and I would be the star victim.
At least I’ll look hot in my murder board montage.
My head feels like a Swedish Fish is swimming directly through my brain, a consequence of my third margarita. Thank god I stopped there.
But despite the unholy hangover, I am maintaining my posture. I am standing tall in my adorable, purchased-especially-for-this-moment marabou kitten heels, throwing my shoulders back, and radiating sex goddess.
It might not be the vibe for the survival show, but if I wanted vibes I would have stayed on Earth. I’m here because I wanted more than a vibrator.
I can’t stop grinning like a maniac.
"Poppy," Ellison grits out, her face deathly pale, her ponytail hanging on by a single thread of elastic. "What day is it?"
"How is this possible?" Lily mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose as if she can physically squeeze the tequila out of her brain cells. “Where are we?”
