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He sighs in impatience. “I say a contestant’s name, you say the first word that comes to mind. Just one word. Got it?”
Lame. “Sure.”
He starts rattling off names, and it’s harder than it sounds. Not to come up with a word, but to come up with a different word for each woman. They’re all hot, most are vapid, and a handful are awkward. How many ways are there to say that that won’t get me whacked on the head by a little old lady when the show airs in a few months?
Skylar: Sporty.
Morgan: Quirky.
Brittany B.: Sharp.
Paisley: Kind.
Brooklyn: Charming.
Cora: Confident.
Brittany M.: Sweet.
Kelsey: Friendly.
Ellie: …
…
I open my mouth, then close it again, annoyed by how much her name gives me pause. Annoying? Complicated? Driven? Refreshing?
“Honest.”
Adam looks up and smiles, and though the expression’s friendly enough, I’ve done this enough times now to know it’s his shark look.
“You hesitated with Ellie. Why?”
I give my most pleasant smile. “I guess you could say she’s a little bit of a stumper.”
“Not like the other girls?”
I lift a shoulder. “She’s not, but not in the way you mean.”
“How do I mean it?”
“Most of the women here would claim not to be like the other women here. Everyone wants to be unique. I understand the sentiment, but I’m wary of the ones who proclaim it.”
“And confidence is a bad thing?”
I blow out a breath. “No. Not in the least. But I want to know who and what these women are. Not what they aren’t.”
“And that’s Ellie.”
I shift uncomfortably. “Why are we still talking about her?”
“You tell me,” Adam says, with another of those too-bland smiles.
I lift an index finger (wishing it were my middle one) and move it in circles. “Keep going with the list.”
He pauses for a long moment, likely to let the viewers soak in the full extent of my irritability over Ellie, then continues rattling off women.
Naomi: Quiet.
