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“Now, now. You can’t create your clothing empire from jail.”
“Sure I can—I’ll just have to deal in orange jumpsuits. Also, how much longer until I can sip a piña colada on the beach? I’d rather have sand in inopportune places than stand on a floating board on a wave.”
“Oh, honey. Stand? It’s adorable you think you’ve even gotten close to that. Also, these inopportune places you speak of—can I see them?”
She splashes water on my face, and I reach out and grab the edge of her surfboard, keeping it near mine as we tread water in the middle of the Pacific. “Silver lining: since they couldn’t figure out a way to easily mic us out here, there’s no audio for this part of the filming.”
“Yeah, that makes up for the fact that I’m floating amidst the sharks.”
“You’re cute when you’re grumpy.”
“Speaking of cute…” She gestures with her chin. “How cute are Paisley and the surfing instructor?”
“Ah…” Truth be told, I haven’t been paying much attention to Paisley or the instructor they hired for today’s “roommate date.”
All of the contestants are divided among five rooms, A–E. Ellie’s in room A, and since I’ve sent home all of her roommates except for Paisley, today’s easily the most pleasant on-camera moment of this whole circus.
Admittedly, the first half hour was boring as hell. Neither Ellie nor Paisley has surfed before, so they brought in some guy named Ed who couldn’t have looked more like the stock photo for “surfing instructor” if he tried. Dark tan, too-long blond hair, a wide and lazy smile, liberal use of the word dude.
Now that Ellie mentions it, though, I guess his lesson with Paisley back on the shore was a little…hands-on. And she didn’t seem to mind in the least.
I glance over my shoulder and scan the scattered crowd of surfers until I spot Paisley’s red hair. I’m just in time to see Ed reach out and brush a strand of hair out of her face.
“Cozy,” I say.
“You think the producers are freaking out?” she asks.
“Nah, they’re probably hoping it’ll stir up some drama—maybe that I’ll punch the guy when we get back to the beach.”
“Ooh! How long until that happens?”
I point out toward the horizon. “Big wave coming in. Want to ride it?”
She snorts. “How long have you been holding that one in?”
“All day. But seriously.”
“Nope. If I’m lucky, the wave will take me away and I’ll die a swift, merciful death, thus ending this nightmare. But you go ahead.”
“Nah.” I know how to surf—mainly because one of my speaking roles was a minor character in a story about a Honolulu high school. I’m good enough not to embarrass myself, and indifferent enough to prefer the woman next to me over the thrill of catching a wave.
“Looks like Paisley’s going for it, though,” I say, pointing as the redhead paddles out to position herself to pick up the oncoming wave.
She stands at precisely the right moment—albeit shakily—and rides the wave with a bit more grit than grace, but Ellie and I both whoop our congrats.
Paisley gives us a brilliant grin before slapping her palm against Ed’s in a triumphant high-five. I note the way she turns her head toward the boat, no doubt knowing that the bosses are likely increasingly impatient to capture something other than me and Ellie bobbing in the water and her flirting with another guy.
I check my watch. We’ve got ten more minutes of this shit.
I look over at Ellie, whose chin rests atop her hands, her lips just slightly pouty. “How fast a swimmer are you?”
“Oh, I’m from San Diego, remember? So that pretty much makes me part dolphin, according to you.”
I glance behind her, gauging the distance to the shore. We’ve been idle for quite a while, letting the tide push us in, so it’s not far.
No matter how fast Ellie can swim, the boat can be faster, but they’ve got their equipment, they’ll need to dock, and that will give us time.
“Want to piss off a whole bunch of people?” I ask.
