Page 37 of Love Me Tomorrow

Disappointment, swift and fierce, pierces me at the succinct two-letter word coming from his lips.

“Right.” I force out a light, unaffected laugh.You are so, so stupid to have even thought he would say yes.“Totally get it. I’m sorry to have even brought it up. And . . . and I’m sorry for the roses and the emails.” I wave my hand. Ignore the way my fingers tremble. “It was ridiculous.”More like pathetic. “I’ll make sure to tell the crew to stick to our property. No more crossing borders.”

The fingertips on my knee gather pressure as Owen slides his palm over my skin. “I’m saying no because owning a hotel is not my dream.” A small pause. “I spent so many years when I was younger trying to live up to other people’s expectations of me, Sav. And when I failed to deliver, it drowned me. Sent me on a downward spiral that will stay with me, always. So, no, I’m not gonna jump on the hotel bandwagon with you. I’d be doing it for you, and only you, and that’s a recipe for disaster, right from the get-go.” His palm skates up a half inch. “Something tells me that this hotel gig isn’t your dream either.”

Bull’s-eye.

Dammit.

“I hate how you read me like no one else can,” I whisper.

He squeezes my leg. “And I hate how you pushed me away. But it’s life, Rose. Better to be hurting and hating than dead.”

Before I have the chance to summon a response, the office door slams open and Georgie emerges. “The ice has arrived for the tragically wounded!”

Behind her, a droll voice mutters, “Ever hear of knocking, Harris?”

Georgie’s curly head snaps back to look over her shoulder. “Ever hear of not reusing comebacks, Dufrene?”

I hang my head forward in defeat.

Owen is right.

This is not my dream. It’s never been my dream. But at least my family-made prison comes with the two best friends a girl could ever ask for, even if I am the one who cuts their paychecks twice a month.

And even if I’ve never felt more alone.

11

Celebrity Tea Presents:

Hurry Up and Pop that First-Kiss Cherry: How Savannah Rose Managed to Friendzone Yet Another TV Suitor

Dear Reader, after the chaos of episode one (Do we need a recap of the man in a dinosaur onesie or Savannah Rose’s epic meltdown when sending home that inked god?), I honestly prepared myself for an emotional roller coaster while watchingPut A Ring On It’sfirst season. Maybe I set my expectations too high—can expectations truly ever bethathigh when it comes to unscripted reality TV? I think not—but I feel . . . inconsolably let down.

Don’t get me wrong: the men on this season are fine specimens of excellent trouble-making pot-stirrers. I mean, when that investment broker out of Kansas stormed into Savannah Rose’s private suite because he thought ex-NFL player Dominic DaSilva was on the show for all the wrong reasons? What a delight. When Viktor (Instagram influencer, 25) instigated a fight on last night’s episode by claiming that Harry (Flamenco dancer, 29) has a girlfriend back home, I stood and applauded, right there in my living room.

I’m here for the drama. We areallhere for the drama. And the men are bringing it each and every week.

Savannah Rose, on the other hand?

I’m just going to come right out and say it: our bachelorette may have a tough-as-steel backbone, but when it comes down to her personality in every other capacity . . . Savannah is, dare I say it, a bit of a wet blanket.

America’s sweetheart or not, Savannah keeps a closed lid on her emotions, rarely approaches the men with anything but a stance of friendship, and I’m tired of it. The girl is boring to watch. Gorgeous, yes, but boring as heck. I have dish towels with more personality. The paint on mywallhas more personality.

Where is the passion? Where is theI-need-to-be-alone-with-him-so-I-can-rip-his-shirt-offchemistry? I’m not sitting through thirty minutes of commercials each week just to watch another testimonial where Savannah claims that she believes in friendship first, desire second.

Sweetness aside, I’m losing my patience here—and, if the dipping audience ratings this past week are any indication, so is the rest of America.

Pick a guy—anyguy—and lay one on him!

At the rate we’re going, my own sex life will have withered up and died by the time Savannah does more than peck a contestant on the lips. I can’t let that stand. Something must be done. After last night’s episode, when hot-as-Hades Lukas Hester was sent home after a tear-inducing afternoon of surfing, mind-numbing conversation about their respective pets, and a painful-to-watch smooch on the lips that left me yawning, I’m at the end of my rope.

(Never let it be said that I’m not pulling one for the team; I watch this crap, so you don’t have to.)

Even so, I’m calling it here first, Dear Reader. No woman can come on a show likePut A Ring On It,be presented with twenty-seven hot men that are sparking Twitter battles every week from obsessive fans, and somehow not make a notable connection with any of them—after she “claimed” to be looking for love.

Savannah Rose is hiding something, and I’ll be here for when the tea is ready to be spilled . . . if I don’t die of sheer boredom first, that is.

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