Page 11 of All the Drama from New York

The woman he’d fallen in love with had chosen the other guy. The tech guru who had looks, money, and a gorgeous house in LA overlooking the beach. But Ryan couldn’t find it in himself to blame Kaylee for what she’d done. If it was him who’d had to choose between the Thor joke or the sure bet, he would have done the exact same thing.

But she’d never been serious about him. The kisses Kaylee had insisted she and Ryan shared on camera had all been a part of a ruse. A carefully designed trick to hide the fact that she and Steven had been making out on the sly since the very first night of filming.

Months later during a tell all prime time tv interview the loved up couple had confessed that they’d been intimate from week four of filming. Ryan Collins, the blond barista from New Jersey had never stood a chance.

And while the on-set team of psychologists had done their best to help prepare Ryan in case he didn’t win, he’d been blind-sided by the fallout. The tsunami of cruel Ryan memes and jokes, along with the contractually bound morning show interviews over the following weeks had been nothing short of torture. It was bad enough having his heart broken live on national tv, but watching those last few minutes of footage over and over again during interviews had taken Ryan close to breaking point.

Nope. Not going to think about ‘the show’.

He glanced up from his phone once more. “I haven’t heard anything from anyone about a reunion show. And I’m not really interested.”

A reunion show would not only drag up the painful past, but it would also mean him having to admit to the world that he’ddone little with his life since the end ofBachelors on the Beach. That was a hard no. He’d given the viewers at home enough of his soul already.

They don’t need to know I barely make ends meet. Thanks very much.

For a time, the show had caused a rift between him and Liam. While he’d been the laughing stock of the entire USA, his brother had managed to carve out a nice little career for himself on the back of the work he’d done withBachelors on the Beach.

Liam was the one who got to travel the world. Who’d worked in exotic locations with beautiful models, several of whom he’d dated. He’d even been engaged at one point.

His life was in sharp contrast to Ryan’s. While Ryan had gone home to East Orange, New Jersey to lick his wounds and fade into obscurity, his brother had been the one who’d gotten on a plane and found international success.

Ryan rose from the couch, and picked up his dirty dinner bowl. If he stayed put, he would say something he’d regret. He headed into the kitchen and started on washing the dishes.

He’d been so sure Kaylee was going to take a chance on him. That he would be the one who not only walked away with the girl but also the one hundred and fifty thousand dollar cash prize, along with a contract for a minor acting role in an upcoming movie. All he had to do was stand on that beach, smile, and the world would have been handed to him on a silver platter.

Until it hadn’t.

His brother appeared at Ryan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry man, that was thoughtless of me.” He sighed. “I just thought if they looked at you again there might be a chance to do something else. To salvage…this.”

Liam waved his hand in the air, pointing at the sad mid-eighties décor of their dilapidated apartment.

For Liam this place was just somewhere to store his stuff and sleep in between photographic assignments, whereas for Ryan it was home. He tried not to look at the forty year old cracked and stained tiles which formed the splash back above the sink. They only served to remind him that his life had become an ongoing source of disappointment.

“I get it. I’m thirty, and living in a crap apartment which freezes up in winter, and then becomes an oven in summer. But I have a plan,” replied Ryan. He wouldn’t meet Liam’s eyes, fearing that his brother would say something less than supportive. “And yes, I know twelve percent is not a plan. It’s barely a concept. I’ve seen that scene inGuardians of the Galaxyplenty of times too. I’m serious—this is a real business option. I just need to get my boss on board.”

He had what he considered to be eighty percent of a plan. The only thing missing was a solid chunk of cash. Which if he was honest was the biggest part of any plan.

Ok, it’s forty percent of a plan. But it’s still a plan.

The concept was sorted, it was the execution where things fell down. New York City might be the place where anyone could make it, but nothing from nothing was still an impossible dream.

“I’m sorry Ryan, I keep picking at that scab, when I should just leave it alone,” said Liam.

Ryan shook his head. “Not your fault, bro. It’s just been a shit of a week.”

In truth it had been the week from hell. The coffee bar where he worked was a branded concession stand situated in the lobby of a major hotel. This week he had dealt with three back to back booked out conventions. Long days of dealing with demanding guests who expected him to work miracles rather than just make them coffee, and who were obscenely cheap when it came to tips, had Ryan gritting his teeth.

TheJava Junctionmight have an uninspiring name, but it stocked every known type of milk along with four different varieties of coffee beans. Its offerings should be enough for anyone, but this week he’d encountered at least one out of town guest every hour on the hour, who’d decided that their visit to NYC wouldn’t be complete without the joy of tearing into the hotel barista team.

The coffee was too hot. Too cold. Too weak. Too strong. Tasted like coffee. That last one had just about finished him. When did coffee not taste like coffee? Ryan had taken his apron off and gone for a walk around the block after that particularly fussy customer. It was either that or committing murder.

“I can handle a lot of things, but it kills me knowing that instead of having a real career, I am working for minimum wage plus tips. My life is not what I thought it would look like at this age.”

Ryan rinsed one of the bowls and placed it in the drying rack. “I have a seventeen year old car that only starts when I pray really hard. And my love life is so nonexistent that I’m beginning to think I might have accidently become a monk.”

The women he did try dating tended to fall into two groups. There were those who only wanted to talk about his time on a certain reality tv show rather than actually get to know him. While the rest took one look at his crappy apartment, bomb of a car, and dead-end career, before promptly ghosting him.

He caught himself before he started down that familiar road of self-pity. His meditation app had been sadly neglected of late, and it was beginning to show in the way his brain kept rolling over the same things.

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