Jack continues. “We’re down to the final two contestants. Kevin, can you bring out the lucky ladies?” Then he cackles and pops an eyebrow at the camera. “Well, I guess only one of them will feel lucky in a couple minutes.”
The crowd hoots and hollers as comedian Kevin Hart—dressed the same as Jack—leads two women onto the stage. My eyes go immediately to the tall blonde in a yellow satin formal gown. Yellow really shouldn’t look good on her with her hair coloring, but it does. Juliette looks like a ray of pure sunshine. And the way that fabric clings to her every curve…
I bite my knuckle, and the audience laughs, which startles me. Shit, I’d forgotten they were there.
And why am I even here? My brow creases, and I glance around. A huge neon sign hangs on the curtains at the back of the stage. It reads: I Pucking Love You.
I’m apparently on some kind of dating show. Must be some shit my agent signed me up for. At least I got to meet Juliette though. My eyes go back to her, and she smiles a bit apprehensively. Dear god, she is beautiful… and entirely crazy if she thinks I’m not picking her. I’m not even sure who the other woman is.
Glancing over, I see that it’s Leia. Nope. Not interested. Not even a little bit. I immediately turn my attention back to Juliette, who is looking up at the ceiling. Only, there’s no ceiling, just open sky above us.
What kind of bizarre-o setup is this? Soft fluffy clouds dot the sky, and I spot Sexy Bunny. He waves at me and gives me a thumbs up. I didn’t even know rabbits had thumbs, but I wave back before I’m interrupted by Jack Black’s voice.
“Reno, are you ready for the final pucking selection?”
My gaze returns to Juliette, and I take a deep breath. It’s her. She’s the one for me. That’s why Sexy Bunny grew a thumb… so he could tell me I’m on the right path.
“I’m ready, Jack,” I say confidently.
“Fantastic. Angie, can you bring out the final two pucks, please?”
I try not to frown when Angela Lansbury pushes a small rolling cart onto the stage. Wait… what? I thought she was dead.
The actress is dressed in the same pineapple and hockey stick fabric as Jack and Kevin’s suits, only she’s wearing a long skirt and sensible black shoes like my grandmother used to wear. She leaves the cart, kisses Jack Black on the mouth, and strolls off the stage to much applause.
At this point, I’ve given up trying to figure out what the fuck’s going on here. I’m just ready to get this show on the road so I can be with my dream girl.
Dream… That word sparks something in my head but before I can define it, Jack lays a hand on myshoulder.
“Reno, you’re on your way to your pucking happily ever after.” The audience claps as Jack turns somber. “But before that, you have the difficult task of sending one of these ladies home.”
I want to tell him it’s not really that difficult, but I figure that will make me look like an asshole, so I simply nod stoically. Jack gestures toward the tray the apparently-now-alive Angela Lansbury left, and I see a sleek rectangular plate with two hockey pucks. One is round like a normal puck, but it has a bright red X printed on it. The other is shaped like a heart.
He doesn’t have to direct me. I know what to do. I pick up the X-puck and walk toward the women.
“Leia,” I say, holding out the X-puck to her.
Her mouth drops open in an expression of shock before that emotion turns to outrage. She snatches the puck from my hand, whirls around, and stomps across the stage, her black dress billowing behind her before I can say anything else. Then there’s a curse from offstage and a loud thunk before someone yells, “Watch where you’re throwing that thing, lady.”
A bunch of oohs sound from the studio audience, but I ignore everything except Juliette McNamara, who is beaming up at me, looking like everything I’ve ever wanted in my life.
I’m in such a love haze, I forget I’m on some kind of TV show until Jack presses the heart-shaped hockey puck into my hand and whisper-hisses, “Don’t forget to say the line, buddy. It’s in your contract.”
Taking a step closer to Juliette, I catch a whiff of her sweet pomegranate scent, and my cock takes notice.
Dude, not now. We’re on national TV, and it is definitely not boner time.
My penis droops a little at my scolding, thank god, and I can get back to making Juliette mine. Holding out the puck, I say the dumb line I’m contractually required to say. “I pucking love you.”
I have so many more words for her, but just as I cradle the side of her face in my palm, I hear a voice and feel a gentle hand shaking my shoulder.
“So sorry to bother you, sir, but can you please bring your seat back into its upright position?”
Jerking my eyelids open, I swivel my head from side to side, confused at my surroundings. I’m not on a television show. There’s no Jack or Kevin or resurrected-Angela. No audience or lights or hockey pucks. I’m on a plane, and the flight attendant is smiling patiently down at me.
It was a dream.
“Oh, yes. Sorry,” I mutter, straightening my seat as requested while trying to shake off the ludicrous dream I’d been dropped into. This happened once before when I drank champagne. I’d had a bizarre dream about Kelly Clarkson sitting on the roof of my car, singing Christmas songs while I drove.
