Page 11 of The True Love Experiment

“I don’t remember his last name,” I admit. “But picture the hot guitar-playing college heartthrob archetype, then add twenty years to his jawline.”

Hot Brit frowns. “I don’t—Yeah, no. There’s no Steven involved in this.”

Oh. Of course. “Billy? He used to work at Paramount.” I mime muscles. “Gym rat? Shaveseverything?”

He shakes his head, bewildered. “It’s coming from—”

“Evan.” I slap the arm of the leather chair. “Goddammit, of course!” I look at Hot Brit. “He loved a practical joke. I broke up with him because he had a Bart Simpson tattoo low, and I meanreallylow on his hip, and I couldn’t go down on him without thinkingCowabunga, dude. It was a mood killer.”

“I—”

“We got into this big argument at the end, but he still reminded me to turn my clocks back an hour that night for daylight savings.” I laugh. “I basically told him his terrible tattoo ruined our sex life, andhe was like,Wow, that’s a bummer, but also don’t oversleep.” I turn my attention back to Hot Brit. “So now that I’m thinking about it, he might be too nice to have done this. You can tell me if—”

“It’s not coming from any of these men,” he says slowly. “I am developing this very real show, and you are the first person I’ve approached for it.”

I am utterly speechless.

“But are—are any of these men yourcurrentboyfriends?” he asks.

“I’m never sure when to use that term,” I admit, rolling past the thin film of disapproval in his voice. “Is a boyfriend someone you have sex with more than once? Can you have a one-night boyfriend? A weekend boyfriend? Or is it necessary to have the boyfriend-girlfriend talk after a specified amount of time spent dating? Regardless, no, none of those men are current boyfriends by any definition.”

Hot Brit clears his throat, reaching forward to straighten a book on the coffee table. “Okay.”

I watch him, fighting a smile.

“Would you like to hear the show premise?” he asks once he seems to have finished clutching his pearls.

I’m willing to let him run through the entire ruse if he’s so well prepared. “Knock yourself out, Colin.”

He takes a beat before speaking, and when I look at him, I see flat disappointment in his gaze. I don’t know what I did, but I’m delighted anyway. If I could get paid for disappointing white men in suits, I would be a gazillionaire.

Regrouping, he begins, “I’ve always been fascinated with the idea of arranged marriages—”

“Oh boy.”

“—in that most in the modern day are quite successful.”

Okay, that is not where I thought he was going with that.

“When we let people who know us well choose our partner, they generally do a pretty good job. But then I also had the thought the other day that most of us have seen so many portrayals of love—in person, on-screen, in literature—that we should be good at identifying real emotion. Don’t you think?”

I shrug. “Actually, I’m amazed at the often limited capacity of emotional intelligence in adults.”

“What if we put you in a house with twelve men—”

“Well, now I’m definitely listening.”

“—who are each trying to win your heart—”

“Keep talking.”

“—but instead of you choosing who gets to stay in the competition each week, we’ll have the audience live vote over the twenty-four hours after the episode airs on who stays and who goes. The eliminated contestant or contestants will find out at the start of the next episode.”

“So you let the audience vote on who they want me to end up with? I have no say?”

He tilts his head from side to side. “Yes and no. The audience will have to gauge your reactions. But I am hoping there will be some great options in there, because here’s what I think could make it really interesting: We’ll cast the contestants based on your DNADuo compatibility scores. I assume you’re familiar with it?”

It feels like my heart stops. That’s River’s technology. “Oh, I’m familiar.”

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