Page 67 of The True Love Experiment

Connor glances over his shoulder and then squats down, lowering his voice. “I told Rory we are absolutely not shooting footage at the wedding, so don’t remind her it’s happening.”

I salute him. “Got it, boss.”

“Can you take Jess?” he asks me.

“She’s on vacation.” I wave it off. “Don’t worry about me. I can go solo. I may be swimming with sharks all weekend, but I, too, am a shark.”

With the popularity of the first episode, I know I won’t be able to fly under the radar. In the past two days, I’ve been stopped at least four times each day. For the most part, the interactions are great. A few of them are readers, most are not. Some ask me about the guys, or the DNADuo, or just want an inside scoop, but every single one of them asks me about Connor.

In fact, according to Jess by way of Juno by way of Stevie, Connor is being bombarded. Ten-year-olds have a tendency to exaggerate, but if it’s happening to me in the ladies’ room at Barnes & Noble, it’s got to be happening to him, too. The common theme: most viewers would like to ride him like a Peloton.

Connor’s attention on me is like a heat lamp, and I’m relieved when it’s time to start shooting. I’d rather watch Evan barf over the side of the boat again than think about Peter’s wedding anymore.

I half expect Dax to take his socks off at the spa and reveal a missing toe or tattoo of a naked woman on top of his foot—both of which would be fascinating, but for very different reasons—but his feet are sadly intact and unmarked. Despite my concern that he might be bored or restless, he is a champ in the spa chair. He decides he wants his fingernails painted yellow, is ticklish when the pedicurist pulls out the pumice stone and gets to work on his calluses, and is shamelessly flirting with the woman doing his manicure—but sweetly, because she could be his grandmother.

When Connor told me last night at the marina that he’d be in the editing room this morning and his director of photography would be in charge for a few hours, I felt a pulse of relief like, finally, I’ll be able to breathe.

But I was wrong. My brain knows he isn’t here, but my reflexes don’t. I keep looking up at the empty space where he would normally be and find myself scanning the area. It’s a rude awakening to see how often I search for his reaction to things.

“You good?” Dax asks when we’re sitting with our feet and hands held carefully still, nail polish drying. The crew is packing up, having gotten as much footage as they needed, I guess. But still no Connor.

Will he meet us in Coronado when we drive over for my afternoon bike ride with Isaac? Or is he editing all day?

“What’s that?” I ask distractedly.

“Are you okay?” he repeats, smiling sweetly. “Are you in a hurry to get going?”

“No, no.” I must’ve scanned the spa again unconsciously. Whycan’t I get my head in the game? I’ve done this before—slept with someone and then gone on dates with someone else later in the week! Sex is sex, it doesn’t have to mean everything!

But, it also doesn’t have to mean nothing.

Shit.

“Sorry,” I say. “I was just thirsty.”

Dax lifts a hand, waving to his new best grandmother-friend. “Can she get a cup of water, please?”

The adorable woman brings me some in a small plastic cup and Dax watches, concerned.

“Better?”

I nod. “Thank you.”

“It’s a lot of pressure, huh?”

“It is.”

“I have about a million questions for you,” he says, “about your job and your life.”

“Yeah?” I smile over at him. Look at this man right here, attentive and fun. A thought hits me like a door blown open.

Dax could be my soulmate.

The cameras aren’t even rolling, and he gives me a disarmingly kind smile. “I’m really hoping I get a third date.”

Connor isn’t in Coronado waiting for us. But the tandem bike is, and so is Isaac, with his knowing, crinkly-eyed smile and addicting belly laugh. We noodle around the island with cameras mounted on the bike frame and a cameraman ahead of us riding backward on a Vespa. Isaac is obviously a genius and makes me laugh the entireway, with the kind of off-the-cuff, quick-witted humor I find intensely sexy. It’s impossible to ignore that there’s something between us, and when he suggests we stop for spontaneous milkshakes I immediately agree. I want more time with him, face-to-face, close. Side by side, at a picnic table overlooking the ocean, we share stories from when we were kids, and for the first time on any of these dates, I forget that the cameras are right there.

I also realize, as I get to the bubbly bottom of my milkshake and Connor finally steps into view, sweaty and breathless, almost like he ran the whole way here, that I haven’t thought about him since my date with Isaac began.

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