Grump’s City Girl (Boots and Heels #2)

6. Beau

Chapter 6

Beau

T he horizon was flaming orange as the sun dipped to the horizon while we headed to the back of the house, where the crew had a campfire set up in the middle of the green.

How they managed to get a real stone fire pit with crackling kindling and lawn chairs stuffed with pillows scattered around it, I didn’t know, and even worse, I didn’t care to learn.

It looked like something you could pull from a page of one of those quaint corporate retreat catalogs. In the back of my head, something like this was what I wanted the ranch to be, eventually: to hold retreats for corporations or even family reunions.

In time, Beau. It will happen in time.

“What’s happening here?” Ryker sounded snippy. “Are we going to join hands and sing kumbaya?”

“No, we’re summoning the spaceship to take you back to your douchebag planet,” Danielle replied from the refreshment table. “You’re fucking insufferable.”

He shrugged. “Been there, done that. I heard it before, and I got it on a T-shirt. Anyway, for whatever this is, I need coffee.”

As he wandered off, I looked around and found the rest of the group looking in good spirits but a bit nervous. I didn’t blame them—I’d had no idea what these producers would throw at us next.

Nelly was over here, drink in hand, chatting Quentin’s ears off. I liked the guy. He was more into the books than I could connect with, but I thought he was a cool guy. Maybe we could have a conversation sometime.

Rome and Emory did not look happy—or even at ease. I didn’t think Rome, the competitive guy I was finding him to be, was happy with simply being safe ; he wanted to win.

The man had come from nothing, a backwater farm in Texas, and had worked his ass off to go through college and refurbish his home and farm into something successful. He was over thirty, but who cared? He’d beaten the odds, and I hoped when this damned game show was done, I’d be doing the same.

Emory, though, was on the chopping block.

“All right,” Liliana said, emerging from the darkness around us like a ghoul. “Everyone, gradually make your way over to the green over there and choose the seats around the pit. They have been arranged in pairs, so you know what that means.”

After exchanging confused looks, we meandered over to the green and sat in pairs before the lights shot up, the sounds were set, and the hosts joined us.

Sutton stepped forward, clad in a blue button-down, cufflinks blinking at his wrists, tailored gray slacks, and a thin matching tie resting on his chest. Of course, not one slick hair was out of place. “Good evening, guys and girls. Tonight, we have a game of a different kind. See, while we know you and you know each other, the viewers do not, so we are going to give an insight into who you are… and you will tell them.”

“That’s right,” Ariana came forward, dressed in shades of brown and blue. “But we’re still going to make a game of it. Each pair will be asked a question about the other person, and you’ll have five seconds to write it down on the whiteboard we give you. Don’t worry, this is for fun. It won’t affect who is at the top or who is at the bottom, so don’t be afraid to answer.”

“But you’re not allowed to cheat,” Sutton grinned. “No eye contact, no hand signals, no handshakes, no touching. If you do any of those, your points will get docked. For the first round, we’ll ask guys only.”

I met Cassie’s eyes worriedly. I know we had shared some info on each other… but was it enough?

“Ready to get started? After we ask the question, you’ll have ten seconds to write your answer to each question on the board in front of you. If your partner gets it right, it’s a point. Your pens must be down after ten seconds, or you automatically lose that point. Got it?”

We all nodded, and I felt a strange surge of adrenaline as I grabbed my pen and picked up the little square of whiteboard. My legs started bouncing while my mind raced, thinking—and fearing—what they would ask.

“Look—” Sutton lifted his hand. “—we know you have all been here for a short time so you won’t know everything about the other person, but some others—” he gave me and Cassie a pointed look and I knew the camera had zoomed in on us “— should be able to know some things. I promise you… we’ll start easy and build up to hard stuff.”

“What do you mean by the easy stuff?” Emory asked.

“You’ll see,” Sutton replied while lifting a stopwatch from his pocket. “Now, question one: what is your partner’s birthday and sign? Go!”

I scribbled Feb 14 and Aquarius on the board, relieved this was truly an easy one.

“Time,” Sutton called.

“Amy and Micah, you’re out of this one; Ryker and Danielle, too,” Ariana replied, holding a pair of binoculars. I didn’t think she needed them because I was sure she had spies all around us and an earpiece telling her who was late.

“Let’s start with Nelly and Quentin,” Sutton began.

Quentin spun his board around. “June 9, 1994.”

Point.

“Ryker?”

He scowled and flipped the board. “June/July 13?”

Danielle sighed. “Not even close. It’s September 21, 1993. Do you ever listen?”

“Not when you’re screeching like a harpy in my ear,” he slumped in his seat. “It doesn’t matter anyway… we lost the point.”

That kid needed to grow up.

“This round is for the girls,” Ariana said. “What pet did your partner have as a child? If none, say NA.”

I stifled a grin, knowing I’d told Cassie about my Mastiff Beauregard, how the big lummox would drool on my boots at night, and I’d wake up to jam my feet into sopping wet soles. She scribbled quickly and shot me a smile.

“Time,” Sutton called. “Hmm, Cassie?”

She spun the board. “A big black and white Mastiff left globs of drool in his shoes. He was named Beauregard.”

Micah snorted and shook his head while Nelly giggled, but Ryker, like the jackass he was, laughed mockingly. “That’s as asinine as you can get. I’m not surprised.”

I leaned back into the chair, stretched my leg out, and tipped my hat up. “But I am surprised a jackass like you knows the word asinine . Hell, I am sure I’d find your face under it in the dictionary. You need to choose your battles, Ryker, ‘cause right now, you’re stinking like three-day-old horse shit.”

Ryker’s face went mottled red, a shade that clashed with his green hair horribly. “I don’t care if any of you like me. I came here to win.”

“And how are you going to do that when you don’t listen to a damn thing your partner says,” Rome leaned in. “Or did you think you would get some free ass here?”

“Jesus Christ,” Quentin murmured.

Bursting into laughter, Nelly pulled her legs to sit in a yoga pose. “Oh, I am sure he did. You’re right, Beau, he is a jackass and a conceited one too. Tell me, Ryker, do you look in the mirror when you jack off? Is all that—” she waved her hand over him and dryly added, “— enough? Are you Ryker-sexual?”

A stifled laugh burst from Danielle, but she clapped her hand over her mouth to stop it. Her shoulders were shaking, though. I saw Sutton eye Liliana, and she gave him a curt nod. I supposed they had gotten enough of the Ryker drama and needed to move on.

“Let’s get back to the answers,” Sutton called easily, but it was not that hard to hear the line of steel under his tone. “Nelly, what say you?”

When he finished with the girls, it was back to the boys again, and this time he asked, “Where in the world does your partner want to go?”

I decided to have a little fun with this one, and luckily, I was the last to be called. I spun the board. “When we broke up, Russia hired some hitmen. Now, Australia.”

“Beau!” Cassie gasped, horrified, while the rest laughed. “I wouldn’t do that… well openly,” turning away, she muttered, “You did deserve it, though.”

Curious looks were shot our way, and I ignored all of them and lazed back, leg kicking out. I knew I had baited another hook for the sharks to try and bite, but who knew who would get there first, the producers or the viewers?

The basic questions ended with the first car she’d owned— Cassie’s was a Camry— her favorite color— turquoise— and her first pet. When I’d scrawled chicken on the board, Sutton had asked me to elaborate.

“It was a chicken from her hippie aunt’s farm,” I said calmly. “From what I understand, the poor bird was dinner a week later. Stewed with potatoes and carrots.”

“And Spanish rice,” Cassie replied.

Sutton grinned. “That’s a story for another time. Well, we’re upping the ante now. The questions are going to be a bit more… personal.”

Quentin, who had gone to the refreshment table, asked, “How… personal?”

“The brand of your TV partner’s underwear personal,” Ariana said while moving to the front. “But not yet. For now, it's simpler things, and the first one is, which family member is or was your partner closest to?”

Cassie knew that, or at least she should have.

When she spun the board around, Grandpa was scrawled on it. Point seven to us.

“What did he like to do?”

Ride. Point eight.

“Favorite meal?”

“Beef and potatoes.”

Point nine.

“Number of ex-partners?”

“Three.”

Ten points.

“Boxers or briefs,” Sutton asked, then snapped. “Oh, my bad. That was for next time.”

Cassie answered anyway. “Boxer briefs, the sexy ones, Under Armor. When he’s not going commando, anyway.”

How did she know that?

Ariana smirked. “Those are sexy.”

“TMI,” Ryker grunted. “No one wants to know that shit.”

Sissy flung a kernel of popcorn at him. “Speak for yourself.”

“You’re not getting measurements , Sissy,” Amy piped in. “Stop dreaming.”

“Last question,” Sutton began. “On a scale of one to ten, how much do you think you’ll fall for the person you’re paired with? And this time, you both can write.”

Oh, fuck my life. If there was a trap question, this was the mother of all of them. I grabbed my marker and scribbled a number over ten, and I shot a look at Cassie.

Her bottom lip was trapped in her mouth, and she was working it like a hooker on a pole. Her eyes were down on the whiteboard, and when time was called, her shoulders slumped.

“Ryker and Danielle?”

They spun their boards; Danielle’s was zero over ten, and Ryker's one over ten. When he saw her score, he fumed. Nelly gave Quentin eight, and Quentin gave her nine. Most of the rest scored the others between five and nine until it got to Cassie and me.

With my lips in a flat line, I spun it to show the ten over ten. A hush fell over the clearing, and when Cassie did the same, the place went into a quiet graveyard.

“Ten over ten or zero over ten,” I uttered. Under it, she wrote, “Last chance.”