Kiss and Confess (Love Unscripted Book 1) (9 page)

“We’re ready, Rob,” Michael shouted, his fist pumping the air.

The other contestants turned to look at him. Brittany put her own arm in the air defiantly. “Ready, Rob.” She high-fived Michael.

“We’re ready,” Jason murmured.

“Ready,” Trevor echoed.

“What kind of things do you think they’ll make us do?” Marc asked Charley.

“I know, right?” Jason whispered to Marc.

“It will all be on TV, so can’t be anything too bad,” Charley reassured them.

“That’s true,” said Jason. “So we’ll just have fun with it.”

Trevor squeezed his hand.

“I wonder what I’m going to spend my bonus on,” Tasha sighed to Luke and Jen.

He ignored her. Marc had taken Charley’s hand. She’d shot Luke a quick glance as she clasped her hand to Marc’s.

She could not do that, look at him. As if asking his permission. Tasha had the sharpest eyes of anyone he knew—she’d guess something had gone on with him and Charley in a second. “Wrap it up, Rob,” he urged under his breath.

“Great,” Rob enthused. “Then let’s head to the vans and get this party started.” He made a dramatic sweep toward the door with his hand. Burt nodded and signaled the contestants and cameramen to follow.

Luke hung back, waiting until he was the last one to walk out. How in the hell was he going to work with Marc and Charley today and pretend that nothing had happened last night? He didn’t even know for sure what he’d said to her when he’d first showed up at her door. But he had the nagging feeling the whiskey might have said things he hadn’t approved for release.

The van dropped Charley, Marc, and their camera crew at a spot on the Sunset Strip near The Comedy Store. Luke pulled his phone from his pocket and pressed a button. “Your time starts now.”

His hand didn’t seem that steady, Charley noted. She refused to think about why.

She pulled out the list she’d been handed as they stepped out of the van. While looking down at it, she sneaked a glance at Luke through her lashes. He turned away and headed back to the van, but their eyes had met, just for a second. A second she’d need to hold on to for a while. Possibly forever.

She read the instructions at the top of the list to Marc.

Charley and Marc, you are to perform/accomplish each of these items without using any money. You also can’t use your camera crew to help you accomplish the tasks, though they will record the day on film. The tasks don’t have to be performed in order, but remember, time is everything. Good luck! When you have completed your tasks, meet your producer in front of The Giant Bullwinkle Statue.

“The Giant Bullwinkle Statue?” she puzzled.

“That’s the last thing, so let’s not worry about it yet,” Marc said. “What’s on the list? We’ll need to get organized. Teamwork.” His tone was brisk, urgent. “Come on, we’ve got this.”

Charley glanced at him in surprise. She wouldn’t have guessed he had a competitive side, but maybe it was a necessity when you grew up one of nine children.

He pointed to the page in her hand. “Want me to do it?”

“Oh. Sorry.” She turned back to the list. “Okay. We have five items. One, French kiss in front of a chateau. Two, perform a live comedy riff and get at least five people to laugh at your jokes.” She put a finger on the page. “There’s a note next to that one that says camera crew and each other do not count.” She looked at Marc. “Too bad. That would have helped. I don’t know about you, but I’m an amateur comedian at best.”

She expected at least a chuckle. Instead, he pointed again. “Keep going.”

“Three, get a stranger to dance for you. Four, jump on a train. Five, high-five Rocky.” Again, she looked up at Marc, shading her eyes from the morning sun. “I’m not sure I get all of this.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He took the list from her and stared down at it, hand on his hip. Then he scanned their surroundings with a cool, appraising eye.

“But Rocky? As in Balboa?”

“No. Rocky and Bullwinkle are cartoon characters. From the sixties.”

“How do you know this?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, dipping his chin. “I’m sort of a nerd about old cartoons.”

His embarrassment about it was cute. “Great. That will help us. I would have been looking for a completely different Rocky. A cartoon nerd. Interesting. I was a
Sesame Street
kid.”

“Me too. I didn’t discover the old cartoons until I grew up.”

Oh. Okay. Time to change the subject.

“The Comedy Store is right here,” Charley offered. “Why don’t we start with that one, the comedy riff?”
And put off the French kiss until Luke’s lips weren’t still imprinted on hers. Which might be never, come to think of it.

“I’ll do it. You get people to be an audience while I think of what to say. We’ve got this.”

He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. And if he said “we’ve got this” one more time, she might have to shake some serious sense into him. “Did you play a lot of sports?” she asked. “Maybe start with that.”

“Sports. Yeah.” He flicked his hand at her. “Go. We’re on the clock.”

For an accountant, he was bossy. But he was right.

Charley walked down the sidewalk, stopping the first person she saw—a woman dressed in black and wearing reflective sunglasses. “Excuse me,” she said politely, “I wonder if I could ask you a favor.”

The woman held up her hand and said “no,” without breaking stride.

Too much sunshine could affect people’s moods.

Next, she approached an older man who looked like her Uncle Martin, gray-haired and in walking shorts that were belted below his round stomach. “Hi. Could I ask you a favor?”

The man lowered his sunglasses. “Well, aren’t you pretty.”

Ugh.

“Thanks. It would just take a couple minutes of your time.”

“Uh-huh. And if I do you a favor, what are you going to do for me?” He winked. Not in a kind stranger way, but in a lewd way that made her want to throw up.

“Absolutely nothing. Never mind.” She kept walking.

“Hey,” he called from behind her. “Don’t go, girlie. We can work something out.”

She’d rather step in a steaming pile of dog poop. Barefoot.

She spotted two younger women walking opposite her, excitedly pointing at buildings and raising their cameras to snap photos. As she came closer, she realized they were speaking a different language. Charley stopped. “Hello?” she said to them.

The women also stopped, bobbing their heads. “Hello,” responded one, the word heavily accented.

“Could you do me a quick favor?”

The women looked at each other, confused.

“For a TV show?”

“TV,” the one repeated, nodding her head.

“Yes. Will you come with me? Please?”

“TV.”

“This way.” Charley gestured for them to follow her. She brought them back to where Marc and the cameramen were standing. Marc had his head down and was talking to himself as one cameraman filmed him.

Charley pointed at the camera and told the excited women, “Stay. Right here.” She pointed at the sidewalk and then the camera. “See? TV.”

The girls chattered words she couldn’t understand and pulled out combs and mirrors.

They had the right idea. Two down, three to go.

A few minutes later, she’d managed to round up a store clerk on a smoke break and two middle-aged women with giant purses and thick glasses by promising them exclusive access to a five-minute event outside The Comedy Store.

“Ready,” she told Marc.

He faced the assembled group, rubbing his hands together.

“Knock ’em dead,” Charley said in his ear.

He nodded in sharp jerks of his head. One camera trained its lens on him and the other focused on the crowd.

“Thank you all for coming.” Marc looked tense. Not a good sign.

Charley stepped to the back of the group, right behind the two young women who didn’t speak the language. She pantomimed laughing for them, pointing at Marc and then cracking up. Hopefully, that wasn’t against the rules. It wasn’t stipulated, so she could argue it if she had to.

The two women looked at Marc and laughed, then back at Charley for approval. She gave them a thumbs-up.

“So I’m from out of town,” Marc began. “And the first thing I see on the Sunset Strip is The Comedy Store.” He gestured at the club behind him. “I’m thinking…what? I can go inside and buy comedy? Do they have aisles labeled raunchy, pre-teen, or 90s humor?”

Silence. Charley poked the two women in front of her and again mimicked laughter, pointing at the camera. They laughed uproariously for thirty seconds then stopped, turning to her for approval.

The two older women looked at each other, shaking their heads. The store clerk dropped his cigarette, rubbed it out with his shoe, and turned to leave. Charley put out a hand to stop him. “Please. Stay,” she pleaded. “Laugh.”

“My break’s almost over.”

“It will only take a minute. Really. You’ll get to be on TV.”

He shook his head. “Round here, everybody’s on TV.”

“Please.”

Grudgingly, he turned back around to face Marc. “Gotta do better than that, buddy,” he said.

“A comedy store,” Marc repeated, sounding more desperate now. “You know, instead of buying milk and bread, you buy laughs. They ring you up and give you a receipt. But no returns. They don’t take back used laughs.”

Another poke in the back from Charley and the two tourists laughed.

“Good Lord,” said one of the middle-aged women.

“Are you shittin’ me?” asked the store clerk.

Charley had to do something. “I think there’s a sale today,” she called. “Buy Kevin Hart, get Kevin James for free. If you can get them both in your cart.”

That got some grudging chuckles, including from the two women she again poked, who laughed right on cue, this time clutching their stomachs and doubling over.

So she and Marc were a hit with the non-English-speaking crowd. Could be worse things.
One task down.
“That’s it,” she said. “We got them to laugh, right?” She looked at the crew for confirmation. They nodded.

“Thanks, everyone,” Charley said, shaking the hands of each of the five people she’d recruited. “We appreciate it. You can go on with your day now.”

“I don’t think he has much of a future in comedy, sweetie,” one of the women whispered to her. Her friend murmured agreement.

“I know,” Charley answered in a voice too low for Marc to hear. “But he has other qualities. He’s good with numbers. I think.”

“Well,” answered the woman, pulling on her friend’s arm to leave. “That’s something, I guess.”

“TV?” asked the tourists.

“TV.
Make Me a Match
. Maybe it will be on…wherever you’re from.”

They looked momentarily confused but walked away chattering with excitement.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Charley asked Marc.

“It was. Bad. Thank God you saved it.” He gave her a bear hug, squeezing so hard, Charley thought she might have stopped breathing for a second before he let her go. “Next one. Get a stranger to dance. We can do that one anywhere, so let’s knock it off the list.”

Charley looked around them. “Who looks like a dancer?”

“It didn’t say they have to be good.” Marc also scanned up and down the walk. “But I don’t see anyone I want to ask here. Let’s go to the other side.”

They jaywalked across the street, Marc holding on to her hand and waving pleasantly at pissed-off drivers.

The first person they saw was a mom pushing a stroller with twins. “Her,” Marc said. “She’s perfect.”

“Are you sure—”

Too late. Marc was already at the woman’s side, trailed by the camera crew and peering down at the stroller to tell her what beautiful children she had. The woman beamed.

Charley hurried over in time to hear Marc say, “I know how busy you have to be right now, but I have something to ask you. I’m on a TV show that’s filming its first season and I have to get someone I don’t know to dance. You look like a dancer.”

“Oh no, I haven’t danced in a long time.” The woman shook her head.

“What’s your name?”

She looked uncertainly at the camera, but answered, “Melanie.”

“Melanie, you
move
like a dancer.”

Pink showed in her cheeks. “My husband would—”

“Be bragging to all his friends,” Marc finished for her. He tipped his head. “Please?”

She hesitated, but finally said, “Okay. But only for a minute.”

“Only for a minute. That’s all we need.” He flashed a told-you-so grin at Charley.

Charley returned it. Clearly, he should have been the one on recruiting duty for the last task. If this woman was any indication, people didn’t turn him down.

“There’s no music,” Melanie said.

“Not a problem. I’ll sing.”

Charley looked at him in surprise.
He could sing?

“Okay.” Melanie laughed nervously and moved a few feet away from the stroller. “But I don’t even know why I agreed to this.”

“Ready? Here goes.” Marc began singing in a clear, on-pitch tenor, right in the middle of the sidewalk. “You gotta go and get angry at all of my honesty.”

Seriously? He knew a Justin Bieber song? She felt as though this episode should be titled “The Secret Lives of Accountants.” Privately, she loved The Biebs, but was pretty sure she hadn’t put that in the show’s questionnaire.