Free Reality TV Bites by Shane Bolks

this—nonrelationship relationship—is over? But before I can correct yet another of his misguided assumptions, he pulls me to him and kisses me. Not his usual playful kiss. Not even a nice kiss. This is not the kind of kiss men give women in movies—at least not the kind I watch. This is hot and rough and so electric I feel like I stuck my finger in the light socket.
    And then Dave begins to pull back, and I can’t let him. I should let him, but this kiss is too amazing. So I grab his shirt and pull him closer, and his hands are all over me—in my hair, on my face, cupping my breasts, fitting me to his body. Finally we break apart. I’m panting and Dave’s not exactly unruffled. He leans his head over my shoulder, resting on the wall behind me. His hands are snug on my waist and his breath tickles my ear.
    â€œStill think I don’t want you?” he murmurs, his voice like velvet next to my ear.
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œStill crying?”
    I stiffen. I hate that he saw that. “No.”
    He moves to nuzzle my ear, whispers, “Still hate me?”
    â€œYes,” I moan. He kisses my neck then my jawbone, his mouth like a slow-acting drug.
    â€œSure?”
    â€œI never want to see you again,” I say, trying to catch his mouth with mine.
    He manages to evade my lips, then kisses me softly on the forehead. Not what I had in mind, and before I even open my eyes, the toad steps back, opens the door, and says, “If you change your mind, you know how to find me.”

5
Life Goes to a Party
    It’s the first day of filming, and I take deep breaths in the elevator to calm myself. When I get off on the seventeenth floor, the camera crew will be there, ready to film my every moment. I smooth my navy Carolina Herrera wrap dress. I thought about wearing something flashier—my wool Schiaparelli military brisk suit—but then I decided I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard.
    When the elevator door opens, I consider going back down. I hadn’t expected things to look quite so crazy. There are three guys toting huge black cameras and followed by guys holding furry gray mops on the end of sticks. The staff is trying to look busy, and at the same time, talking really loudly to be heard by the furry mics. Miranda is in her office. It looks like she’s posing for publicity photos, and Josh is standing next to Natalie’s desk while a woman holds upwhat looks like a little tape recorder and points to it. Josh is the one who prevents my escape.
    â€œSweetie, you’re here! Finally!”
    Finally? It’s quarter to nine. I’m early.
    At Josh’s words half a dozen people turn to look at me. A moment later, they descend, and I’m wired and propelled into my office for my own publicity photos and an interview. You know how on The Real World the cast gets pulled aside to explain their personal take on something? Or on Queer Eye how the friends and family of the straight guy make comments throughout? That’s what this footage is for.
    They hook me up to a wireless body lav mic, and since I don’t have a pocket or waistband, a woman attaches the transmitter to the back of my bra. I look like a hunchback, and I have to lean forward when I sit. While they’re hooking all of this up a guy who reminds me of Ron Howard reviews the rules for me.
    â€œOkay, Allison, just want to remind you that everything you do or see today and in the weeks ahead falls under the confidentiality agreement. Don’t talk to your friends, your family, and especially not to the media about anything. You got that?”
    â€œSure,” I say. Like anyone’s going to care about a show pitting interior designers against one another.
    I’ve been sitting and talking for what feels like hours when I spot Nicolo through my office window. He’s standing in the middle of the office talking with Miranda, and I wonder how long