The Invitation by Adriana Locke

Georgia

“Thank you for an amazing evening,” Ripley says, his hand lightly covering the small of my back.

We exit Ruma side by side.

The sky is dark, and a cool breeze makes me shiver as we enter the parking lot. Most of the cars are gone, leaving my little ride alone with a security lamp shining like a spotlight on top of it. It makes me smile because I can relate—I don’t really belong here, either.

“I had a great time,” I say, facing him. “And thanks for ordering for me. You really are my hero tonight.”

His lips twist to hide his smirk. He knows that was for the audience.

We spent the past three hours eating our meals and ordering dessert and coffee. We did what we were hired to do—ask ridiculous questions and receive bullshit answers. And I’m surprised to admit that we are both damn good actors. There were a few times I had to remind myself that we were pretending. That should bode well for Sutton.

“When can I see you again?” he asks, his voice smooth and steady.

The breeze picks up the ends of my hair, causing them to flutter around me.

I rack my brain trying to remember when we are supposed to meet again. Then I realize the producers can edit the video to say whatever they want.

“So there is the promise of a second date?” I ask, smiling up at him.

“Of course, there’s a promise of a second date. I’d be out of my mind not to want to spend more time with you.”

I wonder how many times these lines have worked on other women—those poor souls.

“I might have a night this weekend available,” I say.

“Even if I didn’t before, I do now.” He takes a step closer. “Can I text you a time and date?”

“You better.”

We exchange a slow smile, milking it for Greg, who stands off to the side with his camera angled at us.

My heart starts to pound as the world around us stops. I’m caught up in the waves in Ripley’s eyes and the anticipation of what comes next.

Do we kiss? Do we shake hands and call it a night? Will someone call cut like they do on television?

I’m not prepared to kiss Ripley, and shaking hands feels very business-y. So I stare up at him like a woman who just had the best date of her life and really, really likes what she sees. The last part isn’t all that hard.

Ripley begins to lower his mouth to mine when I take a step back.

“Cut,” I say loudly, laughing to hide my nervousness.

He runs a hand over his jaw, smiling.

My heart thumps as Myla and Greg join us, and I wish I could run to my car and fly home. I need some space from all of this. I glance up at Ripley, who’s still watching me. And space from him.

“You two did a phenomenal job,” Myla says, clapping softly. “I watched the live feed and was so impressed with your chemistry. Have you two taken acting lessons?”

“It was much easier than I thought it would be,” Ripley says.

I snort at his weak attempt at winning Myla over. “It turns out that it’s not impossible to pretend to like Ripley.”

He bristles at my side.

“You will film yourselves on your next date,” Myla says. “Use the cameras we gave you on Monday, and you can even use your phones if you want to. Remember—the more material you give us, the better. We can edit things down but can’t easily create new content. Just send us everything you have by noon the next day.”

“We understand,” I say, ignoring Ripley brushing against my shoulder.

“Great. Greg, can you film Ripley’s confessional?” Myla asks, looking around. “Over by the pampas grass should be good. Do you have the questions to ask him?”

“I do.” Greg nods at Ripley as he unstraps a camera from his back and hands it to Myla. “Follow me.”

Ripley looks down at me as if he wants to say something, but instead, he turns away and follows Greg across the parking lot.

“If you put your back to the brick wall right there, we’ll knock this confessional out,” Myla says. “Don’t forget to record one of these after your next date. I’ll email you both a set of questions to use as a starting point.”

“Great.”

I get situated, and Myla sets up the camera on a mount.

“I’m going to ask you a series of questions,” she says. “Be candid with your answers. If you start going down a tangent with something, feel free to follow it. There isn’t a right or wrong answer here.”

“Got it.”

She touches the camera. “Here we go. First question. What was your first impression of Ripley when you entered the restaurant?”

I glance across the parking lot at Ripley and wonder what he’s saying about me.

It doesn’t matter. This isn’t about him; whatever he says is a lie, anyway. This is about Sutton.

Oxygen fills my lungs, and I stand tall.

“My first impression of Ripley was that he’s extremely good-looking. I had a hard time not wearing a goofy smile the whole night. It’s one of those situations where you see a hot guy, and you think you’d play it super cool if you met them, but then you do meet them, and you’re not cool at all. I just prayed the entire time that I didn’t make a fool of myself.”

“What kind of a first impression do you feel you made on Ripley?”

He watched me walk down the hallway carrying my books. His smile chased away the chill from my fear of starting a new school, so I’d say he liked me back then.

“I feel like we had an instant connection,” I say, figuring that’s what I should say. “Our conversation flowed easily, and he seemed interested in what I had to say.”

Myla smiles. “You seemed a bit intimidated by the menu, and Ripley stepped in to save the day. How did that make you feel?”

A lump settles in my throat as I recall the moment in question.

“I was a little intimidated by the menu,” I say. “When Ripley offered to order for me, I was initially shocked. But the shock wore off fast. It’s such a sexy thing—to have the confidence to read a situation, step in and handle it. And then to handle it with class? It’s very attractive.” I laugh. “He also ordered a perfect meal for me, so that’s a plus.”

I glance over my shoulder to ensure Ripley isn’t standing in the shadows to hear all this. While it’s true, I don’t want him to think I think he means any of it. That would be messy.

“How do you feel about a second date?” Myla asks.

“I’m very excited to see Ripley again. He checked off every box for me tonight, and I feel like there’s still so much to learn about him. It’s great to meet someone with whom you share an underlying nexus from the get-go. It’s the golden ticket.”

“Last, but not least, do you have any indication what your overlapping online searches might be?”

“Not porn, apparently.” I laugh, remembering the look on Ripley’s face. “You know, I’m not sure yet. We had a great conversation tonight, but things were pretty superficial. I know I didn’t tell him what my most searched-for terms are, and I don’t think he would’ve told me his yet. It’s such a personal thing that you do because no one is looking—only now, someone is looking.”

Myla touches the camera again. “That’s a wrap. And good job with the answers, by the way. They were the perfect responses for this first scene.”

“I’m glad.”

She takes my audio pack off my back and shoves it in a black bag at her feet. “That’s it for me. We’re done here.”

“Awesome. I’ll see you soon.”

“Have a good night, Georgia.”

I pace across the asphalt to my car, feeling Ripley’s gaze heavy on my back. I don’t turn to look at him because I’m not sure what that exchange should resemble. Are we still in character when the cameras aren’t rolling? Or are we back to normal?

And was Myla serious about our chemistry?

I snort. Maybe I am a good actress, after all.

It’s moments like these that I wish I could read Ripley better. He is so damn charming when he wants to be, and if I didn’t know him better, I’d think we had a connection. Sutton, you’re welcome.

But the truth is that I know not to trust him.

Still, I wonder what he thought of our “date.”

“What does it really matter, Georgia?” I ask, climbing into the driver’s seat. “That’s one fake date down and a few more to go. You’ve got this.”

I turn on the engine, put the car in drive, and leave the parking lot—and Ripley—behind.

Ripley

“Sorry about the delay,” Greg says, shoving his glasses up his long nose. “I gave Myla the good camera. This one glitches from time to time.”

“Not a problem, man. Don’t worry about it.”

I look over his shoulder, watching Georgia move across the parking lot to her car. There’s no one around her, and the area is well-lit. Still, I don’t take my eyes off her until she’s in her seat and the engine is running.

Satisfaction hangs over the evening events. I achieved my goal of doing just enough but not too much, so she thinks about me until she sees me again.

Her predictability makes me grin. Georgia performed exactly how I knew she would. She dressed like a knockout, flirted her ass off, and would’ve had any man in the building eating out of the palm of her soft, little hand.

Except me.

“Are you ready?” Greg asks as a red light glows on the camera.

“I am.”

“Great. First question is this—what was your first impression of Georgia as she entered the restaurant?”

Better keep this politically correct. I clear my throat. “Well, I don’t know how you notice anything before you notice how beautiful she is. It took me a moment to get my bearings. And then she smiled at me and … wow.”

“What kind of a first impression do you feel you made on Georgia?”

I laugh. “She seemed interested in what I had to say and asked a lot of questions. We seemed to share a lot in common, which I didn’t necessarily expect. I think she walked away from this evening thinking we have a potential connection.”

“Is that how you are walking away this evening—feeling a potential connection brewing?” Greg asks.

“Yes. Absolutely. I’m really looking forward to seeing her again. Sometimes you just click with someone on a different level, and Georgia and I were definitely clicking tonight.”

I grin, trying to hide it from the camera. We always click. It’s just usually more like the click of a gun than the click of a connection.

Greg looks at a sheet of paper in his hand. “What’s the one thing you hope viewers aren’t noticing about you tonight?”

“Well …” I laugh, looking into the camera. “I hope they didn’t notice my shaky hands when I pulled out Georgia’s chair. She’s stunning in person, and it took me a moment to grasp it.”

“You talked briefly about what search results might overlap. There was a bit of joking back and forth about that. Do you have any guess on what your common areas might be?”

I stifle a laugh as I think about her answer. “Cleaning hacks, meal prep tips … and porn.”

“It’s too soon to tell,” I say. “Although, I will say I’m walking away after our first date worried about her eating habits. We have to do better than string cheese and cookie butter.”

Greg smiles at that, and it reminds me of the smile of relief on Georgia’s face when I ordered for her. It had been so tempting to order something I knew she’d hate—fish or a duck—and watch her suffer through it. But for some unknown reason, I didn’t. And the look of utter relief strangely reminded me of many years ago when she looked relieved to see me approaching her.

It was the same smile—her most genuine one.

The one I never get.

Greg drops the paper to his side. “Last, are you looking forward to date number two?”

I never in a million years thought I’d look forward to spending time with Georgia Hayes. But tonight, with our torches and pitchforks put away, it was fun. Sure, it was only fun because we weren’t really us—just characterized versions of ourselves. But it was enjoyable, anyway.

“I am,” I say, honestly. “She’s the kind of woman who will keep you on your toes. I feel like things might get interesting, and I’m curious to see what happens between us.”

Greg turns the camera off. “We’re good to go. Thank you for showing up tonight with such professionalism. It’s appreciated.”

I shake his hand. “Thank you, Greg.”

“If you hand me your audio pack, you can be on your way.”

It’s a bit tricky to get everything unwound and handed over to Greg, but I manage. We exchange goodbyes, and I wave to Myla as I head to my car.

Date one is in the books. Now to figure out how to amp things up for date number two.