Losing to Win (6 page)

 

 

“G
ood morning, Mr. Knight,” A strange male voice said from the door of my bedroom. Not the best way to wake up.

I opened up one eye and glanced first at the clock: 4:15 a.m.? Seriously? I turned my gaze toward the voice. In the doorway stood a tall skinny twenty something in a “Barack the Vote” T-shirt and jeans. Even more alarming was the burly guy standing next to him dressed all in black and carrying a camera on his shoulder. The red light was on. Next to him stood a kid barely out of high school holding up a huge pole with a fuzzy microphone on the end also pointed in my direction. As I came to partial wakefulness, I recalled that the producer was Ren, the cameraman was Jerry, and the kid with the mic was DeMarcus. Knowing this did not explain what they were doing in my bedroom at the crack of dawn o'clock.

“Are we filming?” I rasped while looking down to make sure I'd actually worn something resembling pajamas to bed. I was in a Houston Stars T-shirt and loose cotton shorts. “You know, for some reason when you said we'd start first thing in the morning? I assumed that meant eight or nine?”

“We want to grab some Day One shots and get each contestant used to having us around,” Ren explained helpfully with a little too much cheer for this early in the morning.

“I see. Well, good morning, world. Hope you're getting more sleep than I am.” I blinked and smiled into the camera as I sat up in bed. Hey, this face had sold its fair share of sports drinks and gym shoes not so long ago. I could still turn it on when I had to. However, there was one thing I needed to address. “Could a brother tip to the restroom without witnesses, please? The camera needs to know boundaries.”

“Yes, of course. Sorry.” The red light went off. “When you come back, make sure you pack a bag for the next month.”

“Say what now?” I paused on my way to the closet. “Where are we going?”

“Oh, I thought they told you. All of the contestants are moving on campus. To the Havenwood Academy dormitory.”

Pretty sure I'd missed that in the fine print. “Why?”

“It was decided that having everyone in one place is easier for filming and adds to the overall team experience.”

“Uh-huh. Does Rissa know about this?”

“Um, I think she's being told this morning.”

I snorted. “Good luck with that.” I pulled some underwear, socks, sweats, and Nikes out of the closet before heading to the bathroom. “Why 4:15 in the morning?”

“We wanted to catch everyone while they were still sleeping so the first reactions are all honest.”

“Brilliant,” I agreed with a saccharine smile, closing the door firmly behind me. Reaching in to turn on the shower, I shook my head. What exactly had I gotten myself into? I definitely missed the part of the contract where they could barge into my house before dawn and start filming. The only saving grace was that this was a rental property on loan from Burke and Mac's company, Bisset Custom Homes. Maybe they'd pick up free publicity from the impromptu early morning footage. I was enjoying the house, it was spacious and well laid out. Pity I was headed for a high school dorm room. Just another sacrifice for the greater good.

And really, that was the whole point of doing this ridiculous reality show: publicity for everybody. Some for me, some for the town, and some (albeit unwanted) for Carissa. I slid under the heated spray and searched for the body wash. I was in the middle of sudsing and rinsing when a knock came at the bathroom door. Before I could answer, the door swung open. I looked incredulously at it.

The skinny producer stuck his head in. “Sorry, dude. Your cell phone is ringing. The display says it's Carissa. We thought you'd like to take it.”

I stepped out and wrapped a towel around my waist before I snatched the phone from Ren. I saw Jerry standing behind him with the camera on his shoulder and red light on. Intrusive much? I frowned. “Dude, not on camera.” I swung the door shut with a loud click and answered the phone. “Rissa, is everything okay?”

“Not so much. I assume you also have a camera in your face at this ungodly hour in the damn morning?” She sounded irritated, agitated, and unrested. Her Southern accent was more pronounced this early. Her voice sounded like spiced whiskey. I had to concentrate on what she'd just asked me.

“I just slammed the bathroom door shut on it. Even I have my limits.”

“Did you know about this dormitory situation?”

“I did not.” I dropped the towel and pulled on a pair of black boxer briefs. Turning sideways, I checked myself out in the mirror. The last forty pounds were not going easy. I was still a ways from football shape. I shifted the phone to my other hand and popped the top on the lotion. Just because it was early as hell was no excuse to be ashy.

“Mal, if I ask you something, will you answer me honestly?”

The fact that she felt she even had to ask told me how far into disrepair our relationship had truly fallen. “I will.”

“If I back out of this thing, will you be okay? I mean, for your comeback and everything? I don't want to mess you up, but I'm not so sure I'm feeling this.”

I closed my eyes. I knew she wasn't comfortable with this. But I didn't realize she was absolutely hating it. We were only on Day One. If she wanted out, I couldn't stand in her way. I'd done enough. “Ris, if you want out, walk away. I'll back you up. It's not a problem. Really.”

She expelled a deep breath. “What about your tryout?”

I stepped into thin black sweatpants and pulled an LSU T-shirt over my head before I answered. “Babe, they'll either give me a shot or they won't. You've given up enough for me. If you're this unhappy before we even get started on Day One, it's not worth it. I'll make it work.”

“Thanks, Mal. I'm tempted. So very, very tempted. But too many people are counting on me, counting on this show—the money, the exposure. I can't back out now. Promise me we are not going to do anything cringe worthy in front of America?”

Might as well speak true. “Not sure I can keep that promise. Even at our best, we could get a little rowdy together.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Look at you being all honest this early in the morning.”

I sat down on the toilet seat to pull on my socks. “Too damn early to sugarcoat.”

She sighed. “This is already a pain in the ass.”

“A huge pain in the ass.”

“Okay, I'll quit whining. See you at the dorm.”

For some reason, I wasn't ready to stop talking to her. “Ris?”

“Yeah?” she answered tentatively.

“Are we friends again?”

She stayed silent a long time. “Sure, Mal. We're friends.”

“With benefits?” I couldn't help but add.

She choked on a soft laugh. “Don't push it.”

I grinned. “Can't blame a brother for trying.”

“Sure I can.”

I'd gotten this far, so I decided to push a little more. “Do we need to talk about what almost happened yesterday?”

“No, we absolutely do not.”

I laughed. “Denial?”

“Refusal.”

“At least admit we have a few loose ends to tie up.”

“Probably more than a few. You are right about one thing, though.”

“What's that?”

“It's way too early for this.” She hung up abruptly.

I grinned again and slid the phone into my side pocket. I swung the door open to find Ren outside the door and DeMarcus next to him. “Did you seriously just tape a closed-door conversation from outside the bathroom door?”

He nodded unapologetically.

“So not cool. We're going to have to set some boundaries.”

“You did agree in your contract to be on film 24-7,” Ren reminded me.

“I'm very positive I excluded some things such as”—I gestured to the room behind me as I stepped into the hallway—“bathroom time. Let's try and maintain some of the mystery, shall we?” I glowered down at him with my best “I'm a football player and will hurt you” glare.

“Sorry, sir.” The glare still worked.

“You don't have to ‘sir' me, just show some basic decency or this is not going to go well for any of us. Speaking of which, walking into the bathroom—in fact, any room—without waiting for permission: that's not going to happen again. Got it?”

“Yes, si—Mr. Knight.”

I rolled my eyes as we walked past the kitchen. “I can be Mal. Truly. I assume breakfast is out of the question?”

“We have breakfast set up at the dorm.”

The dorm. Jesus, it was like a bad training camp flashback all over again. I quickly went into the closet and put together a variety of clothes, shoes, and toiletries for a few weeks. After years of weekly travel, I had the art of packing down to a science. I was rolling a tie and sliding it inside a shoe as my phone rang again.

“You're popular this morning,” Ren said and motioned to Jerry to roll again.

I flashed my trademark “don't you want to get like me” smile. “I'm popular every morning.” I thumbed on the phone. “This is Mal.”

“On camera already?” Pierre's cultured tones flowed across the line.

I glanced up at the camera. “As a matter of fact, I'm staring into the red light as we speak.”

“Ah, well. I'll keep it short. You talk to Cari this morning?”

“Yes. Why?”

“She called me to go over the terms of her agreement. I got the impression she was looking for an escape loophole.”

“You got the right impression, but she decided to stick it out for now.”

“Okay, good. I think this is going to be a great experience for both of you.”

“Are you matchmaking?” Underneath the Italian suits, Pierre was a romantic Southern gentleman at heart.

“Do I need to be?” When he started answering questions with questions, it meant Pierre had something else to say.

“Go ahead and say what you gotta say.”

“You're better with her.”

I frowned. “Wait a minute, now.” Not only did I not agree with that assessment, I didn't appreciate it, not one bit.

“You don't have to like it for it to be true. Sorry, but you're a better athlete and a better person when she's around. This is not only your last chance at the NFL, this is your last chance with Cari. I'm telling you not to blow either one.” His voice was crisp, as if he wanted to be clear that this was not a topic he considered to be up for discussion.

I shared my major concern with him. “What if I can't have both at the same time? I don't even know if it's possible.”

“Well, my friend, only you can make that decision, but I'll tell you this: you have many business ventures to keep you challenged professionally. There is only one Carissa Melody Wayne.”

“Noted.” I was done talking about something I had no control over today.

Briskly, Pierre continued. “All right, then. I'll be on set later this week. Unless you need me sooner.”

“It's been a while since I was your only client and needed my hand held,” I teased.

He laughed. “My first and best, though. Stay outta trouble, Mal.”

“Trouble? Who, me? I'm always good.” I hung up as he snorted a response. Putting one last pair of socks in the bag, I zipped it closed and looked around for the matching laptop case. Striding past the camera, I couldn't imagine that the people of America would be interested in watching me packing a cell phone charger and iPad. But hey, whatever. Tossing in my MacBook Pro and a few peripherals, I scanned the room to see if there was anything else I couldn't live without for a few weeks. Satisfied I had the necessities, I set the laptop case on top of the rolling bag and turned toward the door.

“Everyone ready?” I asked with feigned cheer as I snatched up the car keys. “Let's get this party started.”

 

 

“I
thought this was going to suck and it really does. And by ‘this' I do mean this whole reality show experience,” I stated flatly while staring into the camera. Niecy was seated beside me. We were perched in the “confessional,” a small room they had set up with a sofa, a backdrop, and a candid camera so that contestants could plunk down and give their recaps of the action taking place. We were dressed in skintight forest green yoga capri pants and truly unflattering electric blue tank tops that read
Losing to Win
across the chest. Both Niecy and I were well-endowed in that area, so the letters were stretched and appeared to be screaming in frustration. Not a good look. In fact, the entire town was peppered in the blue and green
Losing to Win
logo. Good for the town, bad for us.

Niecy was a natural-born diva from Savannah, Georgia. She ran a successful lifestyle and beauty blog. She believed that a Southern lady was never fully dressed unless her hair was done, her lipstick was fresh, and her earrings dangled. Though Niecy was a solid size 22, she was curved in all the right places and thought it was unladylike for a woman to jiggle in public. She was the kind of woman who was referred to as striking. Statuesque, great bone structure, a smile she kept perfectly white, and full lips generally painted with a shade of mauve pink lip gloss from Lancôme. She had flawless skin the color of toasted wheat and thick hair she wore in long spiral twists that fell past her shoulders. Usually.

Today, we both had sad ponytails that may have been cute several hours ago but had long since lost the sexy. On top of that, the hairstyles were magnifying every feature of our makeup-less faces. Who looks fresh when sweaty and sleep deprived? Neither of us, unfortunately. This was, I could truthfully say, the first time I'd seen Niecy sans some semblance of war paint. Truly, this experience just kept getting better. Yes, I was leaning heavily on snark and sarcasm to make it through.

So far today, I'd been yanked out of bed at 4:00 a.m., moved into a dorm room with Mal as my suite mate, and been asked a series of what I considered to be very personal questions with a camera in my face and a fuzzy microphone hovering over my head.

Jordy and Suzette had the suite across the hall. Niecy and XJ were down the hall. No one was pleased with our accommodations. We were grown folks with real estate of our own, living in housing meant for teenagers. Skinny teenagers at that.

We were introduced to our nutritionist, Hannah, who spent what seemed like hours discussing the evils of processed foods, sugars, and fat grams. White foods were apparently the devil. White breads, rices, potatoes: all sent by Lucifer to keep jiggly junk in our trunk.

From there we met with the three trainers attached to the show. Jacob, Darcy, and Paul were the perkiest damn skinny people I'd ever met. They took fitness—oh, I'm sorry, “total wellness”—very seriously. They used words like “amped” and “super-fun” in real sentences. On purpose. This was my life now. Marcy, Darcy, Bliss, Ren—it was a bit much.

Having met our fitness team, we each sat down with our team and came up with a goal weight. Their goals and my goals were not the same but I wasn't in the mood to argue. We also came up with a projected plan of how much I needed to lose weekly and monthly.

Then we had been given three bites of granola, a piece of turkey sausage, and a small bowl of fruit for breakfast. No coffee. No tea. Carrot-ginger juice, which I hated at first sip.

“Niecy, what has been your favorite part of the day so far?” Marcy, the associate producer, asked from off camera.

Niecy and I exchanged glances before she answered with considerable sass. “Could there be anything more fun than being squeezed into spandex and weighed on camera?” We snickered at the remembered humiliation because at this point, what else could we do but laugh? Along the way, between housing and granola, we had been introduced to what they called the “weigh-in ceremony.” Yes, the reality was as much fun as you'd think. We were lined up in front of the panel and, of course, the omnipresent cameras. The panel consisted of Jim, the trainers, the nutritionists, and a guest judge. We were spared a guest judge today but had that to look forward to in the weeks to come. When your name was called, you stepped forward onto the invisible scale. On the huge screen behind the panel, they flashed your starting weight, your current weight, and your goal weight. This went into a formula with your age and created a point total that would be deducted from your final score. Since the person with the highest point total won, you clearly wanted this number to be low. The more weight you lost, the better your chances to win. Good times.

“What about you, Carissa? What's been your favorite moment so far?”

“Oh, the two straight hours of cardio—for sure. Nothing says summertime fun like an hour of the elliptical machine followed by bicycling and treadmill.”

“How are you feeling?”

I spoke the answer that popped in my head. “My thighs are still quivering and I truly believe the only reason thighs should quiver is if multiple orgasms are imminent.”

“Rissa!” Niecy barked out a laugh and nudged me with her shoulder. “You realize you just said that on camera.”

“Oh, shit.” I kept forgetting that I shouldn't put quite so much real into this reality show. “Can you edit out the orgasm part?”

Marcy shook her head, eyes twinkling. “I think you can count on that making the final cut.”

I closed my eyes. “My mother is going to see that. Think before I speak. Got it.” I opened my eyes and smiled. “Anything else, or can Niecy and I go munch on the seaweed and celery we're no doubt getting for lunch?”

“One last thing. What are your thoughts about the rooming situation?” Marcy asked.

Niecy piped up, “We didn't live in the dorms after freshman year when we were in college, so you can imagine how excited we are to live in one now.”

I nodded with much attitude. “And having us share suites with our partners? Nice. I see you all have this rigged for maximum dramatic potential.”

Clearly Marcy was on a fishing expedition. “Does it bother you being in close quarters with Malachi, your ex-fiancé?”

I shot her a look. “You know, you could stand to be a wee bit more subtle. I'm not taking the bait. Whose idea was it for partners to share suites?”

Marcy smiled. “We thought that would foster solidarity between the teams.”

“You thought it would cause more drama,” Niecy corrected.

Sensing she'd gotten all she was going to get from us, Marcy signaled the cameras off. “Thanks, ladies, lunch is being served in the cafeteria and then you have your first competition this afternoon.”

“Oh, goodie.” Niecy smirked. “I can't wait.”

As I lay face down in a shallow pond of what I hoped was just mud, I again wondered how my life had come to this. Raising my face and arms toward the heavens, I railed. “Seriously, Jesus? What did I do to deserve this? I'm a good Southern Christian lady. I attend church on Sundays. I may have committed an illicit deed or two in my past, and I'm partial to many adult beverages, but really?! If you just let me get through this with a sliver of dignity left, I will swear off Bienville sauce and fruity martinis except on Mardi Gras. I'll endeavor to do the right thing for the rest of my days. I'm begging, here.”

The entire cast, crew, and slew of onlookers dissolved into laughter at my dramatics. Malachi, who had finished the course minutes ago, jogged back across the obstacle course from hell. He leaned down and extended a hand.

“Babe, you were supposed to leap over the rock, tip across the logs, and then jump over the swampy area. Jump o-ver.” He motioned with his whole body. “O-ver.”

I shot him a look of regal disdain as I grasped his hand. “You think I meant to land face first in this muck? Like I'm already not glam enough for TV? Is that what you really think, Mal?”

“Um . . .” As he pulled me up, I saw the smirk on his face and couldn't resist. With the little dexterity I had left, I yanked him off balance and slid a foot behind the knee that wasn't surgically repaired. I didn't play fair, but I didn't fight dirty either.

He went down like a fir tree at Christmastime. What I hadn't calculated was his considerable weight landing directly on top of me and both of us winding up splattered with the swampy mess. And there we were in a bit of a compromising situation in front of town and television. Filthy. In more ways than one.

Mal stared down at me and his eyes narrowed before he flung his head back and roared with laughter. I snickered and then joined him, giggling helplessly. I put a hand on his chest and rolled so that he was in the mud and tried to lift myself off of him. His hands gripped my hips and held me in place. Straddling the ex for all the world to see? Awesome. My life was so much win right now.

“Carissa, if you wanted to get down and dirty? All you had to do was ask. I would have preferred that you'd picked a less public place to show me what you had in mind, though.” His bad-boy grin was in full effect.

I scooped up a handful of muck in one fist while sliding the other up his chest with an innocent smile on my face. His brows raised as I leaned over him. When my lips were a breath away from his, I took the fistful of mud and smashed it into the top of his head.

“Just a little something to cool you down, Malachi,” I announced before jumping up to run the rest of the obstacle course.

“Woman!” he bellowed, climbing out of the muck.

I was already gone. I scaled the rock wall like my life depended it. I looked over my shoulder once and ran for the finish line with all the adrenaline my thirty-something, oft-neglected body had left.

Mal caught up with me just after I crossed the finish line, my hands raised in victory. His arms came around me and he swung me around. I looked up at his handsome, mud-streaked face and blinked with fake innocence. “We finished.”

“Yes. In third place and muddy as hell. You know how much I hate to lose.”

I rolled my eyes and patted his filthy face. “Yes, your aversion to losing is something I know well. But Mal, there's always tomorrow. I promise to do better tomorrow.”

“Actually, you two have a chance to make up the points you lost right now!” Jim Swindle's overly cheerful voice cut in loudly.

I really had to remember that cameras were pointed at me 24-7. With a sigh, I turned toward Jim. All the other contestants were lined up beneath the
Losing to Win
banner. They were staring at Mal and me with undisguised amusement. I decided to ignore them for now. “How would we do that, Jim?”

“Well, you two can decide to accept the blind challenge. If you accept it and complete it, you automatically take the lead.”

“What's the challenge?” I asked suspiciously.

Jim gave me a pitying look. “Well, now—that's why we call it a blind challenge. You have to agree sight unseen.”

“We'll do it,” Mal announced.

“Wait a minute, Big Baller, you do
not
get to decide for the both of us. You've done that before and that did not turn out well,” I sniped.

He glared down at me. “Actually, you made a pretty big decision for the both of us a few years back and that didn't turn out so well either.”

“Turned out just fine.”

“Says who?”

“I say. That's who.”

“And you'd be wrong. Again. Not that you'd ever deign to admit it,” he snapped.

“We are so not going there. I'm not going to eat goats' balls or roach intestines just because you hate to lose.” I crossed my arms and matched him glare for glare.

“Um, I don't think roaches have intestines, Rissa,” Jordy called out, breaking the tension. Everyone dissolved into laughter as Jim stepped toward us.

“That's an entirely different reality show,” he said, shaking his head. “Believe me, the last thing we'd have you do on
Losing to Win
is any kind of eating challenge.”

Realizing Mal and I were still toe to toe, I took a step back. “Oh. Good point.” I thought for a minute. “You know what? I'm dressed like this, have been dipped in mud, and smell like a swamp. I'm sweating what's left of my pleasing personality away in this hot-ass Louisiana sun, I've eaten the equivalent of a side salad all today, and I'm stuck being roomies with my ex. How much further downhill could it go from here? Bring it on, Jim.”

In my peripheral vision, I saw Bliss hopping up and down with unmitigated glee. Dammit. I was in for it now. Whatevs. Like the true Southern Belle I was, I squared my shoulders, stuck my chest out, sucked in my stomach, raised my face to the camera, and flashed the smile that had won me Junior Miss Belle Haven more years ago then we need to count. “Whatcha got?”