Lizzie just wants a normal day off with boring Jonathan. But he has a special surprise. One that involves the live morning show Wake Up, Baltimore! and an 'announcement'. Suddenly, Lizzie finds herself in the role of runaway almost bride--on live TV, no less. Only she has an accomplice. A very large, very handsome, very interested executive producer who takes it upon himself to help her out of her unexpected jam.
*Short story 5,500 words approx* Originally appeared at Ruthie's Club and in the Spring Anthology
Michael Winters plunked me into a red director’s chair that had a index card marked #4 taped to the back. He leaned in and his warm breath rushed over my shoulder. I shivered and the little hair at the back of my new short haircut rose like a ghost was in the vicinity. Not a ghost. Just a very handsome big tall dark kind man who smelled like donuts and Gain laundry detergent. If that wasn’t a recipe for orgasm, I don’t know what is. “Don’t worry, kid. You’ll do great.” He said.
Was it me or did he linger just a moment and sniff me? He sighed and then his head was gone and a camera was pointed in my general direction. Me and the other three women in red director’s chairs. They were grinning like idiots while I was trying not to shift in my seat because I suddenly had to pee.
“Aren’t you so super excited?” the perky blond to my left said.
“What? Are we on?” I blinked into the bright lights and wondered how long it would take for a video of me peeing my pants on TV to hit YouTube.
“Not yet,” she said as if she were a pro. She waved a dismissive hand at the camera and said. “I’m Brielle. I plan to win, so I hope you are a competitor.”
I stared at her. She was all long straight blonde Barbie hair, big blue eyes, white-white teeth and a beauty queen’s smile. If I’d yanked off her shoes to find perpetually fused toes and high-heeled shaped arches, I wouldn’t have been surprised at all. Plastic. But nice. “Win what, Brielle? Win what?” I begged. I was not even going to ask what kind of name Brielle was.
“The competition. To go on the race! You know? Didn’t he tell you?” She was nodding trying to force me to say yes.
I was shaking my head insisting that no, I had no freaking clue what she was talking about. My nipples were hard for no reason but I think the reason really had to do with Michael Winters and his big hands on my face. Also his intoxicating sugar laundry detergent signature scent.
The person at the front of us started counting, “And we’re back in five, four…”
“We’re here to do one of those race deals. Winners get some big cash prize. Your race partner is your man. Four couples compete, only one can win!” she speed talked in a rough whisper and then sat back and an instantaneous smile appeared like she had been trained from birth.
“And we’re live, people!” the man barked and pointed at us.
While Brielle smiled at the camera, I blinked and shifted and tried not to pee myself.
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