Read Online Reality TV Bites by Shane Bolks - Free Book Online Page A

Iron Chef, me staring in total incredulity and Rory laughing her ass off.
    â€œThis is the stupidest show I’ve ever seen,” I say during a commercial break. “Who is that guy in all the ruffles and gloves? And why is he biting that pepper like he’s some kind of animal?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Rory says around a mouthful of ice cream, “but it’s funny. I like the woman. She’s always excited about the desserts.”
    â€œShe’s insane.” I scoop out the last of the ice cream. “How could anyone get excited about a dessert with mushrooms? That’s not dessert. Oh, my God. If this is what Kamikaze Makeover! ’s like, I’m doomed.”
    There’s a loud pounding, and Rory and I jump. “Who is that?”
    Rory rolls her eyes. “Probably Hunter. We didn’t see each other much this week.” She hands me her ice cream spoon and heads for the door, now vibrating. “Cut it out! I’m coming, you Mynok!”
    â€œWhy don’t you just move in together already and get it over with?” I say, settling back on the couch. Hunter is going to have to wait until I see whether the Iron Chef or the challenger wins tonight. Poor guys. They both seem really nice.
    â€œWe brought bourbon!” a not-so-nice voice bellows. “French, since we know you like them.”
    I close my eyes and put my arm over my face. Dave. What the hell is he doing here?
    â€œAre you drunk?” Rory asks Hunter when he stumbles in.
    â€œNot really,” he slurs. “Not as drunk as Dan.”
    â€œWho’s Dan?” Rory says, helping the wobbly Hunter to the chair across from where I’m sitting on the couch.
    â€œHim. Dan. ”
    â€œDave?” Rory says.
    â€œThat’s what I said.”
    Dave plops down next to me. Right next to me. Rory’s couch is huge, and Dave has to sit practically on top of me. He holds out a half-empty bottle of bourbon. “I’m not drunk.” And he’s probably not. He doesn’t look or sound drunk. Hunter’s such a lightweight. Even in high school he was a goner if he drank anything stronger than beer.
    â€œWant some? It’s like twenty bucks a bottle. French, so I think even Prince Bourbon-Parma would approve.”
    I grit my teeth. “His name is Nicolo, and he’s not French. He’s from Roskilde.”
    Dave uncaps the bourbon and drinks it straight. Yuck. “Where the hell is Roskilde?”
    â€œFuck if I know,” Hunter says, and holds out his hand. Dave, idiot that he is, hands Hunter the bottle. Rory snatches it up.
    â€œI’m going to get you water and an aspirin or you’re going to have a hangover tomorrow.”
    Hunter smiles at her. “Thanks.”
    She ruffles his hair and looks at me and Dave. “Want anything?”
    â€œA gun?”
    Rory ignores me and says, “I’ll get you a glass of water, too, Dave.” She disappears into the kitchen.
    â€œAfter all the trouble I went through getting you a sip of Gatorade the other night, how come you don’t offer to get me a glass of water?” Dave asks me.
    â€œBecause I don’t like you.” I grab the arm of the couch and attempt to pull myself out of Dave’s trap. He doesn’t try to stop me, just runs a finger down my back, following the line of my spine all the way to the waistband of my low-rise jean shorts. I freeze.
    â€œYou don’t really hate me, do you?” he asks, but his voice is low so Hunter doesn’t hear.
    I glance at him over my shoulder, a sarcastic remark all ready to go, but his golden eyes look so sincere that I falter. “You weren’t even jealous, were you?” I whisper.
    Shit! Why did I say that? I wasn’t planning to say that.
    Dave doesn’t answer right away. He looks like he’s thinking about it, then sort of shrugs and says, “Should I be?”
    â€œWhat does that mean?” I