Reality TV Bites by Shane Bolks

and Nicolo moves like Fred Astaire.
    â€œWhy do you need a new translator?” Hunter asks.
    Still watching Dave, praying he doesn’t spot us, even though I know avoiding him all night is impossible, I say, “Because his answers are too short.” I glance at Hunter. “Mr. Kinjo and the director, Watanabe, talk and talk and talk, and then the translator will say, ‘Mr. Kinjo say hello.’ What is that? How long does it take to say hello in Japanese?”
    â€œNot long,” Hunter answers. “Hey, Dave! Over here.” He waves at Dave and I grind my teeth when Dave turns and flashes the three of us a smile. Why does he have to look so good? I really, really hate him.
    He lopes over, his legs too long to emulate the refined aristocratic gait Nicolo’s mastered. Where is Nicolo? Am I getting rejected again? If he doesn’t show, prince or not, he’s getting a royal send-off.
    â€œSo, what’s the score?” Dave asks, after he and Hunter shake hands, slap shoulders, and make grunting noises.
    â€œBulls down by three last time I checked,” Hunter answers.
    â€œYeah? Rory keeping you too busy to watch the game?” Dave jokes, then pulls Rory to her feet and into a bear hug. “Hey, space cadet. You look different.”
    Rory fingers her newly shorn locks. “I had my hair cut.”
    â€œOh, yeah. It looks…shorter.”
    â€œNow that’s a compliment for you, Rory,” I say, rising to stand with everyone else. It would be better if I ignoredDave, but not nearly as satisfying as making snarky comments. “A girl pays two hundred dollars for a cut and highlights and all a guy can say is, ‘It looks shorter.’”
    Dave rubs his chin and studies me with those golden eyes. Have I mentioned Dave’s eyes? They’re like something you’d see on a lion—deep, enigmatic, and compelling. It’s so not fair.
    â€œHey, Red. Good to see you’re glad to see me, as usual.”
    Argh! Why can’t I ever be cool and aloof with Dave? Why does he always cut straight through my bullshit?
    â€œGuys.” Hunter’s tone is full of warning. “Don’t start.”
    Dave shrugs. “It’s okay. I think I know what the problem is.”
    â€œYou were born?” I counter with a smile, but inside my heart stutters. I cannot let him have the chance to tell everyone he rejected me.
    â€œNo.” Dave chucks my cheek lightly with his hand. “You’re just jealous because I gave Rory a compliment and not you.”
    There’s a shout from the patio, and Rory says, “Hey, let’s go watch the game.”
    Dave and I ignore her.
    â€œMe jealous? What reality are you living in?” But it sounds as defensive as I feel.
    And Dave just smiles indulgently, then says, “Don’t worry, Red, I’ve got a compliment for you, too.”
    I cock my head. “Oh, good. This I have to hear.”
    He winks at me, and I want to scratch his eyes out. “You look good in shorts and a T-shirt,” he says, giving me the once-over as if I were a used car he’s thinking of buying. “No blue Gatorade this time and less prissy than usual.”
    My jaw drops. “Prissy? Prissy!”
    â€œAllison…” Rory begins, but before I can tell her to stayout of it, before I can smack Dave, before I can do anything, Dave grabs me up and hugs me, pressing my face into his chest so that no one can hear me.
    See why I hate him? See? God, but he smells good. Argh! “I hate you,” I mumble, and then I feel his lips brush my ear.
    â€œNo, you don’t. You’re just scared.”
    I stop struggling. Now how does he know that?
    â€œYou must be Rory.” A male voice with a familiar European accent penetrates the cage of Dave’s arms, the sound muted by the rapid beating of his heart. Hmm. Maybe he’s not so unflappable after all.
    â€œAllison?”
    Dave