Authors: Kate Stayman-London
“No, that’s personal trainer Ben F. Personal trainer Ben K. is here.”
“Ben K.?”
“Ooh—sorry, he prefers ‘fitness coach.’”
“Right. That guy.”
“And the other trainer is Kumal.”
“Got it. And the finance guy is … Trent?”
“Trevor. He’s a stockbroker. The surfer next to him is Cooper.”
“Great. And that just leaves …”
“Asher. He’s a history professor in Vermont.”
“I knew it wasn’t Aslan!”
Lauren gave Bea an affectionate pat on the arm and escorted her over to the circle of men to begin filming.
“Just ignore the cameras,” Lauren reminded her, and Bea nodded—though it was easier said than done with three of them pointed right at her.
“Welcome, everyone!” Bea delivered the speech the show’s poor underpaid writer had scripted for her. “Take a look at this yacht—pretty amazing, right? I just hope our date will be
smooth sailing
—we wouldn’t want to make anyone
walk the plank
!”
This sort of wordplay—if, indeed, it could even be called that—was something of a
Main Squeeze
staple; Bea hoped she delivered the lines with enough of a wink to give everyone at home a good laugh. But the men right in front of her stared back rather blankly, and Bea wondered how sternly Lauren had admonished them not to react to anything at all. As she finished the speech and the group splintered off to explore the various yacht activities (shuffleboard, blackout drinking, et cetera), Bea readied herself to mingle.
“Who do you want to talk to first?” Lauren asked.
“Whoever’s nearest the bar, I think.”
“Attagirl. That would be Trevor.”
Bea headed toward him—surely a glass of wine would help lubricate the several hours of looming small talk. But before she could make it there, Ben K. headed her off at the pass to ask if she had a minute to talk, a somber expression on his face and a camera operator standing right behind him.
“Sure, Ben. What’s going on?”
He led her to the railing near the front of the yacht, which made Bea wonder if he intended to reenact
Titanic—
particularly when he took her hands and looked deep into her eyes.
“Bea, I want you to know how seriously I’m taking this.”
He paused, which led Bea to believe that she was meant to respond.
“Okay! That’s great, because—”
“For too many years, I have spent my nights alone,” he proclaimed. “I have yearned for someone special, someone to become my other half. My wife. I am here to seek her.”
Is this actually happening?
Bea did her best to nod understandingly.
“Bea, if you’ll have me, I’d like to put my hat in the ring to become
your
other half. Your husband. And so I am bringing you this gift.”
At this, a PA materialized with a wrapped present—it was square and nearly flat.
“Oh wow, thank you,” Bea said, completely mystified.
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
So Bea did—it was a framed etching of a fedora inside a circle.
“Do you get it?” he asked. “It’s a hat. In a—”
“In a ring, yes, I see that. This is, wow. So thoughtful, Ben. I really appreciate this.”
Ben K. broke into a wide smile. “I was worried you wouldn’t get it.”
Bea nodded. “Oh?”
“Yeah, you know. It’s kind of a subtle message.”
She gave him a quick, uncomfortable hug, then hurried away as politely as possible.
Making her way back toward the bar, Bea caught a glimpse of a few of the men—Jaime, Kindergarten Ben, Nash, and Cooper—chatting in a circle: Jaime seemed to be miming the act of having sex with a larger woman, Nash and Cooper were snickering, and Kindergarten Ben nodded earnestly, eagerly absorbing any tips Jaime had to offer.
Bea felt a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with seasickness, but she swallowed hard and walked up to the bar, where Trevor the stockbroker was talking tequila with the middle-aged bartender for the benefit of the camera next to him.
“Bea! How’s it going?”
He clapped her on the back in a friendly sort of way—nothing romantic about it, but at least he was pleasant.
“Better now that I’m at the bar,” she quipped.
“Woman after my own heart. What are we drinking?”
“Sounds like we’re in a tequila state of mind.”
“I was gonna do shots, you want in?”
Bea considered the wisdom of impairing her motor skills, judgment, and inhibitions—frankly, she thought the risk of falling on a slippery deck (not insubstantial under the best of circumstances) was worth the potential reward of feeling marginally less stressed about this entire situation. She turned to Trevor with a wicked grin.
“Lay ’em down, Trevor.”
“Bro, nice!”
The tequila was cool and smooth, and after two shots, Bea felt the liquid worming its way into her system, loosening the folds in her brain.
“You want one more?” Trevor asked, holding up his own.
“Nah.” Bea giggled. “I’m good.”
She pushed herself up from her barstool, feeling more relaxed than she had all afternoon, and warmed a bit by the alcohol. It was chilly on the boat—March in L.A. is hardly tropical—and of all the men, Asher the history professor was the only one who was covered up: He’d thought to bring an L.L.Bean anorak, and consequently looked much more comfortable than anyone else at the party. He was sitting far from the rest of the group at a little table near the edge of the yacht, buried in a book—somehow carving out the sort of peaceful afternoon Bea might really enjoy if she weren’t so busy starring in a television show. He seemed to sense her gaze, because he looked up and locked eyes with her for a moment, but she looked quickly away. When she glanced back a few seconds later, he’d already gone back to reading.
Before Bea could decide where to go next, Nash and Cooper arrived—though whether they were deliberately seeking out Bea’s company or simply running into her en route to the bar, it was hard to say.
“Hey guys! Having fun?” Bea asked brightly, the tequila having significantly improved her spirits.
“Absolutely,” Nash drawled, choking back a laugh, exchanging a knowing glance with Cooper. “We can’t get enough of whale watching.”
Bea gritted her teeth, willing herself not to flush with anger and shame.
“I hope you find one.” Bea forced her lips into a cool smile. “I’m sure it would be thrilling to see a creature whose intelligence so far surpasses your own.”
She turned on her heel without waiting for a response, ready to find Lauren and insist the footage of that exchange never see the light of day, but she nearly smacked straight into Jefferson.
“Whoa! Watch your step, Bumble Bee.”
He flashed her a warm smile, and Bea felt her Nash-and-Cooper-induced rage start to ebb a bit.
“Wow,” she joked, “we’re already on a nickname basis?”
“I thought I’d try it.” Jefferson grinned. “How’d I do?”
“Hmm, I’d say five for originality, but a solid seven for pluck.”
Jefferson laughed, big and hearty. “I’ll take it. Now, let me ask you a question—is there anything to eat on this boat? I’ve been having serious barbecue withdrawal ever since I left home and I could definitely crush some ribs right now.”
“You’re from … Kentucky?” Bea tried to remember, but Jefferson’s good-natured eye roll told her she’d missed the mark.
“Kansas City—that’s in Missouri.”
“Also Kansas,” Bea retorted.
“But the barbecue is in Missouri.” Jefferson rubbed his belly, which was covered in curly red hair and hung over the waistband of his Hawaiian-patterned board shorts. “The secret’s in the smoking—you do a long, slow smoke, preferably over at least four different kinds of wood.”
“Sounds delicious,” Bea agreed, “but probably not super safe for a boat.”
“Just another reason I prefer dry land.” Jefferson laughed. “I installed a killer smoker in my backyard last year—maybe if things work out you’ll get to see it?”
His expression was so sweet, almost hopeful, that Bea wondered if she should have listened to Lauren and picked this guy for her first kiss after all.
“What about you?” he prodded. “What’s your favorite kind of food?”
Bea opened her mouth to answer what should have been an easy question—Thai food, burgers, chocolate cake—before considering the wave of “
If you love to eat so much, you deserve every health problem that overburdens our insurance system
” ire such a response might prompt.
“We have access to such amazing produce in California,” she said truthfully, but smiling wider than she otherwise might have. “I absolutely love to swing by the farmers’ market to see what’s in season.”
“You’ll have to teach me your mysterious coastal ways.” Jefferson laughed and patted his belly. “I’m obviously more of a meat-and-potatoes guy.”
There was something so appealing about Jefferson’s confidence. Sure, some of it was that he was a man, and therefore not automatically subjected to the same kind of judgment as Bea about his body—but there was something deeper there, an inner ease that Bea hoped might rub off on her if she spent a little more time with him.
That would have to wait, though, because Lauren was approaching to get her ready for her next setup.
“We only have a couple hours of light left,” she explained. “You ready to film your conversation with Marco?”
Bea smiled tightly and followed Lauren over to the stunningly beautiful hot tub, which was built into a raised part of the deck, allowing for a 360-degree view from the coast to the horizon. Thick steam rose up in sheets, someone had set out an ice bucket of Prosecco and several glasses, and in the tub itself was Marco, his dark hair and olive skin slick with condensation. Bea felt another churn in her stomach with the realization that he was waiting here with the sole and express purpose of kissing her.
“Okay, kids,” Lauren teased, “have fun!”
She backed off to give them the impression of privacy (despite three nearby cameras), and Marco looked up at Bea expectantly.
“I’ve been hoping you would come over to hang with me,” he flirted. “What good is a hot tub without a hot girl?”
Bea laughed. “You’re really leaning in to that signature
Main Squeeze
wordplay, huh?”
“Oh yeah.” Marco grinned. “Are you getting in? I promise, it feels amazing.”
Bea was self-conscious for a moment as she removed her sarong, but between her tequila bravery and the goosebumps on her bare skin, she stepped out of it as quickly as possible and slid into the delicious heat of the water.
“Oh my
God,
that’s good.” Bea exhaled heavily as she let the water rise up to her chest. “I’m already so mad about how cold it’s going to be when we get out.”
“I don’t know about you,” Marco said conspiratorially, “but I don’t plan on getting out anytime soon.”
He scooted closer to Bea, whose face flushed with nerves and heat—he wasn’t wasting any time, was he? Lauren hadn’t been kidding when she said she would take care of everything. But now that she had, Bea wasn’t sure she liked it; it was all too arranged, a speeding train she couldn’t exit even if she wanted to.
“So”—she cleared her throat—“you work in politics?”
“I do.” He smiled. “I work for a messaging firm.”
“Does that mean, like, you do slogans for campaigns?”
“Sure, sometimes. We conduct polls, figure out what ideas resonate with voters, and help candidates adjust their message accordingly.”
“So you’re the reason people get labeled ‘inauthentic.’”
Marco raised an eyebrow, taking in Bea with his sparkling green eyes. “No one is just one thing. We help candidates understand how to put their best feet forward.”
“Like taking a picture from your best angle?”
“Exactly.” Marco leaned closer. “Except you don’t have any bad angles.”
She could kiss him now, she knew she could—but something was holding her back.
“If you’re such an expert,” she said softly, “in peddling these polished versions of the truth, how can I know if you’re being honest with me?”
“I’m not bullshitting you.” He dropped his voice. “I’ve thought about this before. A lot.”
“Thought about what?” Bea asked lightly.
“For years, I’ve wondered what it would be like with someone like you.”
Bea’s whole body went tense.
“Someone … like me?”
His breath was hot against her earlobe, her neck.
“Those arms, those lips, that body,” he murmured. “God, Bea, you’re so big. I bet I could just disappear into you.”
He cupped her face in his hands, and he was so handsome, and her heart was pounding, and she felt so horribly ugly, she could taste bile as she remembered Ray’s touch, she missed him so much she could scream, but Marco just kept moving closer—
“I really want to kiss you.”
No,
roared a voice inside her,
not like this.
His mouth was almost on hers, but Bea stood up so fast she sent water sloshing everywhere, knocking over one of the flutes of Prosecco and shattering it on the deck.
“Can I get a towel?” she shouted at a PA, who came rushing over with one that Bea prayed would be large enough to wrap around her body.
“What the hell?” Marco rose, wiping water out of his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Bea said, hating herself for apologizing to this asshole who’d made her feel like a freak, an oddity. “I’m just not interested.”
Bea turned her back on Marco, hoping he wouldn’t see how badly he’d upset her. All she wanted was to get back to her dressing room to find a cozy robe, but she was interrupted by Kumal, one of the personal trainers on this date.
“Hey, there you are!”
“Here … I am!” After the shock of her interaction with Marco, Bea was so not in the mood for small talk—especially not while soaking wet and wrapped in a towel.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
“Well, there are ten of you and just one of me, so …”
“I know, but it’s such a big boat.”
Bea nodded. That it was.
“Anyway, I’ve been wanting to tell you, I think it’s so cool you’re here. I’ve wanted to meet you for a while, even before I knew we were going to be doing this show together.”
“Really? You knew who I was?” Bea peered at this sculpted man—he didn’t seem the type to follow plus-size fashion bloggers on Instagram.