“You look fantastic, Joey.”
“Thanks, you too,” I say as he envelops me into his arms.
Did I forget to mention Bronx Taylor and I were study partners in our first semester of college before he dropped out to pursue acting? By the growling I hear behind me, yes I did.
I step back and take a nice long look at Bronx only to realize that he’s going to be living here … without a shirt, and I have a feeling Josh isn’t going to like this one bit.
This definitely calls for cake. I think I really need cake.
“Houseguests, let me introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Taylor.”
[Audience cheers]
“Bronx and Rebekah, meet the newlyweds of Season 3.”
[Switch to live feed]
“Oh you’ve got to be [bleep] kidding me with this [bleep],” I say as soon as I make eye contact with the douche that is known as Bronx Taylor, while he stands there with a brash smile on his face. His eyes are focused on Joey like she’s some sort of … some sort of goddess! Like she’s what he gets in place of his Oscar. His upper lip rises into a smirk, which I’m sure is meant to mock me, but it just pisses me off.
Joey pinches my side and hisses, “We’re live, watch your language.”
I raise my arm, pointing in Bronx’s general direction in protest, but Joey just shakes her head. “What?” I grit. “He … this … you … ugh!” I throw my hands up in frustration. Joey glares at me with disdain. I have a feeling I’m in a losing battle when I shouldn’t be. She’s happy he’s here and I don’t understand why. I’m the one on her list, not him, unless he’s on there and she didn’t tell me. She has to know about his relationship with Jules!
“I officially hate this game,” I mumble, earning a jab to my side. I try not to flinch, but when Bronx chuckles I know my acting skills aren’t up to par.
“Rebekah?” Her name is mumbled from one of us, and I’m positive that it came from Gary. I angle myself slightly and see him running his hands through his hair. I glance a look at the new wife in time to see her smile shyly and wave.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this is a set-up to not only boost ratings, but to rock the two marriages that don’t seem to be that strong. Those marriages would be Gary’s and mine. And some jackass producer has brought in the one guy who could make me lose my cool.
The way Bronx is watching Joey and not his wife, who is making stupid eyes at Gary, leads me to believe that they know each other. But how? Not once has she mentioned anything about knowing this slime ball and I would think that their friendship, or whatever it is, should’ve been forthcoming.
I should’ve asked her more about her list and who was on it. Maybe she hid him for fear that I would freak out, like I’m freaking out now. He likes her. I can tell by the way his eyes are following her and how they lit up when she fell into his arms. His eyes are smizing and here I thought only chicks knew how to do that.
“We’ll give everyone a few minutes to make introductions,” Patrick says from behind the comfort of his teleprompter. If he were in here I’d be strangling his neck, even though he’s not to blame. He’s just the patsy.
Bronx takes Rebekah’s hand in his and they introduce themselves, starting with Amanda and Gary. Amanda snorts when Rebekah holds Gary’s hand a little too long. “Don’t worry, I feel ya,” I want to holler out to her, but I refrain. The child in me wants to take Joey and run down the hall with her yelling neaner neaner neaner, but somehow I think that will be frowned upon.
Cole and Bronx chat it up a bit and it annoys me that I can’t hear what they’re saying over the stupid music that is coming out of the loud speaker. Seriously, cut to a commercial already.
When Bronx and Rebekah step in front of us, I’m rigid and no amount of pinching from Joey is making me any less so. He hugs her again, lingering longer than what I’d consider appropriate. I need to get her alone and quickly. My mind is racing, and while I don’t suspect they’ve slept together, the thoughts are there. Call it jealously, but I like knowing that I’m number one on her list, but if he’s also on there, we’re going to have a problem, especially if she didn’t tell me. And if this is a ploy by the producers to step up my game, so be it. If I have to fight for Joey’s affection, I’ll do it. I refused to do it for Jules, but I will for Joey. It’s because there’s more at stake with Joey, Jules can’t hold a candle to the beauty that Joey has in her.
Aside from meeting Joey, I’m regretting the decision I made to be a part of this show. Who in their right mind would try to put a wedge in between a married couple? My own question makes me pause. This is exactly how life is and they’re just making that abundantly clear to us. I just sure as hell wish that it were with anyone other than Bronx Taylor. Couldn’t it have been Joey’s ex? Him, I could handle, but not this. It’s bad enough that I have to interact with him on a work and social level.
My hand clenches as I stare him down. This man … I have no words for how much I despise him. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for a healthy competition among peers—it keeps you real to your craft—but when you purposely try to sabotage an audition or gloat about a part you landed over said peer, that just makes you a sleaze ball. And I’m not even considering that Bronx Taylor is the reason Jules and I broke up for good. She didn’t cheat, that much I do trust about her, but he pushed her to and that was enough for me to call it quits.
“Newlyweds, if you’ll head to the backyard, we can start our next master suite competition.” Patrick Jonas’s voice is grating on my nerves and I have to bite my tongue to keep from lashing out. I roughly grab Joey’s hand in mind and all but drag her to the backyard. She crashes into my back when I pull up short. The backyard is a large Hungry Hungry Hippos game board with skateboards and laundry buckets. This is going to be interesting.
“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me?” I throw my hands up in the air and groan.
“What is your problem?” Joey asks as she pushes me toward our pink hippo.
“It’s pink,” I say, pointing to the stupid ugly hippo that has a flashing hot pink sign in its mouth that’s blinking our names.
“That’s your problem because our,” she points at our hippo, “is pink?”
“Yes! I hate pink. I think it’s stupid and dumb and—”
“Hey, Joey. How about we do lunch when the show’s over?”