Page 9 of Forever is the Sweetest Con
“Yes, the one who dressed appropriately for a hike in one-hundred-degree weather—what was his deal again?” He leans back to inspect his work.
“Well, aside from the horrible style choice—” I pause to give Cori a look, like who wears performance fabric on a first date? “—he was, like, soorganized. Like, in a psychotic way. He had the whole hike planned out to the minute, just so we wouldn’t miss the sunset from the top.”
Cori bites his lip, as if to hold back a smile.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Look up,” he says, brandishing a mascara wand.
I look up, fighting to keep my eyes open as he brushes my lashes. “For real, what’s with the look?”
“There’s no look, I just—” He sighs, putting his hands on his hips. “Cleo, I love you, but do you even hear yourself ?” He doesn’t give me a chance to respond. “This guy plays the wrong sport, that guy was too organized, and wasn’t there a guy whose sunglasses were too tight?”
“They were! So distracting.”
He shakes his head. “No, that’s not a thing. You just pick every guy apart to find something wrong with them—you don’t even give them a chance.”
“Yeah, but I—”
Cori waves a dismissive hand. “Look, honey, I know it’s been hard.” His tone softens. “Dylan was a real shit, and—”
I interrupt him with a bitter laugh. I think Dylan’s many wrongdoings qualify him for a category well beyond ‘real shit.’
“He ruined my life.”
Cori sighs. “But what? You’re just never going to trust a man ever again? You’re just going to find whatever excuse you can to rule out every guy you meet so there’s no chance of you developing feelings for them?”
I sniff. I’ve never put it into words like that, and admittedly, it doesn’t sound great, but yes, that is exactly what I plan to do. “What’s it to you?”
He spins me around so I’m facing the mirror. The way he works his magic on me—transforming my unremarkable green eyes into something wild and cat-like, and how he’s given my pale, dull skin a healthy, sun-kissed glow—it’s nothing short of a miracle.
He hooks an arm around my shoulders, pulling me back so I’m leaning against him. “You think you’re going to go on TV and magically fall in love?”
I scoff. “Obviously not! I’d fake it. Put my acting skills to the test.”
He shakes his head. His eyes meet mine in the mirror, and he holds my gaze. He opens his mouth to speak, and then closes it again, which is not a good sign, because for better or for worse, Cori has zero filter, and if he’s editing himself then it must be really bad.
“What’s the show called?” he says, releasing me from his grasp to pull out his phone. I tell him the web address I saw on TV, and he taps it into his phone. “The branding is cringe,” he says, dragging his finger down the screen, “but it seems legit. Look, they have a casting page.”
I twist around to look. Stock photos of racially diverse twenty-somethings in swimwear, an image of a sunset over a white sand beach, a couple in front of a campfire, wrapped in a plaid blanket, roasting marshmallows.
“Let’s see their socials,” he says, clicking through to Instagram. He scrolls the posts, which are more of the same—hot people doing wholesome things. “Fifteen hundred followers,” he says, tilting his head. He clicks on a few of the posts, scanning the comments. “I don’t know, babe,” he says into the blue glow of the screen.
“The prize money is $250,000.”
He gasps. “Okay, you’re doing it.”
“You think it’s legit?”
He shrugs. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know. It just seems weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Just that they’d just pick me, out of everyone.”
“You, my darling, are a hottie with a body. And they’re not picking you, they’re picking whatever dream girl character you invent for yourself.”
