They had freaking ninja stars and astronaut food.

No, the straw that broke the camel’s back was when Minion picked up her fork during our midmorning snack and proceeded to comb her hair.

I, thinking she was channeling the Little Mermaid much as I was channeling Jason, burst out laughing and said, “Ariel?”

To which she replied, “Who the hell is Ariel? My name’s Nicki!”

I stared, openmouthed, and then laughed, because SURELY she was joking, right? Finally she was showing a sense of humor.

Nope. Not joking.

She then proceeded to burst into tears. When I tried to calm her down and explain who Ariel was she called me a whore and Ariel a bitch, and tried to impale my cheek with said fork, all before getting up from the little picnic and stomping all the way to the boat and sitting in the corner.

It took me ten minutes to get her to respond to me because she was so upset, she’d somehow reverted to childhood and would only respond if I said, and I quote, “Baby girl, come out, come out, wherever you are.” Mind you, we only discovered this after Rex made a phone call to the on-set shrink, who then explained that when Nicki was upset she went back into her other personality.

Yeah, I’m going to stop right there and give you a moment to let that sink in. Her other personality.

Also known as Baby Nicki.

I’m being serious as a heart attack.

Needless to say Baby Nicki did not earn a kiss, and I got an earful about how I should never, under any circumstances, call my dates by someone else’s name.

Clearly she still didn’t get the Little Mermaid reference.

I waved good-bye once we got back to the beach. Pretty sure even Rex was a bit mystified, because for once he had nothing to say and merely shook his head and said, “Next.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

MAX

I’d like to think I’m an optimistic individual, so when Cat came barreling down the beach, nearly colliding with a crab and getting tangled up in a piece of seaweed, I thought to myself, self, there’s a real winner right there.

Even when she started screaming obscenities into the otherwise peaceful morning air about how nature sucked the big one, I smiled.

Because at least we agreed on something.

Nature sucked balls.

I was done with nature.

Through.

I wanted Becca and a fifth of whiskey, preferably served over her hot body.

Damn nature to hell! I shook my fist and sighed as Cat finally made her way to me and smiled.

Her smile scared me. It was wide and not inviting, and swear on Reid’s life she had two very sharp teeth that looked a hell of a lot like she’d filed them down so she’d look like Edward’s sister, the vampire, not the snake. Note the difference.

“So . . .” She reached toward my arm, and I watched in utter horror as her long talons latched on, much as a mama eagle latches on to its baby bird and never lets go. “Where are we going?”

Hell. Ha-ha.

“We’re going to go scuba diving.” I sighed. “You up for it?”

“I’m up for anything!” She smiled brightly and then winked at the camera.

I tried to engage in typical date conversation: What’s your favorite food? Do you like goats? (Hey, no judgment, Hades was a permanent fixture in my life now.) What do you do for a living? Things seemed to be going pretty well, I mean pretty well given that she didn’t eat goat meat or cheese, score one for Hades, and when she said her favorite food was spaghetti I was like, sure, I can dig that.

But things clearly couldn’t last that long.

Going on a date with these women was like playing Candy Land with a small child. You think you’re going to win because you’re smarter and you keep missing the Molasses Swamp and whatnot. So when you get to the end, you’re all What’s up bitch! Winner! Except you played way too fast, so the damn kid wants to play again.

Meet every single woman on Love Island.

I stepped through each ring like a monkey on a pole (ha, because monkeys on poles would be hilarious) and after I was done doing the whole dance they wanted to repeat the same process.

So what should have lasted . . . oh, I don’t know, maybe a few minutes? I mean how long was small talk supposed to last?

Well, it lasted a hell of a lot longer.

In all my dating experience, you have small talk, you laugh, you touch, then you move on. These girls? They talked in absolute circles about nothing that made sense! I wanted to end Candy Land once I reached the final card—they wanted to start over and talk about their favorite color again!

Oh, and here’s my favorite part. Plot twist! This girl? Her job is to be.

And no, I did not forget to finish my sentence.

That’s her job.

To be.

Or, according to Cat, “I merely exist to bring pleasure to others.” Right, let that sink in a bit.

I’ll wait.

Jury’s still out, but who wants to bet she’s a prostitute? Anyone? Anyone?

“Oh, I’m scared!” Cat hissed.

“It’s fine.” I pried myself away from her clutches. “See?” I dipped my fin in the water and offered an encouraging smile. We were out on the boat in around twenty feet of water. We’d been hanging out there for the past thirty minutes, and each time our instructor asked us to jump in, Cat got scared.

The instructor jumped for us. Land on your feet, bitch! Seriously, someone get me alcohol.

My date was officially a scaredy-cat. See what I did there?

“Cat.” I licked my lips. “Would it make you feel better if I go first?”