Married At First Sight’s cheaters have snuck behind their partners’ backs and made their affair official with a sloppy pash in a bar before skulking into a dingy hotel room.
We’re on the Gold Coast for Monday night’s episode and, like schoolies, it’s cheap and disappointing and everyone wakes up in a dumpster staring into the light begging for answers and redemption.
The entire episode mainly takes place in the lacklustre sponsorship hotel and it’s all very boring because we’re just waiting around to see Ines and Sam cheat. Honestly, this affair has been teased for too long and it’s so contrived that it has become exhausting to even talk about.
But according to the trustworthy producers and editors, Ines and Sam are gagging for it. They want to have sex. And so does everyone else.
“Girls just need to be slammed once in a while, ya know?” Melissa shrieks.
Dino isn’t really jazzed about the open invitation to slam.
“I want to make love to her soul before I make love to her body,” he stutters. And he’s right. These days, it’s all about soul sex, and I’m talking from experience. My soul is a total slut.
Meanwhile, Jessika’s annoyed at Mick because he has told everyone they finally had sex but then they eat hot chips in bed, so obviously everything is OK.
Ning’s in a bind. She has pushed Mark away and made it clear there’s no attraction whatsoever. But now she feels guilty about being such a witch and she thinks she should give him something. In an attempt to increase the intimacy, she organises for them both to be locked in separate plastic perspex chambers.
But before things get too steamy, Heidi comes along to throw a bucket of water on the fire.
She heads to the beach with Mike and decides the outing is the perfect time to bring up another very in-depth boring story. It’s not the boring government housing story again. This time she just talks about a really boring book.
“There’s a book. It’s about how we all have different love languages,” she explains to Mike.
Heidi has a habit of ruining beach trips with in-depth boring stories. It’s her thing.
“You can do a quiz in the back of the book. And the quiz shows you what your love language is,” she gushes, pulling the book out of her backpack.
She makes Mike do the quiz question by question. I’m not writing the questions here as they are very boring and I take my duty to only supply you with important information very seriously.
It’s around this time Ines starts planning her late-night escape from Bronson to meet Sam.
In a random, deserted bar on the Gold Coast, Sam waits for her.
He keeps telling us he feels bad, as if the admission of guilt makes everything OK. He looks down at his hand and twists the wedding band on his finger.
“Elizabeth isn’t ticking my boxes at all,” he says. So now, he wants to tick Ines’ box.
Ines enters and catches his eye from the door.
“Hey, how are you,” she chirps as she nears the table.
“I’m good how are you?”
“Good, how are you?” she replies, doing that embarrassing thing where you ask someone how they’re doing even though you already asked it. She feels like an idiot and tries to hide it.
They pour red wine and, in one more mocking move, raise their glasses and dedicate a toast to Lizzie.
“It’s so natural with Sam. It’s not forced. It just flows,” Ines says.
And she’s right. The conversation is electric.
“Do you like cheese platters,” Sam asks as Ines runs her fingers through his very greasy hair.
“I love cheese platters,” she replies.
“LIZZIE GAVE YOU PLATTERS, SAM,” we scream at the TV. Yes, her platters were filled with junk food instead of cheese, but who’s too good for a junk food platter? I suppose he’s also too good for handbag biscuits.
“You’re such, like, an elegant person,” she tells the man with contagious chickenpox welts.
Sam wants it. And Ines makes no secret of what she came for.
He suggests they leave. Their steel bar stools scratch the terracotta tiles of this random Gold Coast bar.
“Mmm, so glad we had this beautiful evening together,” he says.
“Same, babes,” she smirks.
As they begin to walk out of the bar, he looks her up and down and exhales.
“You look so good,” he groans.
“Do I? Do I really?” Ines asks, turning around.
She leans into him. And they kiss.
Like total creeps, we lurk behind a pole and watch them. Their mics pick up disgusting slurping noises. They pash for precisely 21 seconds. I counted because I am a loser.
Suddenly, we’re back in Sam’s hotel room. Half empty bottles of water litter the room. A bunch of those cheese and cracker snack packs are splayed over the dining table.
“Do you have any alcohol?” she asks.
Sam breaks into the mini bar. Channel 9 producers probably won’t cover this cost. They sit on the end of the bed and sip the cheap wine, slowly moving their legs closer.
It’s all a blur. The lights switch off. The sheer curtain is pulled across the glass sliding doors.
“Do you want me to stay?” she asks. It’s a question and not a demand. Around Sam, Ines is vulnerable. Even terrible people want to be happy.
Sam hesitates.
“I might just go to the bathroom quickly and then I think we might … I’m feeling a bit … tired,” he replies. We get slightly excited that Ines is about to be dumped.
She looks down and takes a sip of her cheap wine. If Sam wants, he could just hurt her.
Street lights flicker through the sheer curtain and they look into each other’s eyes. They kick their shoes off and kiss again. The muffled roar from the party strip below drifts up from the Surfer’s Paradise esplanade. Sam gives in.
He picks her up and throws her on the bed. Everything is black. And for a second, everything is right.
Until morning, when Lizzie catches a Jetstar flight up to the GC and those snakes at hotel reception give her a key to Sam’s room. But will she get inside?
We all live for drama. Even hotel reception staff.
For more observations on soul sex and eating hot chips in bed, follow me on Twitter and Facebook: @hellojamesweir
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