In a talking head, Matt says he's not sure he wants to go to dinner with Chelsea, if she's not into him. "If she's not feeling it, that's fine? Why should she feel it, if she's not? What I don't want is the act, you know?" Yeah, that's your job, arsehole.

Over dinner, Matt tells her that if there were a Bachelor for best friends, she'd totally have won it already, and Chelsea talks about how she knows the date wasn't great, and admits -- finally -- that the fact that there are other women in the mix is weighing on her. Good for Chelsea. Since this is an actual problem and not the usual blah-blah about "connection" and "opening up," Matt doesn't really have an answer. He does tell her he doesn't want to lose her, though. Anyway, Matt hands over the skeevy Chris Harrison pimpvitation about the individual suite, and Chelsea gives an unqualified yes, since she really wants an evening alone with Matt. Which is kind of what they have right now, isn't it?

So they head inside and blah-blah, and things seem to be going better, and then Chelsea tells Matt she has a surprise for him, and then poor Chelsea is forced to put on this tight night-dress with the camera on her. She comes out of the bedroom and tells Matt she wanted to show him her romantic side, and Matt can barely contain his boner, and in a talking-head, Matt says it was absolutely amazing, and everything he needed her to do, she did. And now he's dreading the rose ceremony. Watching this show with an acute sense of dread is a weekly reality for most of us.

Three women, two roses. The three of them look extremely nervous/uncomfortable/gassy as Matt strolls down the beach. None of them sounds too impressed when he starts talking, clearly wanting him to just get on with it. "I'm losing someone today very close to me. And that hurts like hell inside," he lies. He picks up a rose. "Shayne," he says, after the no-doubt producer-mandated long dramatic pause. Well, that was the easy one.