by Lisa Suzanne
“Let it play out,” he commands.
“I want to get rid of Chantelle. Now. Before the elimination ceremony.”
He shakes his head. “You can’t get rid of her.” He grins as he watches her step her frenzy up another notch.
“When’s the ceremony?”
He gazes distractedly at the ladies for a beat before he turns back to me. “Another couple hours. I mean you have to keep her tonight.”
“No way.” I shake my head defiantly.
“You can’t send her home. This is gold.”
“Then it’ll have to be gold for the first two episodes. She’s not my match, and she’s not Fisher’s, either.”
He sighs and shoots me a glare. “You know I care more about ratings than who either of you ends up with, right?”
I take a step back. “Did you really just say that to me?”
He nods. “Sure did. Chantelle is a ratings beast. Fights like this, the ones that happen organically because some chick ruined her dress—that’s fodder for great television. You can’t send her home tonight.”
A match of anger ignites in my chest. “Nothing in my contract says anything about who I have to keep and who I don’t.”
The angry scene between the women appears to be escalating—much like it is out here between Jarrod and me. Chantelle stands to get in Poppy’s face when another producer finally steps in, grabs her arms, and pulls her away from the scene.
“You’re right,” he says, turning his attention to me now that the television gold scene has come to an abrupt end. “But your contract is also pretty clear about not doing other things I just walked in on, so you better watch yourself.” He walks away from me, and I fight off anger and take a deep breath as I head back to my dates, wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.
The women switch and I get some time with Amber, Charlotte, and Lexy. Of the three, I connect the most with Amber, though I’m not ready to rule out the others just yet. There’s only one woman who I’m ready to rule out, and I don’t care what Jarrod says. In fact, I sort of want to do it even more because he told me not to.
After my second three-on-one, the ladies line up beside Melanie near the shoe rental. She stands poised and professional—not at all like she was in that tiny hallway where she came onto me—and speaks into a camera. “It’s time for Dax to tell us which of the ladies will get extra one-on-one time tonight.”
She turns toward me, and I don’t even have to think about it. “Poppy,” I say.
I spot Jarrod off to the left of Mel, shaking his head in disgust. Did he really think I was going to choose Chantelle for extra time? No fucking way.
“We’ll be back with Dax and Poppy’s one-on-one,” Mel says to the camera, and then Jarrod ushers Poppy and me over to an empty lane on the opposite side of the bowling alley while the remaining women go with Danny over to his lane. We’re on the other side of the shoe rental area, so the other women can’t see us over here...a huge advantage as I think about the things I want to do with Poppy.
A bowling alley might not be the best place for those things, but we have limited time. A guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.
I sit first, and as soon as I do, Poppy sits closer than necessary to me. Our legs are pressed together, and her hand finds my thigh.
“Thanks for picking me,” she says.
“What happened with Chantelle?” I ask, thinking I might as well give Jarrod all the ratings gold he can use.
“She’s a crazy bitch, Dax. She just started screaming at me for no reason.”
I laugh. “You definitely strike me as the innocent type, so I’m sure it was totally unprovoked.” My voice is laden with sarcasm, and it elicits a laugh from my date.
“Okay, maybe it wasn’t no reason. But I don’t want to talk about her.”
“What do you want to talk about?” I ask.
“You. What’s your favorite adult beverage?” she asks.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Why?”
“It tells me a lot about a person. Just answer the question and then I’ll tell you more.”
I chuckle. “Beer.”
“What kind?”
“Miller Lite.”
She rolls her eyes. “Seriously? Not even like an IPA or something dark and daring?”
My brows draw together as I shake my head. “Why? What does it tell you?”
“It’s one of the lightest beers, so typically it tells me you’re a lady who cares about her figure.” She laughs at her own insult, and I have to admit, I sort of like the way she’s ribbing me. It reminds me of something Kylie would say to me.
“What if I was drinking whiskey sours?”
She shakes her head. “Whiskey sours are for rookies, but a whiskey ginger would tell me you’ll be back to the bar in ten minutes.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
“In my line of work, absolutely.”
“So what’s your favorite drink?” I ask.
“Tequila.”
“Straight?”
She grins. “Yep.”
“And what does that say about you?”
“That I like to have a good time.”
I laugh. “I’ve never had a night of tequila that ended well.”
“Then you’re doing it wrong.” She shoots me a wicked smile. “I look at it this way: Tequila comes from the agave plant, and agave can also be used to heal the skin. If it heals the outside, certainly it can heal the inside, right?”
That got a lot deeper than I was expecting it to. I’m about to ask her if she has things on the inside that need healing when I change the direction of our entire conversation because I’m not ready to dig into what’s on the inside of either of us right now. “Right. And on that note, I think we should drink some tequila.”
She laughs and leads me over to the bar, where she schools me on the different types of tequila. We do a mini-tasting with what they have available—mostly the cheap shit, according to Poppy—and she kisses me after every taste to “cleanse the palette,” as she says. I like how she’s trying to create memories to make her stand out while I get to know her better.
Eventually Jarrod comes over to interrupt us. “It’s time for the elimination ceremony.” He drags me away from Poppy after we kiss a little more.
“How’s this gonna work?” I ask.
“Follow me.” He leads me over to a confessional area and explains what I have to do. “Write the names of all the women you want to keep on these slips of paper.” He points to the table with a marker and paper on it. “Then place them in the box. Melanie will pull them out one by one to read who is safe.” He nods to the chair for me to sit. “Think carefully about who you’re keeping and who you’re not. It’s ultimately your decision, but I strongly encourage you to reconsider our earlier conversation.”
I raise both brows and nod. I have nothing to reconsider.
I write down the names of the girls I want to keep, the cameraman right in my face the entire time.
I cap the pen and drop it on the table in an epic mic drop, announcing, “Done.”
Jarrod glares at me. Clearly he knows I let Chantelle go even though the votes haven’t been read yet. “You’re going to regret that, Hunter.”
I’m starting to regret this entire thing, if I’m being honest.
“Stand next to Fisher. Don’t make eye contact with any of the women until their names are read.”
I do as I’m told, striding across the bowling alley to the other side where the girls are gathered across from Melanie. I take my spot beside Danny.
Melanie says a few words directly to the camera, and then she faces me. “Dax, it’s time to reveal which woman is going home tonight and which of the women have potentially taken your heart. Have you cast your vote freely and without influence?”
I nod because I have to. I did cast my vote freely, but it definitely wasn’t without influence. Well, it wasn’t without the attempt of influence.
“Then I will
read the votes.” She pulls a piece of paper out of the box. “Nicole.”
Nicole shoots me a big smile, but she’s not allowed to leave her place in line to hug me or thank me for keeping her. It’s less about keeping women this week and more about getting rid of a toxin, to be honest.
Melanie goes on to read all the names, and when it’s down to just Amber and Chantelle, I can’t help when my eyes edge over to the latter. She’s glaring at me. I force my face to remain smooth even though I really want to smirk at her. Did she really think being a bitch to the other women was going to convince me to keep her around?
Melanie reads the final name. “Amber. I’m sorry, Chantelle, but neither Dax nor Danny has taken your heart.”
A collective gasp of what sounds like relief rises from the women, and Chantelle storms toward the doors. One of the producers chases after her, clearly trying to get her back on camera for a final interview, but I’m swept up by the excitement of the women as they start clapping and cheering. Even Danny claps me on the back.
“Thank God,” he says quietly to me—so quietly I’m sure the mic pack didn’t even pick him up. I’m sure the network will cut that part in editing, anyway. They’d never want all of America to know that their precious baseball all star didn’t like the high maintenance chick they only allowed onto the show for a ratings boost.
Danny and I hug each of the women, and Poppy kisses me full on the mouth without a care to the fact that the other women are standing right next to us.
We’re all handed our drinks, and we toast to our next date as Melanie talks directly into the camera about what the next episode will hold. I’m curious, but I can’t hear her over the loud din of excitement from the women who get to stick around for another date.
We have a few more confessionals with the producers, and then we’re ushered back to the house where the ladies are staying. Danny and I are asked to sit at the front of the bus, where we’re interviewed together while the women are occupied with interviews of their own in the back. It isn’t until we’re back at the house that I realize I can’t go to Mel’s house for a hook-up since she never gave me her address.
At least a car is waiting to drive me back home...but when we merge onto the highway and get off a few exits later, I have a feeling Melanie got to the driver. That feeling gets stronger as we approach a gated community, and then we pull into a driveway that I don’t recognize.
Melanie steps out of her front door and approaches the driver’s window. “Thanks, Hal.” She passes some money to him. “Be back tomorrow at nine.”
“Seven,” I say.
Mel glances at me with furrowed brows.
“We have a gig tomorrow night. I need to be home early.”
She nods. “Seven,” she repeats to Hal. They exchange some words, and then Melanie loops her arm through mine and leads me to her front door. “Welcome to the castle,” she says once we’re through the door. She kicks it shut behind her, a hollow echo resounding in her lavish foyer.
She slips the fabric of her dress off her shoulders, and the garment floats to the floor. She stands in front of me wearing nothing. No panties under that dress. Not a stitch of clothing. It’s like something out of a cheesy movie.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
She takes a step toward me, and it’s almost menacing in nature. I automatically take a step back, but there’s a wall behind me. It’s reminiscent of the last time she did this to me in a bowling alley hallway.
She’s the type of woman who is used to getting her way, and tonight will likely be no different. Even though I was brought here by surprise, it’s not like I’m going to turn down a woman with legs like hers.
Kylie flashes through my mind for the briefest moment.
I’m sure she wouldn’t approve, I’m only here in this moment because she pushed me to do the show. And if she wants me to find love on a reality television dating show, she shouldn’t give a shit if I fuck the hostess of the show.
Why do I care? Why am I thinking of Kylie’s soft, pillowy lips as Melanie presses her thinner and firmer ones to mine?
It’s wrong, yet I kiss her back anyway. There’s no passion here, no real connection—just a woman who can have whatever she wants and a guy too overcome with lust to tell her no.
Sometimes I wish things could be different, but this is my pattern. A woman hurts me, and I spend the better part of a year fucking my way through loads of women until I find another one to latch onto...only to be hurt all over again.
I accepted long ago that this is just who I am. It’s what I do.
I trail my fingertips down Melanie’s torso, and when I press one finger into her wet heat, animal instincts take over the thoughts of right versus wrong. Instead of thinking, I just fucking act. I do what I know how to do.
I drive two fingers in and out of her, palming her clit as I push as far in as my hand will allow. I fully feel the broken connection as we stop kissing and she arches her neck back. She moans, and I kiss her throat and nuzzle her skin. My eyes are open, and I can see her now. I can see who she is...and I can see who she isn’t.
I force those thoughts away as I thrust my hips against her naked body. She moans again, her head still thrown back as I push my fingers into her, and she links her arms around my neck.
She wants this, and I’m not going to be the one who says no.
“Take me to your bedroom,” I whisper.
She opens her eyes and looks at me from lowered lashes. Her eyes are hooded and full of lust. She shakes her head wickedly. “A rock star who wants to fuck in a bed? I never thought I’d see the day.”
I raise a brow. “Is that a challenge?”
She raises a brow back. “Just an observation.”
“You want me to fuck you right here in your foyer?” My finger still moves in and out of her during our conversation, but it seems to have no effect on her ability to think. Clearly all she wants out of this is one night—maybe two—which is fine. It’s all I want, too. But it just feels cheap, having this whole conversation about where to have sex while I’m fingering her. I want us both lost in the moment. I want passion and excitement.
She lifts a shoulder, her pert breasts bouncing with the movement. “We can start here. I’m sure we’ll eventually end up somewhere more comfortable.” She reaches down to cup my dick over my pants, and she finds that I’m already hard for her. “Mm,” she murmurs. I lean forward to nuzzle her neck some more and force my fingers into her a little harder. The force is encouraged with another moan out of her.
“Condom,” I mutter against her neck.
“Romantic,” she says.
“I’m not fucking you without one.”
She backs away and I drop my fingers from her body. She laughs at me. At me, not with me. “A responsible rock star who wants to fuck with a condom in a bed. Definitely a first.”
I blow out a frustrated breath. My dick’s hard, I’m ready for sex, and she’s standing there giving me a hard time. She may think she’s being some seductress, but she’s only serving to piss me off. I tamp down my temper, though. Getting on the hostess’s bad side can’t possibly bode well for my future on Take My Heart.
“You want to do this or not?” I ask.
She nods and grins. “Be right back.”
My eyes fall onto her ass and then, of course, her legs as she walks away, and it’s only then I realize I haven’t even walked three feet into her house. She let me in enough to close the door behind me. I glance around the foyer. On my left is a huge staircase and a little further to the left is a fancy living room. On the right is the hallway Mel disappeared down. On the staircase wall is a huge, framed portrait of the woman herself. It strikes me as incredibly arrogant.
She returns quickly, hands me a condom, and leads me over to the grand staircase. She turns around and bends forward, her feet on the floor and her hands on the fourth step. I grab her hips and bump my fully clothed hips against her, and then I unzip my pants, roll on the c
ondom, and slam into her in the space of about four seconds.
I drive forward, she thrusts backward, and we find a steady rhythm. It’s good as far as sex goes, but I want to be enjoying it more than I actually am.
I pull out of her and flip her over. I think about going down on her, but for some reason it feels too intimate—like it’s something I don’t really want to do with her. That should tell me to stop, but I’m halfway to coming and nothing short of a natural disaster is about to stop me.
She’s sitting on the third step and I lean on a step above her, guiding my cock into her body on my way. We fuck this way for a while, until my arms are about to give out, and then I sit on one of the steps and pull her onto my lap. I impale her as she sits, my chest to her back, and I bounce her up and down with my hands under her ass. I reach around to thumb her clit, but I find I have to battle her own fingers for real estate there.
Eventually her fingers start to shove against her clit wildly and she moves up and down faster and faster. She seems to squeeze around me, and I give one of her nipples a good pinch as she starts to come.
She grabs her other nipple and finally lets go, and it’s tight enough as I try to keep thrusting up into her that her body leads mine into an orgasm of my own.
When we’re done, we’re panting, and my first thought is that I really don’t want to spend the night here. I wonder what Jarrod’s idle threats really meant and whether he knows this is where I ended up tonight. I wonder what sort of trouble I can actually get into by breaking the rules—something that sounds so forbidden that tonight should’ve been much more my style than it actually was.
I like Mel, but tonight just proved there’s nothing there.
She finally leads me up to her bedroom, a lavish and ostentatious room decorated in white and gold, where we sleep a while after a long and taxing day. It seems like just a few minutes when her phone starts ringing. Hal the driver is waiting in her driveway, and she shoos me out the door without much of a backwards glance.
I wonder who the real player in her game is—me or her. At first I thought it was me. Guys are stereotypically the dogs, right? But I’m starting to think I’m wrong about that.
