by Tess Oliver
“I think I can guess.”
“Really? I had no idea I was that transparent.”
“You’re not. I just sort of have you figured out already.” We walked down the corridor. I could hear noises from the set, sounds that were slowly becoming familiar to me, as we neared the room where the invites would be handed out.
Eliot held up one finger. “Linda. But that doesn’t take any special knowledge or clairvoyant skills. Stella, because of the lack of compassion when Linda looked so visibly sick.” She raised her brow in question.
“Two for two, so far.”
We were nearing the room with all the activity so she stopped. She brushed some invisible dust off my coat. “I was thinking Shyla because of the whole drinking thing but then I sensed that you felt a little sorry for her the other night. So I’m taking her off the exit list.” She peered up at me in question, and as she did, the curl fell over her forehead.
I reached up to brush it aside, but this time my fingers lingered longer than necessary. I trailed them across her skin and halfway down her cheek before I could stop myself.
Her long lashes fluttered in surprise. She released a breath as if she’d been holding it all along.
“You sure know me well,” I said, unable to pull my gaze from hers.
It took her a second to continue. “Olivia,” she said quietly as she stared up at me.
“Who?” A thick cloud of heat had suddenly formed around us, and it seemed neither of us could take a true breath or concentrate on the conversation.
Her phone beeped, startling us out of the moment. “I’ve got to get you on set.” She held up a third finger. “The lawyer. She’s going home too,” she said confidently.
“How did you know?”
“There wasn’t even the tiniest spark between you.”
“You are good.”
She turned to continue down the hallway. “Jackson will drive you back up to the house after the taping. I’m off to my other job.”
“You are?” I stopped her again. “I need you to be standing off camera. You’re my moral support. I hate the idea of having to send these women off. What if they cry? I don’t handle tears well.”
Her hand went to her hip and her mouth tilted in a wry grin. “Something tells me breaking off with a woman is not new to you. I’m sure you’ll get through it.”
“Wait,” I said, stopping our progress again, “you didn’t say the fourth name.”
“Didn’t I?” She counted on her fingers. Then her lips twisted in thought, and I couldn’t stop looking at them, concluding that they probably hadn’t been kissed nearly as often as they should have been.
Her big eyes peered up at me. “I’m not sure.”
“Then you’re four for four because I have no clue either.”
We continued on our path down the corridor. “That’s why I need you to be out there tonight. You could decide for me and put the name on a cue card.”
“Yes, I’m sure that would go over well with our wonderful director.”
The usual organized chaos met us as we stepped onto the finely furnished set where the filming would take place. Aside from the girl standing next to me, watching equipment and technical set up was about the only part of my reluctant adventure I found interesting.
Eliot stopped to check my tie.
I stared down at her, taking probably just a little too much pleasure in watching her very intense facial expression as she concentrated on her task.
“Sure wish you were going to be here tonight, El.”
She leaned back to check out the tie and nodded with approval. Then she smiled up at me. “I’ll be here in spirit. Now go break some hearts, big guy.”
Chapter 20
Eliot
Friday nights at Sparky’s tended to be extra boisterous, especially with the nine to five crowd. I patted my pocket, which was extra heavy with tip money. About the only person not giddy with delight at the prospect of a weekend off was the creepy looking man who had taken up the small corner table in Simone’s section. It was adjacent to the ladies’ restroom, and with the way he’d been leering at every woman who walked past, it seemed the table choice was strategic.
Simone raced toward me holding her empty tray against her almost like a shield. She placed it on the counter and, without asking, started helping me fill my tray. “Favor, my beautiful, perfect roommate.”
“Uh, I believe you already owe me.”
She leaned against the counter to face me. “Hear me out. See that quiet and odd-looking man with the gelled hair and eighties disco shirt sitting at the corner table?”
“You mean the one who licks his lips every time a woman walks out of the bathroom?”
“Yes.”
“Nope, I don’t see him.” I hopped up on my toes to reach the pile of napkins behind the counter.
“Pleeeze, Eli, you’re so much better at handling weirdos than me.”
“If that’s your attempt at flattery, Simone, then—” I looked over at the man. He had shifted forward to watch two women walk past in shorts. “Nope, I still don’t see him.”
“I’ll pay for all the groceries this week.”
Again, I glanced past her toward the corner table. “He seems to be keeping one hand under the table at all times.”
“Maybe he’s had a stroke.”
I rolled my eyes back to her. “Two weeks of groceries and the quarters for the laundry all month.”
“Deal. You’re a peach. And just to show you what a good sport I am, I’ll take that dark table at the back wall.”
I delivered the drinks on my tray and then with gritted teeth headed to the corner table. I dropped a napkin in front of him. The wavering lights from the sconces on the walls made the gel in his hair look like plastic.
He surveyed me from head to toe before dragging his hidden hand out from under the table. I had to push away visions of what he’d been doing with that hand as he fingered the napkin in front of him.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Simone floating through the bar without a care in the world. I’d been having a craving for steak and expensive gourmet ice cream, and I quickly decided, that since Simone was footing the grocery bill, this would be the perfect week to satisfy those cravings.
“What can I get you?”
His thickly gelled hair didn’t move as he looked up at me. It seemed he’d already had plenty to drink or smoke elsewhere, but with some effort, he managed to focus his unsteady gaze on me. Or more specifically, on my chest.
He squinted. “Eliot? What kind of name is Eliot?”
“Not sure. I didn’t actually pick it out. There’s a special two for one on dark ale. Can I interest you in that?”
“Well, blue eyes, I don’t like dark ale. A pitcher of the beer on tap. And why don’t you bring two glasses so you can sit down and share it with me.” His words were stretched and slightly slurred. He wasn’t more than thirty and beneath the gelled hair and gaudy shirt, he was a nice looking man. I was just about to start feeling sorry for him, thinking Simone and I had been too harsh in our judgment, when he leaned over and looked brazenly at my legs. “Well, sweetheart, how about that beer?”
“I’ll be right back with a pitcher . . . and one glass.”
Simone smiled sweetly at me as she headed my direction with a tray.
“I should have asked for a month of groceries,” I muttered from the side of my mouth as she shuffled past.
Chapter 21
Rafe
I stood in the front room finishing a third beer as I stared down at the city lights. Somewhere out there, people were moving freely about and having a fun Friday night on the town. I wondered which of the blue neon lights were lighting up the Sparky’s sign.
I’d fought a war in triple d
igit temperatures against an enemy who was as hard to pinpoint as Waldo in one of those fucking books, but nothing had prepared me for this dating show. Having to face all the women, with their expectant, nervous smiles and then having to send off three of them, and watch the disappointment, humiliation and hurt spread across their pretty faces was nothing short of torture. Olivia, the lawyer, probably handled it best of all. In fact, the withering look she gave me assured me she wasn’t going to break down into tears any time soon. I preferred her harsh, incredulous glare to the pouty, vibrating bottom lip and sniffles of Tanya, the woman who I’d decided at the last minute to send home mostly because when I’d gone through the list left for me by the writer, I couldn’t even remember who she was. I was pretty sure we hadn’t exchanged more than two words, but somehow she managed to look the most heartbroken as she walked forward to give me a good-bye hug.
A knock on the front door startled me. I hadn’t heard the buzzing of the outside security cameras or the footsteps on the front porch. I hurried to the door, hoping that Eliot had gotten off early and had decided to come back.
Peyton obviously sensed my disappointment as I opened the door, but she ignored my frown and brushed past me and into the house without waiting for an invite.
I closed the door and faced her. “Do you have some magical switch for the security cameras?”
She stuck her hands in her back pockets and pushed her cleavage forward. “No magical switch. Just Leo. He’s a friend of mine. I asked him to turn them off so I could walk over here unnoticed.”
“Leo, yeah, he’s a cool guy.” I walked toward the kitchen. “I was just about to open another beer. Would you like one?”
“I would.”
I hadn’t heard her light footsteps behind me just as I hadn’t heard them on the porch. I spun around with a beer in each hand and found her standing close enough to count the freckles on her nose. “You move like a ninja.”
“It’s a gift. Plus I took a lot of ballet classes when I was a kid.” She plucked the can from my hand.
“So what led you from ballerina to undercover actress on a reality show?”
“Money. I like it. Undercover actress pays more.” She shrugged. “I wasn’t good enough to make money on my toes.” Peyton took a drink of beer and made a show of licking her lips afterwards. It was obvious she wasn’t there for a casual visit.
I looked up at the house camera. It wasn’t blinking. Leo, it seemed, had covered all the bases.
“What can I do for you, Peyton?”
Her mouth tilted in a grin as she put the beer down on the counter and sashayed closer. “I think you know. That’s why I had Leo turn off the cameras.”
Something about Peyton had rubbed me wrong right from the start, and she had still not grown on me, even now as she made sure to lean hard against my cock. I was still not feeling it. My self-preservation instincts told me she was one to avoid and not just because she was on Doug’s payroll.
She reached up and trailed her fingers along the stubble on my jaw. “I asked Leo to help because you seem to be a little camera shy. I wanted you to feel completely at ease.”
She pressed harder against me. “I also wanted to assure you that even though I’m being paid on the side by the director, all is fair in love and war, if you know what I mean?”
“Actually, I don’t.” I stepped back and took another drink of beer.
Her grin straightened into a tight line for a second and then, actress that she was, she forced a smile again. “Just because Doug is paying me to keep some drama going and to make sure the silly women in that house don’t hurt each other, I’m still one of the contestants. I want to make sure you consider me as available and part of the competition.”
I nodded and decided to down the rest of my beer before responding. It had been a long day and sending three women home had grated on my conscience. But Peyton wasn’t like the other women. “Only one problem with that, Peyton.”
She blinked up at me in anticipation.
“If you weren’t on Doug’s payroll, I would have already sent you on your way.”
Her face tightened and the grim line of her mouth returned as her entire body tensed with rage. “Fine. No big deal. I get the money no matter what happens.”
“Great. I’m happy for you.” I waved toward the door.
“You’re an asshole.”
“Yep, I guess so. Good night, Peyton.” She stormed out and snapped the door shut behind her.
I walked to the window and watched as she marched back across the lawn. My eyes drifted up to the cameras, the eyes that kept watch over me in my stone tower. Being stuck in the house was bullshit. I would never say anything or give away any inner thoughts or deep secrets about what was happening with the show because I didn’t really give a damn.
“Yep, this is bullshit,” I said to the empty room before walking to the bedroom to get my shoes and wallet.
Chapter 22
Eliot
Simone came back to the bar counter looking even more sheepish than she had when she asked me to wait on the creep at the corner table. And he’d turned out to be even worse than he looked. I’d been working hard to ignore his lascivious gaze and comments all evening. I’d practically just thrown the last pitcher of beer in his lap in my haste to avoid standing near him too long. Something told me that after two hours of waiting on him, the only tip I was going to get was his phone number scribbled on a napkin.
“What now?” I asked, before Simone could jump into her plea.
“This time it’s not my fault. I was perfectly willing to serve the guy at the dark table in back, but he insisted he wanted you as his server.”
“That’s weird.” I glanced through the crowd to the dimly lit table in back. A tall figure wearing the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head and dark sunglasses was sitting hunched at the table as if he was trying to look small and invisible. “Oh my god, another weirdo. This isn’t fair, Simone. How do you know he wants me? Did he ask for me by name? I don’t even know him.”
“He said, and I quote, I want the server who keeps swiping at the stray curl on her forehead.” She waved her hand. “Or something like that.”
I raised a brow at her. “When you get a chance you might want to look up the meaning of the phrase, ‘I quote’. Fine. I’ll serve him, but you can expect our grocery cart to be filled with the finest and most exclusive delicacies the shelves of our supermarket have to offer. It’s been years since I’ve had filet mignon. Oh, and champagne, imported chocolate and strawberries sound like a good dessert to follow it.”
“Whatever. But this one’s not my fault.”
The crowd had thinned some as we headed toward closing. At least there was only an hour left of serving unsavory characters. And tomorrow, I had the day off. If I didn’t have hours of studying to go along with my Saturday, I would almost be excited about it.
The size, the hood and the dark glasses made this customer even scarier than the nincompoop at the corner table. Hair gel called out to me as I walked past his table to the back. “Hey, honey bunch, my pitcher is dry. Get that pretty ass over here with a new one.”
I waved at him to let him know I’d be right there. For the first time in my serving career, I seriously considered spitting in my customer’s drink.
Hair gel seemed to have caught the attention of my second weirdo customer with his pretty ass comment. Mr. Hood, a menacing giant, sat up straight to see past the wood post that stood in the line of vision between the two tables.
When would this night end? Or maybe I should have been asking how would this night end.
Even though Mr. Hood had on dark sunglasses and his face sat in the shadows of his jacket, I sensed that he was watching me as I walked toward the table. In the short journey across the gritty floor, I tried to recall where I’d seen th
e man before, but nothing came to mind. How the heck did he know about my curl? Then I reminded myself that I was constantly touching Jack the curl. It would be easy for anyone to notice. He obviously didn’t know me at all. He just noticed my quirky habit. Curse you, Jack.
Feeling a little more confident that I could blame the strange night completely on my curl and not my bad luck, I reached the table and dropped a napkin in front of him. “What can I get you?”
“A beer, and, eventually, a ride back to my tower.”
I froze and quickly replayed the voice in my head, trying to find a logical explanation for why I was hearing it. The burst of energy shooting through my veins was a mixture of disbelief coupled with adrenaline. I glanced quickly around wondering if anyone else from the studio had followed or come with him.
As he lifted his chin, it gave me a clearer view of his face. There was no mistaking the jaw and the straight nose. I don’t know how I could have missed the impossibly broad shoulders. Completely perplexed and stunned, I immediately set about breaking Ursula’s number one rule: never sit down with a customer.
Rafe scooted over as I slid onto the bench next to him. “Tell me I’m imagining this and you aren’t sitting here next to me. And tell me my boss doesn’t see me sitting here next to my imaginary customer because I will be in a shit load of trouble.”
“O.K. I’m imaginary. And if I recall, Ursula is a small, fast moving older lady with fiery red hair. You’re in luck. I don’t see her.”
I hopped back out of the booth before she came out of her office.
Rafe pushed his hood back some but not off his head. He pointed inside of it. “Thought the hair might be a dead giveaway.” He lifted his sunglasses an inch as he peered up at me from beneath the dark lenses. “How do you like my disguise? I’m pretending that I’m one of those big shot Hollywood superstars who doesn’t want to be seen. Although, I’ll bet I could walk through here with a sign that said bachelor and no one would notice or recognize me.”
