Walk of Shame

by Gregory, O. L.

  "And?"

  "And, oh my God, he's still towards the top of the list. He's sweet, he's considerate, and it doesn't matter if he's diving or crossing a moving boat on the ocean, there's a sexy confidence in everything he does."

  "All right, so, it sounded like you were spending some time with the entire group this evening, any impressions or revelations from that?"

  "Yeah. Phillip can cook, is always cooking. It's like he saw a need within the house and is filling it. I love eating over there. But it's not all about the food, that's just part of the package. And Drake is the most considerate of me. He made my favorite drink for me and then winked at me as though he knew. But Mack, he just seemed like he wasn't interested in spending any kind of time with me at all. And if that's his attitude, then he doesn't need to stay."

  "Anybody kiss you yet?"

  "No," I said with a frown.

  "So, here's the real question. Who do you want to pull you into a room and kiss you?"

  A slow smile spread across my face. "Phillip... Jared... No, Phillip."

  She let out half a laugh. "Are you sure?"

  "You're asking me impossible questions."

  Saturday

  I slept hard again and got up before anyone from the camera crew had arrived, and threw on some workout clothes and sneakers. Venturing outside, I kept my head down as I made my way over to the closest point on the track. I could only hope that if anyone saw me, they'd take my body language as a cue to leave me alone for just a little while.

  I was almost used to the cameras, almost. But right now, I just wanted to run. I wanted some uninterrupted time to clear my head and get it on straight. I was sending guys home tomorrow. After some of the things Chloe had said last night, I was trying to make sure I wasn't going to send someone home when I haven't given them a fair chance. At the same time, I didn't want to keep someone for superficial reasons.

  This brought me to thoughts of Stephan. Between his cologne and the intensity of his eyes, I felt like a warm, giggly, blathering idiot. Worse, I freaking loved the idea of his photography job. What I didn't know about him was whether he was truly a good man, a loyal man, a family man.

  I finished my run, purposely oblivious to whoever on the property might be watching, and walked back up to the house, stretched to cool down, and got in the shower. When I finished, I put on my robe, opened the bathroom door, rounded the corner, and ran smack into Troy.

  "I heard about your conversation with Chloe. Sounds like you're settling into some rankings," he said as I stepped back and gathered myself.

  I had to remind myself that my phone was tapped and the recording was active when calls came in from certain people. "Yeah."

  "Good. Now, my next question is whether you want to continue with the color-coded flowers. We've been keeping some on hand, but you haven't seemed to need them."

  "I haven't. They can stop buying them," I said as I sat down at the vanity to let the hair and makeup artist work her magic. This one's name was Lorraine, and she liked to try out neat braids she found on YouTube videos.

  I glanced up in the mirror and saw that Troy was using it to stare at me. "What?" I asked.

  "It's just that production liked the idea of it. You know, any way to make this season different from others and keep it fresh for the viewers is a good thing."

  "You want color-coding guys to be my thing?"

  "Not me, production."

  "They're not going to carry flowers around."

  "Well, yeah, but if you'd just let production know what colors you've assigned to whom, they'd handle it."

  I sighed and thought back to my conversation with Chloe. "Phillip and Jared, red. Mike and Drake, pink. Mack gets white."

  "Is that set in stone?"

  "It's never a thing that's meant to be set in stone. It can change at any given time. Tell production to think of it as intrigue."

  "Do you have any issues for me?"

  "Yeah, if I could continue to exercise outside in the morning and have the cameramen wait until I get back to the house before bugging me, like they did this morning, that would be awesome."

  "As long as your workouts remain boring, that shouldn't be a problem. Besides, it allows the overnight crew to let the morning shift guys sleep and relax until they see movement. Then they can send out the wake up calls and have time to get themselves ready."

  "Cool. I'll try and have my workouts outside much more often."

  He nodded and turned. "Fifteen minutes," Troy called over his shoulder on his way out the door.

  The makeup artist groaned, secured the end of a braid, took another look at the clothing that wardrobe had lay out on the bed, and grabbed her palette of lipsticks.

  Omelets were on the menu when I arrived in the house. A barstool was abandoned and offered, and a plate appeared before me. I took a bite and sighed. "Phillip, I am never disappointed."

  He shrugged and finished peeling a banana before handing it to me. "I can't take the credit this morning."

  I took a more scrutinizing look around and realized Liam was manning the stove this time. "Just so you know," I told Liam, "mistaking this for Phillip's cooking is high praise."

  "That's a bit of a stretch in your effort to cover your mistake," he replied in his delicious accent, "but I'll take it as a compliment."

  Stephen rounded the corner and entered the kitchen wearing casual clothing and a smile that quickly put me at ease. He slid onto a barstool next to me, "How bad are you going to beat me up today? Because, rumor has it that Mitch still has bruises from the Mudrun."

  I raised an eyebrow at Mitch, who just shrugged.

  I looked back at Stephan. "Depends on how the landings go."

  "Have either of you ever been skydiving before?" the instructor asked.

  Stephen and I both nodded.

  "Excellent, you've both just made my morning easier."

  I was sitting there, getting the rundown on the process and procedures of indoor skydiving, but all I kept thinking about was how freaking good the man next to me smelled. Maybe I should take him to a forest, wait for my allergies to kick in and get good and stuffed up, then try to have an intelligent conversation with the man. And, if he didn't make it to the end, I really needed to have production find out what he uses and buy the guy I do end up with at least a half-dozen or so cases of the stuff.

  As I watched Stephen go first, I thought back to the photos and video clips in his photography portfolio that production had given to me on a flash drive the morning after I'd met them all. There were a couple that sure looked like a skydive in reverse, used to demonstrate how large structures seemed to get smaller and smaller the further away from it you got.

  I took a turn next, followed by one flight where we both went together. We were back in the car and being driven away not long after.

  "Where are we off to next?" Stephen asked.

  "The house. That's all I had planned for today."

  His face fell a little. "Oh."

  "I'm joking. I didn't make you wait to go last, just to give you the shortest date. Now we go out and get up in the air for real."

  "We're jumping?"

  "No, just flying."

  "Where to?"

  "You'll see."

  He landed his eyes on mine in response to my non-specific answers, gave me a flirty smile, and my knees got a little weak. By the time we reached the helicopter pad, I'd finally gotten away from wanting to go all shy and giggly around him to wanting to put myself in his lap.

  He looked out at the chopper. "At least now I can pretty much bet you're not whisking me out of the country."

  "Scenic tour up the coast."

  It's hard to carry on a conversation during a helicopter flight. So, it mainly consisted of comments about the coastal features. But when we landed, we were driven to an Italian restaurant, and then seated on a patio that sat just above a rocky shore.

  "So, where do you stay when you go home to visit family?" he asked.

  "With
my parents."

  "What about your rig?"

  "My parents have a large driveway, I back it in and take it to the far end, the cars get parked off to the side. How about you?"

  "I have an apartment above my parent's garage. The rig goes to a storage lot nearby."

  I gave him a knowing smile. "Your Mom has a problem with your living out on the road, too?"

  He laughed. "She says I'll never find someone who'll marry me if I can't even commit to a home."

  I rolled my eyes. "You have committed to a home."

  "That's what I tell her. She says a house on wheels is cheating. A home sits on land and is part of a town."

  "She sounds like she isn't any closer to getting it than my Mom is. What about your Dad?"

  "He keeps threatening to leave her and join me. He's only joking, but if something ever happens to my mother, I'm going to have to get something with two bedrooms."

  I laughed. "My Dad did join me once, took two weeks off to get a taste of what I was doing. And my sister came out with me a few times during breaks from school and summers."

  He excused himself to go to the restroom, but I saw that he used the time to go speak to one of the production guys. I didn't know what he said, but a ripple went through the team. He'd definitely stirred them up.

  I looked at him with amused eyes when he came back to sit down.

  "What?" he asked. "You're not the only one with a surprise up their sleeve."

  When we returned to the helicopter, he went up and shook hands with the pilot. They talked for a few moments, and then the pilot handed over his headset and Stephen put it on. "Come on," he called out. "You and I are sitting in the front this time."

  "You're a pilot," I stammered out.

  "A helicopter pilot, yes. I can also fly small craft like bush planes. It's a skill that comes in handy with what I do."

  "Damn, you just keep getting better and better."

  Stephen flew us back down the coast and the cameraman had to deal with only filming us from behind. He'd never thought to bring a dash cam because he never imagined that he'd be behind us.

  We were in the rear of the vehicle, on our way back to the compound, when he pinned me with his eyes and leaned toward me. "I'm about to break an agreement the guys all have."

  I inched closer to him. "What agreement is that?"

  "The one where we all agreed to keep our hands off you until you'd narrowed the field down a bit and could keep us all straight."

  I smiled in realization. "Oh my God, that explains so much. I was wondering why I wasn't getting any action from anybody."

  He grinned. "We didn't want you kissing someone, have them be a bad kisser, or there be no spark, and then you getting the guys mixed up and ditching the wrong one."

  "Well, I've got everyone's names down. And I know enough about who I like and don't like to know that you're not going anywhere tomorrow night. And..." I unbuckled my belt and reached over to pin his wrists down at his sides, then leaned over him and whispered, "there's no reason for your hands to have to touch me."

  He grinned as he leaned forward, his lips touched mine, and we kissed. My hands ended up gripping his wrists, and I ended up back in my seat with him leaning over me before we were done.

  Sunday

  "Is Stephen getting a color?" Troy asked the next morning.

  I grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge that they kept out on the small patio, by my pool, and took a drink as I fanned myself, trying to cool down after my run. "Yeah, red."

  "All right. I know I'm down here a little earlier than we talked about. I just wanted to let you know that the cameras are going to lay low until this evening. Unless someone starts doing something interesting, then they'll come running."

  "Okay," I said as I sat on a reclining patio chair and closed my eyes against the sun's rays. I could still feel him standing over me. I squinted up at him. "What?"

  "You're supposed to let two of the guys go tonight."

  I made a face. "Yeah, I know."

  "Are you clear on who is leaving?"

  "No."

  He sat in the chair next to mine. "Well, we know Mack is leaving, right?"

  I nodded. "I'm just not sure who else I'm sending home."

  "Well, it's still early. And once we get you down to ten, it's just going to be a matter of eliminating one a week. But, maybe you keep an extra one this week and you kick two out next week."

  I shook my head. "It's not that I'm truly interested in all eleven of the others. It's that there are three of the eleven I could ditch and not bat an eye."

  "Is it that you've gotten to know them, know there's nothing there, and can let them leave, positive you're making the right choices? Or that you haven't had enough time to make a connection and the others are blindsiding you with how quickly they work?"

  I looked at him as my mind mulled it over for a few seconds. "I don't know."

  "Well think about it today. I'd hate for you to get rid of the right guy just because he was a little overwhelmed with all the guys and cameras in the first week. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  "Well, I'm off. But if you want to talk more, text me."

  "Yep." He started to walk away. "Hey," I called out.

  He spun back around. "Yeah?"

  "Can someone get Goldie to the tennis courts?"

  "Yeah." He pulled out his phone. "I'll have someone get her there in the next couple of minutes."

  "Thanks."

  Troy left and I stood and grabbed my water and headed down the hill to the courts. I reached into their storage trunk down there and grabbed a racket and basket of balls.

  Goldie let out a whine when she spotted me and came barreling towards me. I had to wonder how much longer I could keep her ownership a secret from the guys, before she pinpointed where I was staying and moved in with me where she belonged.

  I spent an hour using a racket to dribble a ball a few times to get Goldie's attention before I hit it against the racket ball board. It would bounce off, and she'd catch it on the rebound, then take off across the court with it. I'd pick up another ball and start dribbling. She'd run back to me and wait for the next one to hit the board.

  The whole time, I kept rolling the three guys' names around in my mind, trying to remember our interactions from the week.

  Liam, Ardent, Mack, and Mitch all showed up, looking to play a game to pass some time. I was fully intent on leaving them be and excusing myself, letting them have the free time to catch a break from the whole overwhelming process. But they insisted I join them. I was questioning how five were going to play. But Mack quietly excused himself and made his way back up the house.

  "He's pretty sure he's leaving tonight," Liam said from his spot on my side of the net as I continued to stare after Mack's retreating back.

  I turned back around and took the empty spot on the court. "He's got good instincts," I said with a shrug in my voice.

  The guys exchanged a look between them as a cameraman tried to blend in with the trees on the far side of the court. It wasn't working, but I appreciated his effort.

  "Anyone else thinking they're out the door?" I asked.

  Ardent chuckled. "No one who already has their bags packed like Mack does."

  "Anybody making life in the main house miserable?" I asked, wondering if they could make my decision any easier.

  Another look traveled around the court as the guys all looked at each other.

  "Who?" I asked.

  "It's not that he makes it miserable up there," Ardent said.

  "Then what is it?" I asked.

  "We don't know," Mitch said. "It's like he has mood swings, or something."

  My eyebrows drew together as I looked at the group. "How bad?"

  Mitch shrugged. "It's not like he gets violent. Little things get to him and he starts yelling."

  "And he knows he's doing it," Ardent added. "Once he hears himself, he separates himself from the group and disappears into another room. Producti
on opened up another bedroom and they let him sleep in there."

  I looked at each one of them, my expression serious, "Who?"

  No one answered me.

  I just continued to stand there, waiting.

  "We don't want to be accused of influencing you, unless it gets bad," Liam said.

  "Why?"

  "Because," Mitch said, "we actually think he's a decent guy."

  "All right," I said. "But, if he gets violent or verbally abusive, I want to know who, sooner rather than later. I don't want to get attached to someone who's just going to turn abusive once the cameras stop and we get back to real life, deal?"

  "Deal," they echoed.

  Troy led me into the room we were filming the Walk of Shame in. "Wow, you spent the week torturing these guys and they still clean up nice," he said as he walked me over to place me on mark, across from the risers.

  "That's because the suits cover all their bruises," I quipped. Once I took my place, I looked up at the group and noticed something that had me fighting the urge to burst out into laughter. I tried to cover it, but it didn't work. "Who dressed you guys?"

  "They had a patriotic photo shoot for some promo shots earlier. Production chose the outfits." And then Troy turned just enough towards me so that the guys couldn't see him wink at me.

  That's when I did a double take to see who was wearing what. Four wore blue shirts, two pale blue, one white, two rose pink, and three wore red. Production had gone ahead and ditched the flower idea, and had replaced it with shirts. I had to wonder how many of the guys, in their symmetrical placement upon the risers, had caught on to the joke being played on them.

  I tried to school my features, the cameras were rolling and this was the formal part of the show.

  "All right," Troy said as he clasped his hands together and let them fall down to his sides. "Let's get this portion of the evening underway. Emmaline will make her selections. If you wish to accept her invitation to stay another week and get to know her more, please make your way to stand along the side wall. If you choose not to stay, please say your goodbyes and make your exit. If Emma does not call your name and doesn't choose you, please, say your goodbyes and make the Walk of Shame past the lineup." He turned to me. "Emma, are you prepared to say goodbye to two gentlemen tonight?"