Walk of Shame

by Gregory, O. L.

  I smiled, gave him my best sultry look, and leaned over the center seat. He matched my grin and met me halfway. His fingers threaded into my hair, cupping the back of my head...

  "Water balling," I said when we came up for air, the restrictions of the seatbelts cutting us short.

  "What?"

  "That's what we're doing."

  "Yeah, but what is it?"

  I smiled. "Human hamster balls. They're inflated and you run them out over the water."

  "Wait, so we're literally going to be walking on water?"

  "In a manner of speaking."

  "Truly awesome."

  The water balling had to have been the most fun activity I'd done yet, since arriving. The only problem with it was that while we played with each other and our balls, we were in separate balls. We couldn't really speak to each other, and therefore couldn't really form any more of a bond with one another. So, after our time in the balls was done, I let him take me fishing in a little, secluded, shaded section of the same lake we'd been on.

  He rented the equipment and hauled it over. Then he baited my hook for me. All stuff I could have done for myself, but I was letting him do his whole southern gentleman thing.

  "Are you going to get the flopping fish off my hook when I catch them, too?" I asked.

  He smiled and said, "Yes, Ma'am," in his southern drawl.

  "What about skinning and filleting? Are you going to do that for me, too?"

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  I leaned over and nudged his shoulder with mine. "Shouldn't you be using this as an opportunity to see if I already possess those skills, as well as an immunity to the yuck factor involved?"

  He leaned down and pressed his lips to my ear. "I'll skin them. I'll gut them. All I care is that you're by my side while I'm doing it."

  Oh. My. God. I melted against him. I couldn't have cared less what he'd said. It was the accent said in a husky whisper against my ear. It's like he'd hit a raw nerve ending with his voice, but in a very, very good way. I held the pole with one hand and reached for him with the other.

  He let out a chuckle and wedged the handle of his pole under his thigh so he could reach for me with both hands. We spent a chunk of our rental time lip-locked with one another.

  He did skin and filet the one fish we'd managed to catch. And when we'd walked the equipment back up to the office, we found charcoal, a lighter, and a fish cooking kit with a small vial of oil and a small vial of spice blend.

  We went to one of the charcoal fire pits by the picnic pavilion and cooked our catch. We talked, laughed, and flirted shamelessly. He shared more with me about how the swamp really played a part in the livelihoods of all his family members. Not only did his sister make those pieces with a swamp flower preserved in resin, but his family also owned a portion of swampland. They gave educational tours, wildlife demonstrations, and lectures about the area.

  He kept himself tethered from there, returning between ecology gigs, to come back and share what he'd learned.

  "I was thinking," he said when we sat down to eat, "you asked me where we'd put the kids."

  "Yeah?"

  "Let's keep two fifth wheels. One of them we'll work in. I'll be in the kitchen area, you work in the living room, the bedroom can be extra storage in general, or even a laundry room. The other we can get one of those two-bedroom deals, and we'll live in that one."

  I think my eyes lit up a little. "You know, that could really work."

  I couldn't freaking keep my hands off him on the way back to the property. My hand was constantly on a shoulder, a hand, a thigh. I had enjoyed every moment of my time with him, and I was sorely tempted to invite him back to the cottage. But I'd had to stop myself from extending the offer, because I knew exactly what I'd end up wanting to do with him once I got him there.

  I was becoming convinced that I was slowly losing my mind along the way to total insanity.

  I heard the splash before I saw the man responsible for it. My eyes started searching in the dark as I came through the last of the overgrowth on the path. I saw the silhouette, but couldn't quite make out who it was. "Hiding out over here?" I asked, figuring it would be a valid, slightly flirtatious, question no matter which one it was.

  "No," Trevor said, swimming closer. "Just waiting to see you."

  I gave him a tentative smile. It bothered me that he was the one that had the mood swings and verbally lashed out at the other guys. I'd dropped the subject with the others, once I realized that they all had to hold the offender in some sort of respect in order to put up with it. There was also the idea that they had all stopped commenting on it, which I took to mean that whoever it was, was managing the problem.

  But, to find out that it was Trevor. The one that liked to hide in shadows and wait for me... I couldn't tell if he was just trying to steal time, or if he was in the habit of hanging around to see if I made it back to the cottage alone. Was he bending the rules to his advantage, or was he outright stalking? And if he was spying, was that his natural inclination - because that wasn't going to fly with me - or was it just old Army habits dying hard.

  The few times Mike had done it, had felt like old habits. But with Trevor, I just didn't know. On one hand, it almost felt stalker-ish. On the other hand, if he had been a part of special ops, like he'd hinted at, and if he didn't want me to know he was there, then I wouldn't. But that particular thought didn't make me feel any better. I mean, were there times he stalked and he didn't want me to know it?

  "You feeling better?" I asked.

  "Yeah, I just needed a break from it all. There're a lot of people to contend with in that house."

  "Yeah," I agreed. "It's a lot of different personalities trying to get along over there."

  "You up for a swim?" Trevor asked.

  "Yeah. Just give me a few minutes to change," I answered and went towards the door.

  I went upstairs in search of my swimsuit. I was completely thrown off by today's revelation. I didn't know if I could really be comfortable around Trevor now, or not.

  Maybe he was having a hard time transitioning from employee to cast member, which made it hard for me just to dismiss him. Completely changing your identity within an established group couldn't be easy. I had to wonder what his friends outside of the show would have to say about him and his actions. I guessed, if he kept easing his way into my heart, I'd spend a little extra time with his family and friends and get some answers from them about how he is away from all the cameras and competitors.

  I slipped into my suit and went back out to play in the pool for a while.

  He kept it light between us that night. He joked and carried on to the point that I was afraid my laughter would carry over to the main house and draw an audience.

  Maybe he was compensating for my finding out that he was the one having the mood swings. But maybe he was just continuing to try to show me another side to him. He'd been so conscious of showing me his work, telling me about his family, treating me well, and looking out for me. It was nice to see him relax and play a little. Maybe he was settling in and the stress of it was lessening for him.

  When he left that night, after a lingering goodbye, I decided that while I wouldn't be tossing him an article of white clothing over being in a bad mood from time to time, I would be keeping my eye on him.

  Friday

  Liam was working full force in the kitchen making eggs, bacon, home fries, and cutting fresh melon.

  "Damn," I said after I'd tasted the wonderful concoction of spices and veggies cooked into the scrambled eggs. "I need to start awarding bonus points for those who can cook."

  Mike's head perked up. "How many points?"

  I shrugged. "I might start ranking it right under how well I'm treated and how well your lifestyle melds with mine."

  "Well, shit, I'm screwed," Stephen muttered over his plate. "I can't cook. I keep two portable freezers filled with premade stuff."

  Phillip bounded down the stairs. "I'm ready when you are, Princes
s Emmaline."

  My smile turned full wattage. Phillip had started this bit a few days ago where he was holding my eyes longer with his, winking at me when the others weren't looking, and now the princess comment. Little flirtations made in the presence of the others. And damn, I thought it was hot. I liked his growing confidence. Others had their own way of staking their claim, whether it was by Trevor stealing nighttime conversations and a date, Mike and his morning runs, or Liam and his hot tub make out session. I'd figured cooking was Phillip's, but now he was upping his game.

  "It's a little early to be leaving," I answered. "But, I could send production scrambling to find us a round of mini-golf somewhere," I offered.

  "Sounds like a plan," he said with a smile.

  I pulled out my cell phone and sent a text.

  I tried to feel bad about my returning his flirting in front of the others by offering him an extra activity. But, as I hit the ball into the third hole of the course, I just couldn't find it in myself.

  While I'd wanted to be careful, to be respectful of everyone and not show favoritism at any other time than at the Walk of Shame, I also thought it only fair for them to see that they weren't the only ones getting flirted with. I didn't want any of them to think that they were the only ones I was stealing time with, or was letting time be stolen by.

  At some point here soon, I was going to be forced to let go of guys that I'd flirted with, kissed, and enjoyed stolen moments with. I didn't want them all shocked and shaken by it because they thought they were the only one, and therefore the favorite.

  "Damn," Phillip said as he swung towards the eighth hole.

  "What?"

  "This almost feels like a normal date."

  I smiled. "I know. That was the point. You've been domesticated before. I wanted to get a taste of normal, everyday downtime with you."

  He put the club down and stepped back. "You want to see how well wife number one trained me."

  "Of course. If she did a good job with you, she'll have saved me a ton of work."

  He shrugged, but there was a sparkle in his eyes. "I handled the kitchen. She cleaned the rest of the house."

  "Did she not know how to cook?"

  "She could cook, but she didn't like doing it. She said it was too much work for something that would be chewed up and flushed down the toilet, making it impossible to enjoy the accomplishment long-term."

  A soft quiet fell between us as we finished putting the hole.

  "Dishes, trash, and laundry," I declared as he took his first stroke towards the next hole.

  "What's that?"

  "The three banes of my adult existence. Dishes, trash, and laundry."

  "Why?"

  "Because, as soon as you're done with all three, they all start accumulating again. You eat a meal, change your clothes, or throw something away. It drives me crazy."

  "I'll do the dishes and take out the trash. You handle the laundry."

  I laughed. "That gets rid of two out of three. Sounds like a deal to me."

  We'd made it back to the car and were heading to our true date destination when he came out with, "You can thank my mother for the cooking."

  "How's that?" I asked.

  "She was a head chef back home. She had to fight tooth and nail for it, too. She spent all her time in the kitchen, working on different recipes. I used to go in and chop onions and babysit simmering pots for her all the time."

  "You two bonded in the kitchen."

  His face turned soft. "Yes."

  I burst out laughing.

  "What's funny?"

  "That's what I was hoping for tonight."

  He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "You want to bond with me?"

  I matched his naughty smile. "In the kitchen."

  His eyes swept over me. "I'll bond with you in any room you want."

  I maybe blushed a little before I realized the car had pulled into a parking spot.

  "Where are we?" he asked.

  "Grand Central Market. There are all kinds of food stalls and vendors here. We can sample some things for lunch, and buy ingredients for dinner."

  "And where are we going to be cooking this dinner?"

  "Back in my cottage."

  "Ah, I've cooked there before."

  "Yes, but this time I'll be cooking with you."

  Lunch was a delicious combination of items from three different vendors. We also decided to cook Mexican for dinner and spent the afternoon browsing for supplies.

  We carried our bags into the cottage while a cameraman walked through the doorway backwards in front of us. The sound guy opened the door for him, but the cameraman's feet tripped on the edge of the entryway carpet and he went down on his rear end.

  Our eyes widened, our mouths dropped open, and Phillip and I glanced at each other just before we busted out laughing.

  "Are you okay?" Phillip asked him between chuckles.

  "Yeah," the guy groaned as he stood and tried to straighten. "Oh... no... not fine," he said and grabbed at his lower back with his free hand and tried to maintain the balance of the camera on his shoulder.

  We quit laughing and Phillip lifted the camera from the guy's shoulder.

  The camera guy hit the floor again.

  Phillip turned towards the second camera crew that had been filming us from the side and called for a medic, knowing that other production members were watching from one of the trailers.

  My pocket buzzed with a text from Troy, 'OMW'.

  It took twenty minutes for the medics to get up to the cottage and decide that while nothing blatant appeared to be wrong with the cameraman, who was now up and gingerly walking around, he should probably go into the ER and get a couple x-rays taken. They got him cleared out and a replacement camera guy brought in. And once he was briefed on the general plan of the evening, we were allowed to continue with our date.

  The actual cooking portion of the evening breezed on by, with the two of us working quite well together. We made enough for the two camera crews and left it in the kitchen as we made our way to the dining table. We thought it only fair to feed them after them having to smell the wondrous food fumes that had been coming from the kitchen for the last hour and a half.

  "So," Phillip said, pouring the margaritas we'd made to go with our Mexican dishes, "I told you how I'd gotten my name."

  "Right. You're named for your Daddy's homeland."

  "Yes. So now you tell me where the name Emmaline came from."

  "Dad wanted to name me Emily. Mom wanted to name me Caroline. Emmaline was the compromise they came up with."

  "And we've all been calling you Emma for short, because Troy does. Is that what you generally go by?"

  "Em, Emmy, Emma, and Emmaline. My family has used them all and I just answer to it all. What about you? Does anybody call you Phil?"

  "Some people I've worked with have. But everyone in my family calls me Phillip. I don't really know why."

  And back and forth, we talked. Siblings, parents, best friends, and childhood antics. We were getting past the superficial, introductory stuff about our lives and finally digging deeper. We were learning about what actually made the other one tick, so to speak. It felt good.

  In many ways, I'd felt like a CD stuck on repeat. Sharing the same information and details about my life, over and over again. Now, I was getting to the point with the guys that I was sharing stories that directly pertained to the individual conversations, so each conversation went in its own direction and each set of stories I shared was different.

  The only problem was, as each guy pulled at different aspects of my life, my heart was pulled in just as many directions. And Phillip was pulling hard for his very own piece of it.

  We carried the dishes back into the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher. We packed up the leftovers and wiped down the counters. And then, he backed me against the cabinets and lifted me up to set me on the counter, to bring my mouth level with his. Then he drew forward, but dodged my mouth in favor of my earlobe
and neck.

  Good Lord, there was something about him and his approach that made me feel all warm and disgustingly gooey inside. Maybe this was why so many younger women fell for older men. Because, I have to tell you, if I fell for him, it was going to be a hard and fast happening.

  By the time his lips finally landed on mine, I was humming with slow moans.

  No kidding, this was turning into a sexually frustrating week.

  There was no way I would ever have sex with everyone that had put me on the verge of a frenzy this week. But the constant state of self-denial, because I was standing firm in my clothes-on policy, was wearing on me. And I couldn't tell if I was just hot to trot because I wasn't crossing the line with anybody, or because the producers had done such a good job in matching me up.

  Sunday

  The guys were given either red socks or black socks this week. They'd been laid on their beds by production just before they went up to their individual bedrooms to change. That way, each one didn't know who the other chosen ones were.

  No pink, no white. Either you'd made me melt this week, or you hadn't.

  And at this point, the guys were lined up in front of me and Troy was giving his weekly speech about how one of them was about to leave and I was now free to make my choices known.

  I smiled as Troy stepped back. "Gentlemen, the key is in your socks this time. My red men, please step forward. Phillip, Jared, Liam, and Mike."

  "Cut!" a high-ranking member of production stepped forward. "Cut, cut, cut. No. Everyone back to their places. Emmaline, one at a time, you know this. We can't edit this to build tension for the audience if you just bring half the group forward."

  I let out a disgusted sigh and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "But they already know they're staying. It's the other four left who need to look at each other and wonder who's leaving."

  He held a hand up at me. "Change rules if you want to. But the Walk of Shame is called the Walk of Shame for a reason. Some show traditions are sacred, and this is one of them." He tilted his head down and narrowed his eyes at me. "One at a time."

  "Oookaaay," I said.