Matched

by Angela Graham

  Um, yeah…who dug through my stuff to find a pair of my panties?

  Blushing with wild embarrassment, I take the pen and clipboard with a sheet numbered 1 through 8 on it from a crew guy before stepping into the line the girls have formed. The men are on the other side, overly eager and ready.

  I can’t believe this is an actual challenge. My mother might watch this show! And my hometown friends Paige and Viv will definitely be glued to their TVs for every episode, laughing their butts off at my discomfort. I’m sure of it.

  “The clock starts when the sheets drop. You have ten minutes, and you can’t use the same name twice. Good luck! And…drop the sheets!” Tom yells.

  Well, I know I’ll get at least one right, since the purple boxer briefs on pin five belong to Oakley. I bought them for him because, oddly, he loves purple. Slots number two and eight are empty? I look on the ground, thinking they’ve fallen, but no.

  And then it hits me, two men here go commando. All the time, not one pair—really? And number three wears a fluorescent-pink banana hammock? Not as bad as stud seven, though, which is holding a pair of tighty-whiteys. Didn’t realize they still made those.

  For the hell of it, I take a gander at the girls’ line. Oh, lovely. Not only are mine number one, but they chose to display, to fifteen strangers and anyone watching on national television, my plaid Catholic-schoolgirl hipsters! Even more shocking—a girl here also goes commando. No panties of any kind are on slot eight!

  I am so not the right person for this show.

  “Two minutes!” Tom warns, so I just starting filling in names kind of like Christmas-treeing at the end of a test, which leaves me with:

  Jensen – gray CK boxer briefs

  Cruz – commando

  Peyton – pink banana sling

  Court – navy bikini briefs

  Oakley – purple boxer briefs

  Dalton – red silk boxers

  Miles – tighty-whiteys

  Wyatt – also free-balling it

  “Time!” Tom yells, and the clipboards are gathered from us quickly. Across the way, Oakley mouths to me, Were you number six? I look—it’s a sheer white lace G-string! Is he insane? I shake my head no, narrowing my eyes at him in disgusted disappointment.

  They start with the girls.

  “Number one belonged to…Harlow! Who guessed correctly?” Tom asks as my entirety breaks out in fevered mortification. Oakley’s eyes bulge and a heated smirk curls his lips but his hand stays down, unlike three others’—Miles, Jensen, and Cruz. Two of them are my roommates, which means they were probably going through my stuff!

  The list goes on, revealing whose was whose and the guys raising their hands if they got it right. Points go beside their names on the board. Finally, it’s announced who the sheer G-string belongs to.

  “Number six is Anya,” Tom declares.

  “It’s Emma!” Cruz shouts back, shaking his head in a slow, menacing rage.

  “Damn, dude, your sister has fine-ass taste in panties,” Jensen cracks.

  In a blink, Cruz is a foot away and his arms are out, milliseconds from ripping Jensen’s head off. It takes both Oakley and Court to hold him back, and it looks to be a hell of a job.

  Oakley’s laughing, holding one side of Cruz while Court tries to talk him down. Somehow it works, but Cruz holds out his finger to Jensen with a deadly expression and warns, “You so much as look at my sister, and you’re a fucking dead man!”

  Jensen’s hands fly up in surrender, but he’s still grinning. “Sorry, man. My bad.”

  Cruz turns an angry scowl to Tom, who simply says, “Your sister asked me personally to refer to her by her middle name. I was only obliging.” He looks almost nervous, despite the security guards creeping forward.

  “She shouldn’t have done that,” says Cruz. “Right, Emma?”

  Her head lowers, cheeks flushing as she nods.

  Cruz doesn’t let up, though. “My sister seems to think Emma isn’t a good-enough name—not womanly enough. Anyone here agree with that?”

  There’s a long pause before Court speaks up. “I think Emma’s a lot sexier, darlin’.”

  Emma peeks up, biting her lip to fight a smile.

  Cruz doesn’t give him crap for the comment, thank God. “There. Now tell our host and everyone else here what to call you or I swear to God, Em, we’ll be on a plane tonight.”

  The bleakness on Emma’s face when she raises her head is heartbreaking. Her brother’s coming off like nothing more than a big bully by being so concerned with something as silly as a name—although a somewhat endearing bully with the softening look he gives her. I know that makes no sense—she’s twenty-one, and it’s her life—but it’s a little sweet at the same time.

  “I prefer to go by Emma.” Her voice is as broken as her spirit, eyes trained at the ground. “Anya was also my grandmother’s name. I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

  “No problem, Emma,” Tom says, ever professional and chipper. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

  And he does, going through the rest of the answers as if a bomb hadn’t detonated moments earlier. All he saw was a ratings spike; I could almost see the dollar signs in his eyes.

  “And with six out of eight correct, Miles wins for the men.”

  By the way—Ivy Malone, the red-carpet picture of pristine, is Miss No Panties. I had my money on Nadia.

  Next, we learn what the guys have going on. I’m not shocked at how badly I did, but I’m astounded at who went with which pair (or lack thereof). The perfect list would’ve been:

  Cruz – gray CK boxer briefs

  Court – commando

  Miles – pink thingie

  Peyton – navy boxer briefs

  Oakley – purple boxer briefs

  Dalton – red silk boxers

  Wyatt – tighty-whiteys

  Jensen – commando

  I only get two correct. Jasmine wins with six, and I’m thrilled for her. After a horrid morning, she deserves some fine dining. Also, by the end of the game, Emma is back to her carefree self, having made retching noises when Cruz’s style was announced.

  “Well done, everyone! Miles, Jasmine, $5,000 will go into each of your stashes, and the car will be here at seven to take you to dinner. The rest of you? Do as you will until tomorrow, when you’ll meet for your first main challenge!”

  And with that, Tom bids us farewell and we all begin to go our separate ways.

  Oakley darts to the clothesline, snatches my undies, and starts swaggering back toward me with a feral look of want in his eyes. “Why haven’t I ever seen these?” he asks, twirling them on the end of his pointer finger.

  “No one has.” I roll my eyes and snag them from him. “They came with my Halloween costume last year, and you were gone playing. They’re comfy.”

  He gets right in my ear, the tip of his tongue tracing the inside. “Ten minutes. Put ’em on and meet me in the Lovin’ Lounge.” He swats my ass, and I yelp. “Want you, Har.”

  I make a mad dash to the house and straight into the bathroom. I slip into them, already feeling the smooth cotton dampen with the arousal of my anticipation. After putting my clothes back on over them, I exit the bathroom and head toward the lounge.

  It’s locked. Can’t a girl catch a break?

  Confessional: Court Callahan

  “Hey, I’m Court Callahan. I’m twenty-six, single, and here for my charity and a good time. Guess that’s ‘bout it. I’m easy.

  “Nope, not it. Apparently they’ve got questions for me to answer. ‘Did you have a threesome with your brother and Jasmine last night?’ Damn, y’all get right to it, huh? There’s cameras, so I’m sure you already know the answer, but I guess I’m expected to play along.

  “I’ll say two things, and that’s all I’m gonna say. No, I did not have sex with anyone last night, and Jasmine didn’t have sex with anyone, either—not in my room, at least.

  “‘Any early favorites?’ Hell, who knows? Takes more’n two days to
even begin to figure out a woman. They’re all pretty cute. The couple cutest of ’em are off limits from what I’ve gathered, though, so we’ll see.

  “Last one. Good. ‘What’d you think of Cruz’s outburst today?’ Shit, why y’all tryin’ to get me involved in everything? The dude’s lookin’ out for his little sister. Can’t fault him for that. Then again, probably shouldn’t have brought her here if you’re that protective of her. Jensen’s a douche, though, so I’d have probably already kicked his ass just for bein’ her roommate if it was my sister.

  “Guess we’ll see about that one too.”

  Chapter 4

  “Hey, Harlow.”

  Peyton, resident movie star, comes up behind me, a knowing grin on his face. “You seen Ivy anywhere?”

  “No,” I reply, directing my flushed face to the ground.

  “Who’s in there?”

  I don’t have to look up to know where he means. I shrug my shoulders about the same time Oakley joins us. “Why are you outside the room, babe?”

  “It’s taken,” I mutter, preferring we not discuss this in front of Peyton.

  “Oh, you have got to be shittin’ me!” he roars, raking his hands through his short brown hair. “Come on.” He grabs my hand and drags me toward his room. The only occupant is Callie, who smiles and exits immediately, not needing to be asked.

  “Oakley, the door doesn’t lock. W-what if someone walks in?” I stammer.

  But his shirt’s already over his head and being tossed to the floor. “They won’t.”

  He advances. Both hands hoist me up by the ass, and my needy legs wrap around his waist. His mouth sucks and licks up my neck as he walks us to his bed and lays me down gently, covering me with his own massive frame of pure muscle.

  I close my eyes and try to lose myself in the feeling of his scorching mouth on my skin, his large hands roaming my body that’s only ever been his, the weight of him on me…but I can’t. I’m acutely aware of every sound in the huge house except his husky panting in my ear.

  Someone in the kitchen just turned on the blender. Wyatt’s setting up some game and is asking Court to help him find a table. Cruz is griping at Emma for flirting. And Callie knows every word to the song coming from the stereo she just turned on by the pool.

  “Harlow, baby, relax for me,” Oakley coaxes, slipping a hand up the leg of my shorts and into my panties. “No one’s coming in. Please, I need you—gonna explode if I can’t have you.”

  I refocus on him and raise my head to find his lips, kissing him deeply enough to drown my anxiety as he slides a finger inside me. I gasp into his mouth and arch my back.

  “There you go. Get wet for me, baby girl. Nice and slick…show me you want me,” he rumbles. It works like a charm, and I grow wetter. “Hmmm,” he hums into the skin of my neck, rubbing his massive erection harder against me.

  “Flip cup by the pool in five!” Wyatt yells, banging on the door. Instantly, I go stiff and dry, squirming out from under Oakley.

  “Fuck him, Harlow.” He grabs me. “We don’t have to play. Now come ’ere.”

  “I can’t. I’m not comfortable, Oakley. They all know what we’re doing, and there’s cameras in here, and…” My eyes flicker to every corner of the room where glass domes are mounted, and I gasp.

  “Okay, baby, okay.” He holds me, rubbing my back. “I hear you.”

  “Don’t be mad,” I whisper.

  “Never.” He kisses my head. “We’ll have our time, when I’m all you’ll notice.” I nod into his chest, soaking up the comfort of his embrace. “So, you any good at flip cup?” He laughs.

  “Never played.”

  “Come on.” He stands. “I’ll still pick you for my team.”

  Flip cup becomes my new favorite game after round two. Side note of great importance, I’m amazing at it—definitely the best to ever play. Somehow, it turned into strip cup after a while, but I’ve yet to lose. And my eyes won’t focus enough to see anyone’s naked anything, so it’s all good. All I see is my cup. And the drunker I get, the more impressive I get. Go figure.

  The only two not playing—besides Miles and Jasmine, of course—are Cruz and Emma. Cruz has been in the pool all night, and not because of its gorgeous rock walls, waterfalls, and multicolored lights. No, he’s there because Emma’s out here, watching the game in a cloud of longing despair.

  When Oakley calls time to “take a leak” and almost all the guys need to do the same, the alcohol buzzing through me calls time for a Cruz chewing.

  “Harlow, don’t,” Emma whispers when she sees where I’m heading, but my blood-alcohol level knows she doesn’t mean it, so I keep going.

  “Hey!” I stand in front of him and glare down, my hands on hips.

  He tilts his head back casually and looks up at me, but says nothing.

  “You could’ve brought anyone in the whole world. Why’d you bring her?” I snarl.

  “She wanted to come,” he deadpans.

  “And why do you think she wanted to come, hm? I bet it was to have fun. Don’t you?”

  “She is having fun.”

  “The fuck!” I yell. Wow. I’m not just drunk—I’m shouty-f-bomb plastered. “You won’t let her do shit! And you, all sulky, ‘Look at my sexy back, ’cause I’m too good to play.’ Lighten up—at least on her!”

  “Harlow!” Oakley barks from across the yard. My head jerks up, and I see two of him. “Get your ass over here, woman. You’re drunk, and that shit’s none of your business.”

  “Hop to it, Harlow.” Cruz smirks mischievously when I sling daggers back down at him, one brow raising. “You’re being summoned.”

  I look over, ready to drunk-tongue-whip Oakley too, and somehow actually notice Emma’s gone. “Where’s Emma?” I bellow.

  “Bed,” Oakley answers.

  “Shit,” Cruz grumbles as he pushes himself out of the water.

  “Me too, then!” I declare, stomping past them all.

  I plan to head straight to bed, but not before I stop at Emma’s door and knock.

  “Emma?”

  “Come in, it’s just me,” she answers.

  I creep inside, suddenly feeling like my good intentions missed the mark and I went too far. She’s on her bottom bunk, making it easy for me to just invite myself in beside her.

  “I’m sorry, Em. I was only trying to help. It’d be a waste to spend your time here miserable.” I wrap an arm around her. “But I was out of line. Plus, I think I might be drunk, so you have to forgive me. It’s a rule.”

  This gets a laugh out of her, which lightens my heart. “I’m not mad at you. I actually really appreciate it. I’m not mad at Cruz, either. I knew he’d be like this, but I begged him to bring me anyway. It’s just the way he is.”

  “Why?”

  “Big-brother thing.” She snickers, though only slightly. “He means well.”

  “Want me to punch him?”

  “No!” She howls with laughter. “Do you even know how to punch?”

  I wrinkle my nose in thought. “Nope. But now’s the time to learn. If he hits me back, at least I won’t feel it.”

  “He’d never hit you back…ever,” she says solemnly.

  “Want me to sleep in here with you?”

  “Nah, I’m pretty tired. Gonna go to sleep.” She lies back and positions her pillow under her head. “Go to bed, drunky. And thanks again.”

  “Night, Emma Anya.”

  I blow her a kiss and teeter my way out the door. In the hallway, leaned back against the railing with his ankles and arms both crossed, is Cruz.

  “Uh,” I say, glancing around, “hey?”

  “Hey.” He smiles, catching me further off guard. “Come on, I’ll help you.”

  “Where’s—”

  “Outside, partying.” He slings my arm around his neck and his own around my waist. Did I mention he smells perfect? All male—no cologne.

  “I’m right here, baby.” Oakley appears in our path, and Cruz tenses for a second before relea
sing me into his arms.

  Thanks, I mouth to Cruz before letting my head fall onto Oakley’s chest, exhaustion setting in.

  “Let’s get you to bed,” Oakley says, lifting me up and cradling me in his arms. He carries me down the hall and whispers, “I’ve been missing your sweet pussy, but I’m guessing tonight’s not the night, huh?”

  “Sleepy,” is all I can muster.

  Oakley chuckles, the rumbling in his chest shaking me awake a little.

  “Shit,” he says, stopping dead in his tracks.

  I lift my heavy head to find we’re standing in my room, a few feet away from Jasmine’s bed—where Jensen’s face is buried between her legs. Her hands are in his hair, begging him for more. They’re both unaware they’re not alone.

  “Our bad,” Oakley says, spinning us in the other direction.

  “Oh, God, sorry!” I hear Jasmine gasp, but Oakley’s already in the hall, leading us to his room.

  Jensen and Jasmine? I get she’s in love with him, but seriously? Does she need me to recite to her the definition of ‘being used’? The whole thing is a buzzkill. She deserves so much better.

  “You’re with me tonight, baby,” Oakley says sweetly before depositing me on his bed and sliding in beside me, where he belongs.

  At some point during the night, I wake on Oakley’s floor with a sore back to rival my throbbing head. Thank God he’s a bottom-bunker, because falling from the top might’ve required an actual doctor’s visit.

  I stand slowly and smile at Oakley, who’s sound asleep in the tiny twin bed, his massive frame hogging every inch of it. The fact that he thought he could hold me all night in his arms and share that space is laughable. I haven’t the faintest idea how long I’ve been in here, but hopefully it’s been enough time for Jensen and Jasmine to get their fill so I can sleep in my own bed without extracurricular entertainment.