Matched

by Angela Graham

  When my supportive friends take the hint and leave us, we’re alone—aside from a pestering cameraman who’s terrible at being incognito.

  Oakley finally speaks. “Look at me, Har.”

  I don’t. I can’t. Tears well up in my eyes, my stomach churning like I might actually vomit. But why? I have a man I trust, so what the hell is wrong with me?

  He moves to stand in front of me and ducks to my eye level. Worry outlines his own tortured emerald pools. “Baby, I didn’t do this—she picked me. What do you want me to do, call my agent and quit? ’Cause I will. Just please look at me.”

  “You’re not quitting a charity show, stop,” I whisper in broken defeat, inhaling a deep breath. “It’s fine. It’s just this place…these girls—”

  “Harlow, there’s always going to be girls around somewhere, especially in my profession. You have to trust me, or we won’t work.” He cups my cheeks. “I’m not gonna lie and say I’ve been a saint since we split. I haven’t. I’ve been with plenty of women the past couple years, but it’s just been about their looks and my fame. It’s why I came home for you.”

  His hold on my chin firms when I try to look away, and his face brightens in an easy smile. “I know you, Harlow. You’re my sweet girl—always taking care of me, watching my back, and putting me first in your life. I’ve always trusted you to do right by me, and I need you to do the same.”

  His words are honest, but unsettling nonetheless. He was my everything when we dated in high school, but now I’ve grown up and learned to be independent the past five years. His occasional visits home were always a nice surprise, but never lasted more than a weekend. I don’t know if I can put his every need before my own again. I don’t want to be in his shadow—I want to flourish as his equal.

  “I do trust you,” I say softly.

  His thumb brushes my bottom lip; he’s done begging me to look at him. “I need the exposure if I’m gonna keep my career alive. You have to understand that.” He kisses me modestly. “Tell me you do.”

  His career. Right. “Oakley, you’re an amazing player. You don’t need this show. But if it’s important to you…I’m here.”

  “I love you, Harlow—only you.”

  Nothing can break that—break us. I chant the mantra in my head. I can be what he needs—he’s worth it—but the idea of giving up the search of who I am is hard to swallow. I’m still in college, with plans for my future—ones that Oakley and I haven’t even discussed yet. Still, this isn’t the time or place to overthink it.

  Tonight, he’s going out with Nadia. And the bitch can try, but I trust him. So I smile, gradually but reassuringly. “Go. Be cordial, but do not let her touch you.” I churn inside, my veins pulsing with molten lava replacing the tears threatening to spill at the mere notion of her hands on him. “No hand-holding, touching your leg, dancing—nothing. It’ll air on TV one day, Oakley, and I’ll be watching.”

  “I swear to you, nothing even close to any of that will happen. Love my girl.”

  “Then prove it tonight, and don’t let me down. I know she’s gonna try to play you—manipulate you. Do me one favor, be smarter than her. Please.”

  “You know it.” He kisses my forehead and weaves his fingers through mine.

  Together, we head toward the house, my mask of unconcerned indifference firmly in place.

  Confessional: Harlow McWright

  “Hi. I’m finally doing this. I suddenly have plenty to say. I’m Harlow McWright, Oakley Abrams’ plus one—and only. We dated all throughout high school, and we’re together again now.

  “At first, I was excited about this trip and being here. But the second we landed and were pounced on by a bunch of people I’d never met, I kinda wanted to throw up. Then I met Jasmine and Callie and Emma…so now I just don’t know how to feel.

  “Nadia won today’s challenge and chose Oakley for her dream date tonight. I’m not sure if she likes Oakley, just wants to sleep with him, or simply gets off on torturing me. Whatever her reason, she wasted a pick, because Oakley and I are both onto her desperate games, and she’ll be sorely disappointed with tonight’s results. I’m 100 percent confident in Oakley, and our relationship. I know that man better than anyone, and the last thing he’d respond to is being a girl’s third, fourth, fifth conquest…I honestly can’t keep track, if you know what I mean.

  “But Oakley’s a gentleman, which is one of the reasons I love him, so he’ll go and be polite. And that’s it. I totally support his manners, and sense of commitment to…charity. Pun absolutely intended.

  “It was nice to meet you. I guess that’s about—um, a viewer question? Call me crazy, but no one’s viewed the show yet, right? Ah, gotcha. More games. Seems the viewers would like to know, ‘If Oakley turned out not to be your soulmate, whom do you think it would be?’

  “Well, this is just a silly question. Not only is the whole supposed system hogwash, but Oakley’s proven to be my soulmate day after day, year after year. Computers are fascinating little gadgets, no doubt, but nothing—nothing—trumps the validity of action.

  “Fine. Let me pretend to entertain the idea, just to play along. Let’s see…if I’m matched with Wyatt or Jensen, you’ve proven my point, your computers are bogus. Pretty sure it’s not Miles. I guess I’ll go with Peyton. He’s not dreadful looking…good hygiene, nice teeth…and he pays attention. Plans. Listens and records mentally, as do I.

  “There ya go. No? Oh, goody, another pre-viewer viewer question. ‘Why didn’t you say Cruz?’ Why didn’t I say Cruz what? ‘Do you think Cruz could be your soulmate?’ You’ve seen us interact—what do you think? We’re cordial, at best. No, Cruz and I butt heads constantly, and he’s moody, frumpy, and a little scary. I like a more positive vibe. No. No way Cruz and I possibly registered in your bullsh—no.

  “Or we did, and again, you’ve proven my point, complete poppycock.”

  Chapter 8

  It’s seven thirty when I exit the confessional booth and find Oakley leaning against the wall, waiting.

  “Hey baby. Wait, you’re smiling?”

  “I am.” I leave out the reason why, which is knowing Nadia will just love watching my confessional one day soon.

  And now, as I eye his outfit, my smile grows. He’s dressed in gym shorts and a T-shirt—not what he’d wear to take me on a romantic date—and his lack of effort ignites a flame of secure warmth within me.

  “Come outside with me for a minute?” he asks, offering me his hand, which I of course accept.

  Slowly, he leads us to the beach. Under the glow of Tiki torches and while my attention is fully engrossed in the view, I don’t so much notice but feel when he goes down on one knee, still holding my hand.

  I gulp as tears spring to my eyes, the end of my nose stinging.

  “Harlow, I’ve been in love with you since before I knew what love was. I saw my beautiful girl, cheering from the sidelines in her little skirt, and I was hooked. Every sack was for you—to make you proud to be mine. Tonight, I’m going on a boat ride and may eat a meal, but the last thing I’m doing is going on a date…because I only do that with you.”

  “Oh my God! You guys, come look, quick!” I hear Jasmine, or maybe Emma, scream from the house. But I pay it no more mind as I feel my heart about to burst out of my chest, each breath harder than the last.

  “Got this made for you. It’s just until we get home and I can search high and low to find one worthy of your finger.” From his pocket, he produces a braided circle of bamboo with one tiny shell in the middle, then pulls my left hand closer. “Harlow Collette McWright, will you give me more than I’ll ever deserve and marry me?”

  Those tears break free, flooding my cheeks. I taste them on my smile as my head bobs up and down.

  “Can I hear you say it, baby?”

  “Yes,” I giggle. “God, yes, Oakley. I’ll marry you.”

  He slides my island ring in place and leaps up, hoisting me into his arms and spinning us in circles while we kiss like it’s
the first time. We finally break apart and laugh together as we turn to our applauding audience. But too soon, I know our celebration’s short-lived, and I have to walk back inside as Nadia walks out.

  “Nice dress, bitch!” Callie screams at her. “Goes perfectly with his gym clothes. Don’t worry—we’ll celebrate with his fiancée until you get back!”

  “Congrats, girl!” Jasmine squeals as she hugs me. “Not sure which was better, that proposal, or the ass-chewing everyone gave Nadia.”

  “About tonight? Please. Won’t get her anywhere. In fact, I should thank her. Island beach proposal…not too shabby.” I giggle again. I can’t help myself.

  “No, everyone accused her of cheating the game. We already know you and Oakley are soulmates. She should be trying to figure out other people, or she’s robbing us all of the chance at information, you know?”

  “True.” I shrug. “Her match isn’t here, though…unless Satan arrived while I was busy getting engaged!”

  Hell yes! I break out into a happy little jig, with Jasmine joining in like any good gal pal would. Then we burst into laughter and make a beeline for the celebratory blender.

  I stop short, waiting for Oakley, but he’s already surrounded by some of the guys. His animation more than lets me know that he’s bragging and loving it.

  “Congrats,” in a low grumble catches my ear. I turn to find Cruz propped against the edge of the couch, his arms and ankles crossed.

  “Thank you. We’re gonna have a toastarita. Want one?”

  “Eh, what the hell?” He shrugs a shoulder. “Em, come on,” he calls her way. “Time to celebrate with half of the happy couple.” He tacks quietly on to the end, “Make her a virgarita.”

  It’s a good time, but I cut myself off after two drinks. I want to be lucid when Oakley returns, and am not finding the game of strip billiards that’s picked up appealing.

  Ivy’s a shark, still fully clothed. Losing on purpose, Wyatt’s down to…nothing. He’s apparently completely unashamed his flaccid dick is going to be a small blur on national television soon. Emma, of course, isn’t playing, and Jasmine and Jensen are on the back deck having a private conversation. So I decide to head up to bed and read until Oakley’s back.

  But my three new and wonderful leading ladies soon come running into my room, hot on my heels. Girl-dar is a powerful, mysterious gift.

  Callie’s voice is as boisterous as their entrance. “Why you trying to hide out? You’re engaged to the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in real life!”

  Jasmine and Emma gasp and shift in discomfort at her inadvertent declaration, but I just roll my eyes and laugh. She’s right—he’s beautiful.

  “Shit, did I say that out loud? Harlow, I’m—”

  “Right? Yes, you are. Me knows my man is purty.” I grin, making it clear that it’s all good. “I thought y’all were busy. How’d you know I came up here?”

  “Psh.” Jasmine waves off my question. “I wasn’t busy—just listening to Jensen. Trust me, I was looking for an out.”

  What’s this? Trouble in paradise?

  “Praise baby Jesus,” Callie groans, flopping down on the rug and making herself at home. She rolls onto her side and props her head up on one hand. “Jas, I love ya, but he’s a sleazy punk. He’s using you.”

  Not that I disagree, but baby-step convo maybe?

  “Don’t hold back, Callie. Tell me what you really think.” Jasmine forces a choppy snicker and lies down on her bed.

  “Sorry, just calling it like I see it. And I do mean see it.”

  Emma scoots closer, a little behind me, and my own discomfort feeds off hers.

  “Hey, you guys want some snacks? Beverages?” I ask, clearing my throat. “We could have a nice, happy girls’ night.”

  “I see where you’re going with this, but don’t feed the animals,” Emma mutters behind me. “And definitely don’t give them alcohol. Fuel to fire…bad plan.”

  “It’s fine, Emma,” Jasmine says. I glance back, and Emma and I share a silent How the heck did she hear that?

  “No fire, just talking. Callie, what’s that mean?” Jasmine asks, sitting up on the edge of her bed. “What’d you see?”

  Now Callie looks at me questioningly, seeking approval. Too late, sister. The can hath been opened, so own it.

  She reads my mind—or, more likely, my expression—and sighs before focusing back on Jasmine.

  “I’ve seen him around, with, well…not you. Several not-yous, actually.”

  I start in Jasmine’s direction, hug-ready, when the door flies open, startling us all.

  “Y’all seen—oh, hey Emma. What’re you doing?” In shocking news, he found her.

  “Oh no. Cruz!” she somehow manages to say straight-faced and calmly, though she’s looking around the room frantically. “Whew, close one. All the naked men toting drugs, alcohol, and hot sex on a platter hid just in the nick of time.” Still monotone—and freaking hilarious.

  He does not agree.

  “Funny, Em. Hysterical,” he snarls. “I was just checkin’ on ya.”

  “As you can see, I’m fine. We’re having girl time, so you have to get out of here. Shoo, scram, be gone.” She ushers him with flittering hands, advancing his way and ultimately backing him right out the door.

  “Sorry. He’s so…ugh.” She tugs at her hair. “Infuriating!”

  “I heard that!” he calls from the hallway.

  “Go away!” she yells through the door. “I never get girl time! Do not ruin this for me.”

  “I’ll sit at the top of the stairs, but that’s it, Emma. No one’s getting past me into that room.”

  “Deal,” she sulks in compromise and spins back our way. I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent even the slightest smile.

  “I can see how it’d get annoying sometimes—I totally do—but Em, it’s really sweet too. Your brother adores you. I think it’d be wonderful to be that important to someone,” Jasmine dreams aloud, her gaze far off and voice wistful.

  “Then demand it, Jasmine. People treat you exactly how you let them,” Callie barks. I cut narrowed eyes at her, thinking her quite the hypocrite.

  “What?” she asks. My answer is to exaggerate my eye roll and move to Jasmine’s side, wrapping my arms around her.

  “Harlow, what?” Callie persists. “Say it. I’m a big girl, I can take it.”

  “Nothing, drop it. Just quit pointing fingers. For every one you point at someone, there’s three aimed back at you.” I think that’s how the saying goes. “We’re all friends here. Let’s not act like the nasty bitches we try to avoid.”

  “Whoa!” Callie stands, holding her hands out defensively as she walks toward us. “I’m not trying to be nasty—I am your friend, and Jasmine’s. That’s why it pisses me off to see her being used. She deserves better than to be someone’s backup plan.”

  Jasmine inhales audibly, obviously pained by Callie’s too-frank words.

  I explode. “Callie, enough! Tough love doesn’t work for everyone. You need to ease up—and maybe have a look in the mirror while you’re at it.”

  “Okay, okay!” Emma jumps in. “Let’s all calm down. We’re friends, damn it! I finally get a solid piece of wood between me and my brother, and we are not spending it fighting!”

  Callie leans around her, smiling, though without much humor. “Who told you?”

  “Told who what?” Emma asks, but I know exactly whom Callie was talking to.

  “Told Harlow that I gave your brother a blowjob in the Great Room, on the couch, with my mouth.”

  “Jesus, Callie, GROSS!” Emma shoves her. “TMI! T. Damn. M. Puke. I. You really think I wanna hear about my brother’s rendezvous?” She shudders.

  “Is it just me, or did that sound like she was taking her turn in a game of Clue? ‘On the couch, with my mouth, in the Great Room.’ Next time, take him to the conservatory, with the…lead pipe!” Jasmine cuts in with barely contained laughter, then a snort, and that’s it—we all lose it, cackling l
ike breathless hyenas.

  When Emma recovers, she stills with realization. “I didn’t know you and Cruz had a thing.”

  I tense and wait for Callie’s reply.

  “We don’t,” she pops, taking a seat across from us on Miles’ bed. “Your brother wasn’t gonna say no and he understood my agenda, so he helped me out. Pretty cool of him, actually.”

  My jaw hangs slack; I’m too confused to form a question. Emma’s able, though. “He helped you by letting you give him a BJ—so generous of him, by the way—with what?”

  “My image. I’m looking to muck it up. My mother will finally completely lose her mind and my agent might fine me or quit, but I’m out of fucks to give. I wanna be bad.” She wiggles her eyebrows and does a cat paw-scratching thing. Just like that, we’re all cracking up again.

  “Me too! Sign me up for Girls Behaving Badly!” Emma squeals, catching us off guard. “You could knit sweaters with the cobwebs growing in my twang.”

  I literally roll off the bed, tears of all that is precious about having good girlfriends streaming down my cheeks, a happy stitch in my side.

  “Who ya got your eye on there, sexpot?” Jasmine asks between hysterics.

  “Court. She likes Court,” Callie answers, no trace of humor in her voice anymore.

  “Dude, you’re like I Spy—worse than Cruz!” Emma swats her arm. “Court’s nice, and so hot, but no make-a-point BJs planned for me quite yet. Thank you very much, nosy butt!”

  “Em…” I have to say it. “Your brother will never let it happen. I’d hate to see you get your hopes up. I—”

  “Have some weird effect on him? Yes, I’m aware.” She grins, an obvious plan behind her eyes—one that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. “Which is why you should be the leader of your three-woman, distract-Cruz operation.” She points to me, Callie, and then Jasmine. “Any interference you can run to give me some breathing room would be great. Pleeease?”

  And now I understand Cruz’s struggle. One puppy-dog-eyed, pooched-bottom-lip plea from precious Emma and you’re all in, despite your better judgment. I’m sure he’s deathly afraid she might use it on the wrong roommate, knowing it’ll work.