“I’m not giving him a blowjob, though,” I grumble.
“Bitch!” Callie laughs. “No more blowjobs. Geez, you suck one dick—hopefully on camera—and you get labeled.” She rolls her eyes dramatically.
“Um, weren’t you going for a new label?” I point out.
“Fuck yeah. See? It worked! But no more. And no more Jensen. Your pretty shit is on lock, Jasmine—from him, at least. So, we all clear ladies?”
She holds out her hand and invites a pact with a friendly smile. I clap my hand over hers, finally taking a deep breath of tranquility. I’m more than strong enough to survive this house with the power of four. Jasmine and Emma giggle and put their hands in. Callie counts us off.
“No random BJs, no Jensen junk, Cruz control, and screw those skanks. On three…one, two…”
We all yell “Three!” and throw up our hands.
About an hour later, after we’ve sat in a circle and sufficiently badmouthed every ho in the house, the door flies open so quickly we barely have time to flinch.
Oakley hoists me up onto my bed in one move, burying me under him. “Missed you, fiancée. And,” he says, hilarity in his cadence, “what’s-her-name absolutely hates me. Now give me those lips.” He snares them himself, lunging into my mouth. One hand sneaks under my shirt and pulls my bra cup aside, his finger and thumb rolling around my nipple.
He obviously missed the three other people in the room. Please let them have snuck out. Not that I’d stop him if they hadn’t, but it’d sure make facing them later less awkward.
Never mind. It doesn’t matter, because we’re crudely interrupted by a voice booming from the PA.
“We need everyone in the Great Room dressed for tonight’s Soul Search, please.”
Oakley groans but rights my bra, adjusts his erection, and helps me down. The room is empty aside from us. Hand in hand, we join the others. A fuming Nadia stands at the head of the Great Room beside Tom.
“Now that we’re all here…Nadia, have you decided whom you’ll be sending into the Soul Search tonight?” our host asks her nicely, wasting no time.
She crosses her arms and scoffs before grinding out venomously, “Oakley and Harlow.”
Yeah! I get to go home, plan my wedding, and be alone with my man whenever and wherever I want! I don’t need instructions—I sprint to get my safe while Oakley grabs his key.
But on my walk back, the strangest thing happens. I stop and look to Jasmine, who’s clearly wavering between happiness for me and sadness at watching me go. And Emma, also smiling in my joy yet obviously sad at losing a member of the coveted alliance. And then there’s Callie—one of a kind, whose left hand is giving me a thumbs up, her right flipping off Nadia.
You really don’t know a good thing until it’s gone. This house, the new experiences, new friends, branching outside my own self-imposed barriers…it’s a little bit good.
I never would’ve imagined.
“Baby? Come on, let’s do this.” Oakley shatters my trance, slinging a guiding arm around my shoulders. “You excited to see where they’re gonna send us, or just ready to go home?”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer, his smile contagious as he continues. “You’re probably excited to plan us a kickass wedding. Man, I can’t wait to see how you decorate our pad. And oh, damn!” His face somehow lights up even more. “Home cookin’. Been way too long. You still a great little cook, hm?”
“Huh?” He lost me at decorating our pad. Since I’ll be living with him, it makes sense, but I don’t have time to finish my degree and play Betty Homemaker.
I force a weary smile. “Sorry. I mean, yeah, I can still cook.” Not that I love to, but I will for him.
Oakley pulls me closer into his side. “That’s my girl.” He kisses the top of my head and I shake out of my daze, seeing we’ve somehow made our way back into the spotlight.
“First off, congratulations on the engagement, you two.” Tom claps Oakley on the shoulder, and we both thank him. “Okay, sir…unlock your soulmate’s safe.”
Oakley leans in and kisses me, then inserts the key. My heart drops before I even see his eyes do the same.
No, no, no.
“Turn the key over, babe,” I choke out.
“Yeah.” He exhales with new life, then tries it that way. Nothing.
I swear I can hear a pin drop somewhere in, say…Virginia.
“Tom, this my key?” Oakley asks shakily, despite seeing his name engraved on it.
Oakley shows it to him anyway, and the host actually looks sullen and nods his head.
“I’m sorry, you two. Our computers did not find you to be soulmates. This means no one leaves the house, and the prize for the next challenge goes down to $40,000.”
The safe drops to the floor; several people flinch from the loud, abrupt clang. Oakley grabs me and kisses my hair, whispering to me that it changes nothing—that he loves me, and that it’s just a game.
A heinous cackle bites through the suffocating room and I turn toward the satisfied sound of Nadia. “Guess you should’ve tasted bare pussy I showed you tonight?”
I don’t lunge for her, or even say a word. Instead, I muster the energy to move my feet and head to my bed, oblivious to what Callie and Jasmine are screaming at the slut right now.
Oakley Abrams, my fiancé, is not my soulmate. And all the world—tuned in every week, on whatever night, at whatever time—will soon know it.
Confessional: Peyton Price
“Hello, out there. I’m Peyton Price. I’m thrilled to be a part of Date, Mate, Fate, and have the chance to earn lots of money for well-deserving charities. I was asked to bring a plus one, and the lovely and talented Ivy Malone agreed to join me here in Seychelles. She also happens to be my costar in the upcoming romantic comedy Always Was, which I hope you have a chance to get out and see.
“I’m having a great time being here with the beautiful scenery, unbelievable hospitality, and excellent cast. It’s truly an honor to be included in such a worthy cause. And I think I’m getting closer to having things figured out…I just need to win a main challenge or two to test out my theories.
“I have to admit…Harlow and Oakley not being a match threw me a curveball and I had to go back to my data and move some things around. But I’ve always loved puzzles and analytical games, so I’ll get it eventually. Every day, something or someone gives me another piece of information.
“Oh, looks like I have a couple questions here to answer. It’d be my pleasure. ‘Have you figured out your match, and if so, who is it?’ I’d love to tell you, but that wouldn’t be quite fair to those who love a surprise, now would it? So please keep watching to see how things unfold.
“‘Do you and Ivy have any off-screen chemistry, and could she be your match?’ It would be an enormous compliment if Ivy Malone were to end up being my match. She’s gorgeous, as you all know, as well as kind, considerate, and easy to get along with. As for the chemistry? I have no doubt our scenes together in Always Was will answer that question.
“That’s it for now. Thank you all for tuning in each week, and I’ll see you again soon.”
Chapter 9
I’m lying in my bunk, staring at the ceiling and twirling my bamboo engagement ring around my finger, when Oakley walks in. My roommates were considerate enough to stay out and the cameraman on his heels should’ve thought about doing the same, because I can see Oakley’s enormous frame tremble as he grits out a lethal warning to the man.
And seemingly out of nowhere, as is his MO, Adam appears, ordering the man to leave us alone. Hm…maybe he’s not all evilness and drama ops.
“Anyone opens this door or turns on one camera in this room, and I will beat them within an inch of their life. You think I’m kidding? Try me,” Oakley spits.
But Adam doesn’t so much as blink. Instead, he turns his attention to me and asks, “You okay in here, Harlow?”
I nod quickly. Oakley would die before hurting me, no matter how angry he was, but i
t’s nice to see Adam might be hiding a semblance of a heart in there somewhere.
Oakley slams the door in his face and pivots to me, his mournful eyes finding my own cried-out ones. Our gazes remain locked as he stays put, taking several deep, calming breaths.
I need him to say the right thing, words to heal the doubt this show is spreading over my heart, more than I’ve ever needed anything in my life. I’ve watched him leave me once, come back, offer glimpses of how great we can be, propose…and now there’s a heavy ache in my chest I can’t avoid. All the doubts I’ve been ignoring are crashing down around me.
My adamancy about this show’s premise being bullshit feels way too real and personal all of a sudden. Oakley’s my only—my everything. I don’t know how to date, break up, or move on to anyone else. And I don’t want to learn.
“Scoot over, baby,” he whispers, yanking off his shirt and shorts. He climbs up into my bed in only his boxer briefs, pulling the covers up over us both.
“This bed’s gonna collapse. Might crush poor Miles in his sleep.” I sigh against his chest, where my head now rests, his arms around me.
“He’ll find somewhere else to sleep tonight. They all will. And if the bed breaks, it breaks. I couldn’t give less of a shit.”
We lie in silence as he strokes my hair, both wishing the other would say something first. Finally, I break before my heart does. I need answers.
“What now?”
“Now…” His voice is smooth and calm, but there’s something behind it—something alarming. “We pick off those motherfuckers as fast as possible and get the hell out of here. So what if we have to partner up with other people to win? This changes nothing between you and me, Harlow. I barely know how to send an e-mail—you think I’m gonna let a computer tell me I haven’t loved you for years and want to marry you tomorrow?”
“The right thing,” I murmur, an escaped thought. I knew he’d say it.
“Hm?” he asks, lifting my chin to look into my eyes.
“Nothing.” I shake my head and smile, the weight of a thousand years lifting. “I love you too, so much, and I can’t wait to marry you.” I kiss him and swallow his groan, accepting his command as he moves me to my back and lays a bearable, remedying amount of his weight on top of me.
“I don’t want you hurting because a computer fucked up. And if you think about it, this is actually a good thing, baby. It means we’re here longer.”
I cower. “How is that good?”
He traps me still under his weight and his lips trail up to my ear, whispering, “The more airtime, the better. And I get to watch you in those bikinis every day.”
“Right,” I reply in an attempt to play off my brewing irritation.
“I need you,” he rasps, inching up my shirt as he slides down my body, his tongue slinking along the flesh he uncovers. “Me and you, baby.”
I want him too, and need him just as much. But emotionally, one thing’s still bothering me—especially if it’s why he’s feeling frisky.
“Wait.” I push against his head, forcing him to look up at me. “Did she—”
“No.” He laughs. “I was waiting for you to ask.” His finger skims my waist. “You held out a while. Impressive, baby.”
My brows scrunch together. “Then why—”
“That girl’s trying to get your goat, Harlow. She’s jealous,” he starts, looking me over adoringly, “that you’re you and she’s nothing even close. Didn’t happen. She showed me zilch; we barely spoke. Now…” He returns to lavishing my stomach, creeping higher with each lick. “You, I wanna see a lot of.”
I barely hold down a couple small bites of breakfast. My stomach is one big, tense knot, despite an evening of lovemaking. Try as I may, I can’t block out where we are—and regardless of what the computer says, once doubt is planted, it eats at you. It shifts mentalities, and the harder you ignore it, the louder its voice becomes. Part of me wants to beg him to leave the show, but I won’t do that to him. His fans adore him, and so do I.
And I won’t do that to me. I’m not a quitter, in a challenge or on my friends. We have to see this through to the end.
But still, my anxiety’s in overdrive—a minefield of potential tripwires waiting for me to make the wrong move. Skanky vultures are circling, waiting for their “ins” with my man, my mind…and my temper, if they don’t watch it.
And like every other morning, it’s game time. My discontent deepens, Oakley at my side and the sand under my feet providing no relief. Even the usually dazzling ocean in front of us has sadly lost its luster. My mind’s racing with questions. How will this challenge play out? Can Oakley and I still team up and send others home, or is that against the rules? Will everyone else protest? Will anyone even care?
We’re about to find out.
“Good morning! How’s everyone doing?” Tom pitches an impish, uncaring smile. “Harlow, Oakley—you both okay?”
“Never better.” Oakley projects his never-failing confidence, raising our joined hands to his mouth to kiss mine.
“Hm, this should be interesting,” Tom drawls. Which really means, “Viewers will eat up watching your miserable struggle unfold.”
“Well, today’s mini challenge—‘I’m Quite Fondle You’—is going to tell us how everyone’s really feeling. The seven ladies will be up first in this one. The seven men? Donned only in underwear—yes, our commandos we given a brand-new pair—they’ll be lined up side by side and blindfolded. Using only their hands, and blindfolded as well, the ladies will try to figure out which body belongs to whom, whispering their guesses to our helpful crewmember beside them to record their answers.”
My face flushes, as does the rest of my body, while everyone around me seems intrigued and pumped.
“Then we’ll switch it up,” Tom continues. “The guys will get their turn on the girls, who’ll be wearing bikinis. The only rules are no direct touching between the legs of the opposite sex, and breasts can only be gauged with a fingertip outline. No handfuls, gentlemen.”
I know it’s Wyatt I hear pouting without even looking. Such a pig. A sexy one, but a lost cause.
“If you break a rule, not only are you disqualified, but you’ll cost the main bank a fine of $10,000 from charitable funds. So keep it clean.
“The winning male and female, each with the most correct identifications, will win $5,000 for their individual accounts, and the luxury item, which today is their own private parasailing excursion! But that’s not all; we’ve decided to up the ante. Today’s winners will also be picking the pairings for the next main challenge!”
He pauses while we all applaud automatically, process what he said, then taper off with meager, worried golf claps of realization. He shimmies his hands together in excitement, thriving on our unease. Rat bastard.
“Let’s get started, shall we? Ladies, they’ll be coming around to blindfold you; men, strip down to your underwear, please, and follow Rudy to get lined up and blindfolded. Good luck, everyone!”
“Any hands go where they shouldn’t, you scream,” Oakley snaps in my ear on his way by. “I’ll handle it from there.”
I don’t need that directive any more than Emma needs the lecture I see her getting from Cruz out of the corner of my eye. I’ll scream, all right—after I slap the shit out of someone, and no doubt Emma will do the same. I mean, I enjoy being coveted and protected as much as the next girl…until I’m mistaken for being helpless.
“How are you?” Jasmine asks, slipping to my side as Callie flanks my other. “Sorry I didn’t catch up with you this morning.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, not ready to look at either of them.
“It’s just a bullshit computer,” Callie placates, rubbing my shoulder. “Don’t let it get to you, Harlow. You and Oakley know what’s real. That’s what matters.”
But do we? Oakley rarely talks about what I want in life, or my career, and until now I’ve been fine with that. It felt so good having him back. There’s a lot of comfort in
what’s familiar, but it doesn’t mean it still fits.
With a shaky sigh, I lift my head to look at them. “That’s the thing, though. Oakley and I fell in love so young that by the time we were old enough to really explore the world together as adults, he left to play ball.”
“But he came back,” Jasmine chimes in with so much hope its tangible.
“Yeah…but maybe not to the same girl, as the same boy. Five years is a long time apart. And now…what if…if—”
“No!” Callie slices in, gripping both my shoulders. “Look at me! Stop that fucking brain of yours from spinning out on this shit! You got a good man who loves you and wants to be with only you. Most of the guys in this house have already fooled around with at least one of the girls here, and Oakley only makes time for you. Enjoy that. Who the hell knows when it might end? But that’s the chance you take in relationships. So the only question you have to answer is whether he’s worth the risk. That never goes away, by the way, no matter who the man is. You get a new car, you still carry insurance.”
“Sorry, ladies—blindfolds.” A crewman appears, but someone must speak in his earpiece because he stops cold and nods his head, uttering a soft, “Sorry” before scurrying off.
I glance to Jasmine; her stare is pinned on Adam. He’s off on the sand bank, watching us, looking pissed as his eyes cut to the interrupting crewman. The poor guy, looking pitiful, makes his way over to Adam. I actually feel bad for him when the tongue-lashing begins. I’m assuming he’s in trouble for ruining what would be considered a juicy scene. If so, Adam sucks.
“Ignore these people and cameras and ask yourself—” Callie tries to finish, but there’s no need.
“Yeah, he’s worth it,” I answer, smiling because it’s the one thing I know to be true.
Always looking out for me, Callie gives me a hug. Jasmine does the same, whispering, “Adam looks good when he’s pissed.”
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