Matched

by Angela Graham

  I pull back, laughing, but keep my voice low. “Thank God!” I exhale, earning me two pairs of bugged-out eyes. I laugh more loudly and explain. “Sorry, it’s just…I was beginning to think you really weren’t able to notice any guy other than Jensen!”

  Her head drops. Damn it, why did I mention that jerk? We’d hashed it out with our pact. No need to revisit, Harlow!

  “I love him,” she chokes out. “I know I shouldn’t, and maybe it’s not even love, but Jensen’s always looked out for me in the business. I depended on him for so long…it’s hard to just shut those feelings off.”

  “You deserve better, sweetie,” Callie tells her gentler than last time, and I nod in agreement. “And you got us now. We’ll look out for you—promise.”

  Jasmine gives us a smile, but it barely reaches her eyes. “He’s not all bad. Just—”

  “Please don’t make excuses for him. I’m begging you,” Callie says, her patience slipping.

  A change of mood is desperately needed, so I turn to Adam—filming rules be damned—and shout, “Jasmine needs some water!”

  Adam’s brows knit together. He’s probably wondering why I’m asking him, but his attention focuses quickly on Jasmine and he’s out of his chair. And although he orders an intern to bring a bottle over, it’s clear in his tender expression he definitely has more of a heart than Jensen. I can only hope Jasmine picks up on that fact, too. She needs to spend more time around men away from sets.

  “Adam may be hot, but definitely too bossy and completely unavailable, considering he’s behind the camera,” Callie says. “You need to trade up from Jensen to Peyton. Or maybe Cruz? Give some of these guys a shot.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” is all Jasmine murmurs as the water arrives, with the re-entrusted crewman holding bandanas.

  Cruz? I mouth to Callie.

  “Yes!” She laughs, speaking right out loud. “I told you there’s nothing between us. But he’d make a real good something with someone else.

  I stand, literally blind, while the other girls are picked in random order to take their turns. I wonder who’s touching Oakley…where, how…and does he like it? Does he know my touch well enough to realize he hasn’t felt it yet?

  I’m tapped on the shoulder—the indication it’s my turn, since our names aren’t being announced—then led by the elbow to the row of guys. My senses are heightened; I can smell man—not necessarily in a good or bad way, but definitely inches from my face. I already know number one isn’t Oakley. Or Cruz, or Miles. I do room with them.

  My hands tremble slightly as they raise and move forward, coming in contact with a firm but hairy chest. Easy—only one of these in the house.

  I raise my hand and feel the assigned recorder lean inward immediately.

  “Peyton,” I whisper, and am then guided to the right.

  I start to raise my hand again, but drop it instantly and say quietly, “Miles.” He always smells like coconuts—always.

  Another step to the right, and I have a clue from the fast-paced breathing but need a touch to be sure. I reach forward tentatively and step closer, sliding my hands up the chest—nothing recognizable—to the shoulders. Way too big for whom I was thinking, but maybe he’s tricking me somehow, or puffed and rigid with nervousness. I guess Jensen, grimace, and move on. Immediately, I smile.

  “Oakley,” I whisper—to him, not the recorder—and step flush against him, running my hungry hands over every inch of him. I breathe him in as I rub closer, making sure he feels that my nipples know it’s him.

  “Bye, babe.” I blow in his ear, give my official answer, and go to number five.

  I sniff, thinking maybe it’s Court, but I haven’t gotten a real insider tip on him. Gonna touch a bit and guess. He has a very nice torso and pecs, but that could be several who are left. Nothing about the broad muscular shoulders tips me off, and I refuse to reach around to test the ass. Hands, maybe? I run mine down firm, corded arms, and on my descent, I feel the scar.

  “Cruz,” I answer, pulling my hands back quickly.

  I’m done; that’s enough groping of other men for me. So I simply step, say “Court,” then step again and answer, “Wyatt.” I know I got at least four right. Those are good odds.

  When the last girl is finished, our blindfolds are removed. I indeed got four right. My last two shots in the dark didn’t pan out; Court, whom I thought was Jensen, was way early. Oakley’s grinning at me, still happy with my exploration of him, and Callie’s bouncing up and down before Tom even announces that she won with all seven correct!

  It’s time to switch places. The boys pull their trunks or shorts back on, and we all cross paths. Oakley snares me.

  “Only four. Good girl. And thank you for mine,” he hums in my ear.

  “Did anyone touch your…you know?” I leer, and he laughs.

  “Sorry, baby. One did touch my ass, but I didn’t flex. Promise.”

  I meant his junk, but was also kidding—a penalty would’ve been called if someone had touched him there. But it’s nice to know someone perused his ass. After a quick kiss, we part.

  When the guys’ turns start, it’s clear some of the ladies must’ve sent the wrong message—because I was far more respectful with my touching than some of these cretins!

  And, blinded again, I’m nothing but scared. I can’t describe anything other than what’s being done to me, and I feel violated. Number one is Miles, who gives me a soft, quick, single touch. Nowhere bad. Two, I’m not sure, but he’s not a total asshole. Three? Wyatt, taking full advantage of the “asses allowed” stipulation and needing to outline the entirety of each breast twice! Guy four is a gentleman—and smart. He’s analyzing my face, especially my nose. Why didn’t I think of that?

  Five is Oakley; I can tell by the way my body reacts the minute he’s near. But I’m more than sure when he latches his pinky with mine, then leans in to rumble a sexy, “My turn” before teasing every spot he knows I love and can get away with touching. He digs both hands into my ass cheeks and finally trails one finger down my quivering tummy.

  With two left, I only know they’re not Oakley, Miles, or Wyatt. Guy six is considerate, focusing on my hair—and feet. Weird.

  Seven is the one who throws me the most, and has me dying to know his identity. The recorder speaks and instructs me to smile, which I find odd, but do. And then, one calloused finger strokes over my dimple methodically. I only have one, on the left side of my mouth, and he traces it with delicate care…and that’s it. No other touch anywhere. He’s done.

  A few minutes pass, then Tom announces that we can all remove our blindfolds. Of course, the guys are jumbled—moving around, high-fiving, etc.—so I still don’t know who number seven was.

  And, in the most predictable announcement ever, Wyatt wins. How could he not? His turn was more intrusive than decent foreplay!

  “Congratulations, Callie and Wyatt—$5,000 for your individual charities! Be ready in one hour for your day of parasailing. The rest of you, do as you will.” Tom’s mic comes off, and we all head back to the house.

  I head directly for the shower, wanting to wash the feeling of four pairs of hands off me; Oakley’s, Miles’, and Dimple Guy’s are the only ones that didn’t make my skin crawl.

  “All good, baby?” Oakley asks as we walk in together.

  “Yeah, all good.” I stop and stretch up on my toes to press a kiss to his lips before scampering into the bathroom, leaving him at the door to stand guard since I’m already feeling intruded upon enough.

  When I’m dried off and dressed, I rejoin Oakley and we follow the aroma of seafood to the kitchen for lunch. Luckily, there are other things to eat, considering I’m not a fan.

  With Callie gone, we eat at the table with Jasmine, Jensen, Court, and Emma. Cruz is on a stool at the bar, encumbering my view of the attack I hear coming before I see it.

  “You two really think ve’re all going to sit and let you team up to mess up game? There’s fourteen people here who left careers
that vant to vin too, yes?”

  I swear, even from way over here I can feel spittle flying from Nadia’s spiteful tantrum.

  “Nadia, why don’t—”

  I place my hand on Oakley’s arm to stop him, ready to—needing to—do this myself.

  “Nadia, the way I understand the game to be played—and please correct me if I’m wrong—is that you don’t want people to know your match and send you home. Oakley and I? Not a ‘match.’” I air-quote the last word. “Remember? So what’s it matter if we team up? Why not use all that anger in the challenges and beat us—send us in with other people?”

  Her mouth hangs open while she fails to find a snazzy comeback in her too-big-for-her-body head, and everyone else applauds. It’s not her best look—or moment.

  “Oh, and Nadia?” I continue. “You’re a beautiful girl.” Except for the whole head thing. “So why are you so mean, threatened, insecure…whatever it is? No matter what the computer says, Oakley will still choose me when this is over. Why not be a little nicer and find someone who chooses you?”

  Oakley kisses my cheek, and Jasmine gives me a smile of approval. Court, mouthful of food and all, points his fork at me and says, “That, right there, is why he chooses her. It’s called class. Get some.”

  “Ha!” she jeers. “Says guy who just had his dick in someone’s mouth!”

  “No, bitch.” He swallows, and his next sentence is crystal clear and biting. “Comin’ from the guy who knows a real woman when he sees one. Now walk the fuck out of here and tone down the jealousy or the mouth—either one, you pick.”

  Nadia’s raging gaze darts to me, and I do nothing but smile, shoving in a forkful of food. I watch her eyes roll right before she rushes out of the room.

  Once my plate is empty, I rise and announce I’m taking a nap loudly enough to hopefully encourage others—namely, my roommates—to keep it down, and Oakley to keep it in his pants. I need an actual nap.

  Confessional: Ivy Malone

  “As you already know, I’m Ivy Malone, star of the upcoming release Always Was! I’m thrilled to be here. I’m playing for Plastic Prayers, a wonderful charity helping with the medical bills, rehabilitation, and corrective surgeries for victims of plastic surgery gone wrong. You too can make a difference by visiting www.plasticprayers.com.

  “So, I bet you’re all wondering what it’s like here. Well, I’m stuck in room Uranus—not a cute name, and the jokes are getting old and lame, Wyatt. It’s just Callie and Oakley in there with me now that Dalton’s gone, and honestly I don’t see why we can’t sleep where we want. What’s it matter? Everybody bed hops anyway. ‘Rules are rules’ is the only answer we get on the subject, so whatever.

  “I know if you’ve been tuning in every week, the answer you really want to know is who I think my soulmate is, right? Okay, since the cameras never let up, you probably saw Wyatt and I had some fun. I mean…he’s super hot and very giving, but I’m fully aware how obnoxious he is. Then there’s Jensen, who’s even more generous, but come on—he produces porn. Totally not my soulmate. I’d like to visit with a certain cowboy, but not in his room. He’s in with his brother. Awkward.

  “Anyway, I’m glad I’m here, and Peyton has been really cool. As far as him being my soulmate…who knows? He’s a joy to work with, an excellent actor, and a great friend. But honestly, I seriously think it’s Court that’s my match. He has the best body and personality in the entire house, and neither Nadia nor Rachel called dibs.

  “Ugh, Nadia and her Oakley fascination. She’d change her mind if she had to room with him; he’s up all night talking about his feelings with Callie. So not attractive.

  “Can you hear that? They’re yelling my name. I’ll see you later—and don’t forget to check out Always Was, in theaters soon!”

  Chapter 10

  A nap? In a house packed to the double digits with loud, competitive men and horny, shameless tarts who live to cheer them on? What was I thinking?

  I climb down from my bunk, griping and name-calling under my breath. You’d think I’d be immune to the atmosphere in the house by now, but I’m not. I make a quick detour to the bathroom to freshen up before going to see what’s so damned sensational we need neighboring islands to hear about it.

  The scene I halt to take in at the glass door rivals Project X. It’s hard to tell right away, but I think everyone—minus Callie and Wyatt, who are out parasailing—is by or in the pool. Music is playing from the speakers, and cups and liquor bottles are strewn about—some of both floating in the pool. And two pairs of naked buoys are bobbing on the surface of the water. Yes, Rachel and Nadia have both somehow lost the top halves of their bikinis.

  “Looks like fun, huh?” Emma says from behind me. I jump, startled.

  “Not even a little bit, Em.” I spin around. “It’ll all be preserved on TV soon. Can you imagine?”

  “Yes,” she sighs wistfully, gazing past my shoulder with dream-filled eyes. “Let’s go out there. Please, Harlow, just for a minute.”

  “Where’s your brother?” I’m more shocked he’s not glued to her than I am by the circus out back.

  “Listen,” she giggles, cupping her ear, “don’t you hear all the banging and clanging? He’s in the kitchen, looking for something to eat. He’s a bear when he gets hungry.”

  “So he’s hungry a lot then?” I smile and grab her hand. “Come on. Five minutes.”

  Emma’s tiny hand trembles in mine as we approach. I glance sideways to see her rounded eyes soaking everything up, the excited beam across her innocent face contagious. I’ll help her get her fix of debauchery, see what Oakley’s up to, then have her back inside before Cruz is any the wiser.

  “Baby, there you are!” Oakley yells from the pool when he notices me. “Good nap?”

  I tip my hand back and forth, indicating the nap was so-so at best. “What’s going on?” I can see they’re playing pool volleyball, so my question’s really a rhetorical space-filler. Jasmine’s on Oakley’s side of the net—with her top on—along with Miles, Court, and Ivy. On the other team are Jensen, Rachel, Nadia, and Peyton.

  “Volleyball. You wanna play? Their team’s short one.” He smiles.

  “Yeah, Harlow, play!” Jasmine calls out. “Come on, it’s really fun!” She bounces up and down in the water, which offers a better show than the topless Rachel and Nadia combined. Every guy in the pool notices—and I don’t blame them.

  I catch Jasmine’s eyes dead on and crook my finger at her, then answer Oakley. “Actually, I’m pretty hungry. I’m gonna see what I can scrounge up for dinner. Sound good?”

  Emma’s hand slips from mine. I jerk, ready to grab her until I notice the towel she’s collecting for Jasmine, who’s already walking toward us.

  “I’m starving. Thanks, babe.” Oakley blows me a kiss, then serves the ball.

  “Emma McCall.”

  His keen scolding crawls up our backs. I shiver, blindly searching for and finally grabbing her hand with a squeeze.

  I turn us to him, blaring my friendliest smile. “Cruz, hey! You hungry? We were just letting Oakley know I’d be making everyone dinner.” I walk toward him, pulling Emma along. “You wanna help us? Jasmine and Emma are in too. Let’s cook!”

  Don’t stop, no eye contact. We walk in a perfectly innocent breeze all the way to the kitchen.

  “There’s no food in there—nothing for a real meal, anyway,” Cruz grumbles, having followed us.

  “Hmpf,” Jasmine pouts. “I missed breakfast. I need something in my belly.” She wraps an arm around her middle. “Especially if I’m gonna drink.”

  Adam’s stealthy unveiling from the shadows, where he tends to linger, catches our attention. “Adam, what are we supposed to eat?” Jasmine asks him, her smile more casual than I personally can manage when he’s near.

  “If you ladies want to go to the market, right up the road—”

  “Yes!” Emma shrieks.

  “I’ll get dressed!” Jasmine matches her pitch, her eyes on Ad
am the entire time. His stoic expression doesn’t waver, but its normally hard edges are absent. “Thanks,” she whispers before running off to our room.

  “I’ll have a car waiting out front,” Adam continues. I swear to God I actually see the corner of his lip twitch, a possible smile wanting to escape but instead buried instantly. “Cruz, I assume you’ll accompany them?”

  “Good guess. Em, grab your shoes. Harlow?” I return his gaze. “Better let the warden know you’re leaving.” His brows arch with a mocking smirk, and I narrow my eyes to slits. He was so close to doing something nice, and then…that mouth.

  “Thank you, Adam. Emma, I’ll be right back.” I ignore Cruz completely as I spin on my heel.

  Standing in the doorway, I have to yell Oakley’s name several times before he calls time in the game and grants me his attention.

  “Food ready?”

  “Um…” I consult my non-existent watch. “Gonna need more than five minutes, sweetie. I’m gonna run to town with a group and pick up some things. You wanna come?”

  “I, uh…” He averts his eyes. “I’m kinda playing here, baby. And I’m all wet.”

  “Anybody need anything special?” I ask the group, blatantly dismissing his excuses.

  “Hold up.” Court climbs out and jogs over to me. “Will you grab some non-alcoholic wine coolers?” he whispers.

  “Um, sure, if I see any.” Cutting back, is he? “You want a particular flavor?”

  He ponders, coming up empty. “Nope. Whatever looks good to you. Thanks, Harlow.” He smiles, gives me a pat on the shoulder, and jumps back in the pool.

  “All right, I’m going,” I announce, slightly annoyed.

  “Be safe, baby. Love you.” Oakley turns to look at me, and the ball smacks him square in the chest in the process. “Shit.”

  There’s no stifling my laugh.

  “You ready?” Jasmine asks from my side.

  “Yep.” We head inside together. “We need money.”

  “Adam gave me some.” She holds up a wad of foreign cash. “Let’s go. Cruz and Emma are in the car.”