Matched

by Angela Graham

  “Have fun,” I mumble to Oakley as we part. I’m not mad, per se—I’m relieved he’s with Jasmine—I’m just not looking forward to being licked by someone who isn’t Oakley.

  He doesn’t reply as he shuffles around me to the farthest side of Jasmine; their heads dip together to strategize. So I take the four steps to Cruz.

  “What’s the plan?”

  Salacious amusement flickers across his face so quickly I almost miss it—almost, but not quite. I roll my eyes, unable to stop my lesser-yet-unavoidable return grin. His rare playful side is always nice to see.

  “Ladies’ choice—you good with your tongue?”

  “Are you?” I jibe back before I realize it’s out.

  Now he really lights up—oh my God, he belly laughs. “I’ve never heard anything to suggest I’m not, so yeah, I can manage. Unless you’re dying to draw. Don’t let me sway ya.”

  “You lick me,” I decide boldly, then blush from toenail to hair follicle and squeeze my eyes shut. “I mean, you doing that part is fine. Done. Planned.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Okay, canvases, please choose a mat and lie on your stomachs with your backs exposed. They’ll be coming around with your blindfolds. Artists, get positioned and ready for your first card,” Tom directs, forcing me to open my eyes.

  I get one last peek at Oakley, and see they’ve opted for him to lick her. I can’t let it bother me, as I’m currently lowering myself to do the same. I lie down, then very carefully pull up the back of my T-shirt, making sure it doesn’t ride up anywhere else. The no-bra protocol makes sense now. Poor Jas—those big girls smashed flat beneath her. That’s gotta hurt.

  “Not that I’m looking, but I know it’d bother you,” Cruz leans down and whispers. “The top of your red lace panties are showing...I think.”

  “Thanks,” I say awkwardly as I reach back to shove them down under my shorts.

  Our blindfolds are then put on. It probably would’ve been easier to do that before we lay down, but what do I know?

  Tom claps. “First card going up in three, two, ONE!”

  Oh shit! A jolt of electricity spikes through me the instant his hot, wet tongue comes in contact with my flesh, and I damn near shoot up and off my mat. His hands are stilling my hips, fingers firm but soothing. “Harlow, relax. I won’t hurt or disrespect you. Now just concentrate, like I’m tracing letters on your back.”

  There it is again, his tongue. I clamp my eyes shut even though I’m already blindfolded and concentrate on every stroke, picturing in my mind each exact line, curve, and swirl as if watching him draw on paper.

  “Ice-cream cone!” I yell, but he keeps going, with just the tip now. Dot, dot, dot, down the middle. “Snowman—Frosty the Snowman!”

  “That’s one!” he says. With his mouth wide open and flush against my back, he makes big swipes, covering a lot of area. Then he uses just his tongue again, drawing smaller things in the expanse. He brushes a ticklish spot and I wiggle under him, unable to control my giggle but trying to focus.

  I feel his smile on my skin as he continues working his tongue over another area.

  “A field? Flowers?” Wrong. He’s still going, letting his tongue drift up and off the side. “Fly…birds…duck…pond!”

  “That’s two, good girl,” he praises. “Pass,” he says to the next card, then comes down. His tongue is swirling fast—frantic. I get out “Tor—” when the air horn assaults our eardrums.

  “Winners, Callie and Peyton!” Tom shouts. I rip off my blindfold, pull down my shirt, and sit up, completely flushed. Callie’s on a roll today. Good for her.

  “It was tornado, wasn’t it?” I ask Cruz, and he nods with a condoling wink.

  “You did a great job.”

  “You too,” I frump, even though I mean it. My mini panic attack cost us the seconds we lost by.

  By the time I’m on my feet, Oakley’s already walking toward me, guzzling a bottle of water. “Who lotions their back?” He grimaces, taking another drink. “How’d y’all do?”

  “We got two, and the first syllable of number three before they won,” I tell him. “You?”

  “One. Soft skin, but not my favorite flavor of lotion.” He shudders. “Glad you taste like you, baby.”

  “Thanks.” My cheeks turn pink as I steal a side glance at Cruz, who’s still in earshot, one side of his lip quirked up.

  “So, Callie and Peyton, who, if anyone, will be joining you tonight on the date you’ve won?” Tom asks.

  Peyton answers on autopilot—for the movie, of course. “I’ll be taking my lovely costar, Ivy Malone.”

  Ivy uses her skills to over-act flattery as she steps to his side.

  I have no clue whom Callie will ask, and apparently neither does she. She looks around, weighing her options, and finally shocks me when she chooses Court.

  “Great! You four better be ready at seven. The rest of you, as always, have a wonderful rest of the day and evening—it may be your last.” Tom raises a graying eyebrow. “We’ll meet in the Great Room at 10 p.m. for the Soul Search.”

  Jasmine and I are on Callie the first chance we get. My hand is wrapped around her arm, leading her to the hall.

  “Before you freak out, let me explain,” Callie starts. “I chose Court because…I’ve seen him fooling around with Ivy and I know there’s something cookin’ between him and Emma, so I’m curious to see how he acts with Ivy outside the house.”

  “Court and Ivy,” Jasmine sighs, as disappointed as I am. “Kind of makes sense, though.”

  “How the hell does that make sense?” I ask, stunned and adamantly opposed.

  “Okay, I’ll be the first to admit my perception of men might be slightly skewed from the industry. But I’ve seen enough to know that if a girl isn’t giving really clear signs she’s interested or making a move, the guy will find action somewhere else,” Jasmine explains warily. “I saw him with Ivy the other day, too—and it was on its way to a lot more than kissing. I didn’t say anything because I’m not sure what’s going on between the two of them, or him and Emma, but I’m all for Callie going on that date to see how they interact.”

  “How who interacts?” Emma asks. Her arms are crossed over her chest as she approaches, her narrowed eyes trained on Callie.

  “Listen—don’t hate me, please.” Callie meets her halfway. “I didn’t want to say anything prematurely, but we know Court and Ivy have some sort of a thing.”

  “A thing?” she parrots, her face scrunching.

  “Yeah. Jasmine and I have both seen them kissing, and we think it’s going further than that.” Callie looks to me for help when Emma doesn’t respond.

  I step forward and lay a hand on Emma’s arm. “Callie only chose him to watch him and Ivy together—feel them out. She did it for you. No bad intentions.”

  Emma bobs her head up and down, looking hurt or maybe just torn. “I appreciate it, but Court and I aren’t together. He’s sweet, that’s it. He can fool around with whoever the hell he wants.” Her pitch jumps three octaves before her next words. “Why would I care?”

  “Emma…” Jasmine and I console in unison, but it’s too late. She’s already heading out to the pool, her tiny frame and shoulders rigid.

  “Well, that went well,” Callie says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

  “You were being a good friend. It’s not you she’s upset with,” I offer.

  “I know. I just hope Ivy gives Peyton a chance tonight and stays away from Court. I don’t think I can stand to see Emma hurt anymore,” Callie replies. “I gotta get ready. Wish me luck.”

  While we wait for tonight’s fate, there’s an array of anxious, palpable emotion fueled by the possibility of going home—or maybe more so the thought of facing and dissecting the knowledge of our “soulmates.”

  Jasmine and I are the antsiest, but concerned only with how Callie’s date is going—or, more specifically, how it will affect Emma, who’s been in her room since they left.

  Bes
ides, I seriously doubt I’m even an option for the Soul Search; no one has a clue whom to send Oakley or me in with, aside from each other. I mean, we are engaged, after all. If it was my call, I’d send in Nadia and Jensen—the only two in the house I truly can’t stand. And that’s as good a linking trait as any.

  “Oh my God, he didn’t!” Jasmine shrieks, leaping from her lounge chair. Her eyes are on the bags of carryout food being set up on the patio table.

  “He who?” I ask, my belly growling. It smells like seafood, and a lot of it. Everyone is out of the pool and herding toward the smorgasbord—except Jasmine, whose beeline is aimed toward Adam.

  I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I can see her hand resting on his arm. Her body is leaning in, a glow emitting off her. Guess dinner was his idea. I vaguely recall Jasmine mentioning her love of seafood, so if Adam—a man I’ve seen smile all of once—did this for her, then she needs to start spilling.

  I’m no longer unsure why seafood’s the meal when I catch Adam’s lips curl into a crooked smile and make out his, “You’re welcome.”

  “Jasmine!”

  My head, as does Jasmine’s, jerks toward the shout from Jensen. My entire body tenses.

  “Come on, baby, let’s eat.” He stalks in her direction with his glare steady on Adam, who’s still focusing on Jasmine and ignoring the menacing coming closer.

  Jensen finally reaches them and snakes his arm around her waist instantly, tugging her against his side. It’s the first time I’ve seen any trace of territorialism in him, and from here it looks anything but healthy.

  Something instinctual compels me to stand and I glance around for Oakley, who’s nowhere to be found. I spot Cruz, with a plate full of food, watching the scene as well. He turns his attention my way and gives me a slight head nod, gesturing toward my chair. There’s no way I’m gonna sit back down until I’m sure of Jensen’s plans. Luckily, Cruz reads my mind or expression, because he’s on his feet, setting his plate down and strolling toward them.

  Unable to hear what’s going on from my position, I move within earshot of Jasmine. “I was just thanking Adam for ordering dinner. He knows where they make the best crab cakes on the island, and you know how I love them and am always trying—”

  “Right, well, you thanked him, so come eat with me now,” Jensen interrupts, his voice brittle but his lips descending to her shoulder, where he places an open-mouthed kiss. “Then I want my girl in the Lovin’ Lounge with me for dessert.”

  His girl? Since when? My hands ball tightly at my sides. If looks could kill, I’d incinerate his creepy ass. And to make matters worse, Jasmine does the unthinkable. After giving another meek thanks to Adam—she lowers her head and lets Jensen lead her away.

  What the hell is happening? I don’t know Adam—he may have questionable values and be off limits per show rules—but it’s apparent there’s something there. And there’s no way in hell I’m gonna let douchebag Jensen toy with her heart repeatedly, especially when it’ll cost her the chance to explore other options—and ones who order her favorite meal, at that!

  “She’s not clueless.”

  I vault forward, scared out of my skin, almost landing in the pool at Cruz’s startling voice. He’s fast, though, snatching me around the waist to save me from a swim.

  “Don’t scare people!” I fidget in his grasp and he releases me, laughing.

  “Sorry. Pretty sure I was using my non-scary voice. You were just lost somewhere in that head of yours.” He smiles, one finger tapping my forehead.

  “Whatever. I need to go talk to Jasmine.”

  “Probably. But you also need to keep in mind that she’s a big girl and will only let him go when she’s ready—not when you or Callie tell her to.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes. “Do you always eavesdrop on girl talk? There are guys here to hang out with, you know.”

  “Not nearly as entertaining, though.”

  I shake my head, trying to remain focused on Jasmine. She’s now sitting with Jensen—more like on Jensen, actually. She’s perched in his lap, nibbling off a shared plate. It makes me sick, and it looks like I’m not the only one. Adam’s back on the sidelines with his usual stern expression in place, but there’s no missing his constant glances at the disturbing couple.

  “Boss man’s back.” I hear Cruz snicker quietly, and when I look, he’s walking away. I quickly see why, Oakley’s stepping outside, headed my way.

  “Hey baby. You already eat?” he asks.

  “No, I don’t really like—”

  “Seafood!” he blurts out like a much-needed breath of air. “Sorry,” he begins, pulling me into his arms, “but I remember you don’t like seafood. Which is why…” He grins, sweet and prideful. “…when I heard Adam calling it in, I had him add a special order for you.”

  I can’t remember the last time I smiled so widely. “Really?”

  “Sure did.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “Got a giant chef salad sitting on the counter in there for you.”

  I’d never say a word even with a gun to my head because I love seeing him so happy, but…I’m not much of a salad girl, either. Still, it’s a lot better than seafood, and the thoughtfulness behind the gesture melts my heart.

  I rise up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his. “I love you, Oakley.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “Can I ask you a favor?”

  “Anything, Har. Always.”

  “After we eat, can you find something to occupy Jensen till Callie and the group return?” I plead with my sweetest expression.

  “Uh…I guess.” His gaze swings around the area until he spots Jensen and Jasmine, then he turns back to me. “They’re not exactly soulmates, huh?”

  I crinkle my nose. “He’s a pig, and there’s no way I’m letting him suck her back in. She’s my friend—my good friend.”

  “See, that’s why I love you. Always taking care of everyone else.” He kisses me once more and grabs my hand, leading me to the kitchen. “Let’s eat, then I’ll see what I can do to help out.”

  “Thanks.” I sneak a parting glance at Jasmine, still propped on Jensen’s lap but talking to Cruz, who’s now sitting beside them. He looks up, catches my eyes, and winks.

  He’s got Jasmine’s back, too. And I didn’t even have to ask.

  Confessional: Jensen Hughes

  “They’re not gonna lay off till I do this damn thing, so here ya go. Jensen Hughes at your service. I’ve only got a second; Cruz is taking a break from being a dick, rackin’ ’em up for a game of pool.

  “There’s some wild-ass women here. I’ve had fun with a few. I’m guessing you already knew that—no way the cameras missed Rachel sneaking into my room to keep me company. She’s a decent lay, but Jasmine’s still the best. Speaking of Jasmine, not sure what the hell’s up with her. I think being in this house and around those stuck-up new friends are making her act crazy.

  “She’s still cool with me screwing around, no bullshit about a relationship—Jasmine’s the last person who knows about monogamy—but she’s been giving me the cold shoulder. That shit ain’t gonna fly. Jasmine’s a doll, and she’s mine. She knows I care about her and couldn’t give a fuck about anyone else. Maybe I’ll work a little harder to remind her, ’cause damn, I’d miss that shit.

  “Huh, I’ve already talked more than I thought I would. ’Bout to kick McCall’s ass in some nine-ball. Later!”

  Chapter 13

  I’m at the kitchen table, halfway through my salad and relieved that Jensen has disappeared, when Jasmine flops down in the seat across from me.

  “You don’t have to say it,” she mopes. Oakley takes the cue, kissing the side of my head before leaving the room.

  “Jasmine, I’m only trying to look out for you,” I tell her, setting my fork down and giving her my full attention. “I may not know all your history with Jensen, but I care about you and I’m not sure he does—not in the same way you care about him, anyway…the way yo
u deserve.”

  She braces her elbows on the table and leans forward, resting her face in her hands, looking torn. “It’s just so hard. He’s always been there, you know? If I couldn’t make rent or didn’t feel safe, he was always the one to come through for me. Maybe we really do have a shot at something more…real. He’s never called me his girl before.”

  I’m torn now. I can’t play the role of Callie and go straight at her, I’m more the Offer just a little guidance and pray she figures this out on her own type, so I respond with soft persuasion.

  “Let me ask you this, are you okay with an open relationship?”

  She shakes her head vigorously. “No, that’s not what I want at all. I’ve shared too many guys already.”

  “So doesn’t the thought of experiencing a real relationship sound wonderful—being with a man, physically and emotionally, who adores, worships, and covets only you?”

  Jasmine straightens with a disbelieving scoff. “I may be a hopeless romantic, but I’m also a realist when I need to be. My body’s been used up and passed around; there’s not a man alive that’s gonna want to worship it now. And covet?” I’d say she laughs, but it’s the most pain-filled noise I’ve ever heard, wrapped in a weak charade. “You covet special things, like flawless diamonds. I’m just a dinged-up rock.”

  “You are not a rock. Don’t say that!” I take a deep breath, my eyes closing and heart breaking at the same time. When my eyes reopen, I notice the tears glistening in hers. “You’re kind, and have such an amazing heart.” I reach out and take her hand. “Not to mention gorgeous, with long legs and great tits!” She huffs out a broken chuckle that edges on sincere this time, biting her bottom lip. “You don’t have to settle—let alone for a man who's screwed half the girls in this house. Seriously, can you not see everything you have to offer a real man?”

  Her chin’s quivering, and those tears are fighting for freedom. “You’re a great friend, Harlow, but I’m a porn star—AKA trash to the real men.” She yanks her hand from mine and wipes away the first fat tear that triumphs. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’ve been sold enough fairytales in my life. It’s time I accept what I can and cannot have.”