Matched

by Angela Graham

  “Har,” he exhales sadly, his hand finding my face. I lean instantly into the familiar touch.

  “I’ll always love you, Oakley. You were my first everything, and I’ll cherish that forever. But I can’t marry you. I love you too much to pretend we’re meant to be.”

  And slowly, I slide the treasured ring off my finger.

  “No!” His eyes are wide—almost terrified.

  “Please don’t be angry. I’m not angry with you. I won’t ever not care about you. Anything, anytime, I’ll be right there—your oldest friend. Please, please Oakley…say you agree this is right,” I beg, holding out the tiny island ring.

  His eyes are on mine as he grabs the ring and smashes it in his fist.

  “O-Oakley,” I stutter, watching him throw it across the room.

  “I brought you here to show you how perfect we are together, and you’re breaking up with me?” He leans in close, his breath hitting my lips. “You’re right, you’re not my Harlow!”

  He stalks out, leaving me standing there, alone and eerily free.

  Well, it’s not the first time.

  “Harlow?”

  I turn to find Adam behind me in the doorway. I’m uncertain how long I’ve been standing in the exact same spot. “Sorry, but they’re waiting for you on the beach.”

  “Right.” I sweep my thumb under my eyes. “Bet you’re having a fantastic day!” I smart off, rolling my eyes. “Met your drama quota before lunch. Lucky you.” I brush past him, but he snares my arm.

  “You knew about the cameras when you signed on. I won’t apologize for that.”

  “True, and now I know I want to sign off.” I head to my room and hear him follow me. “I’m leaving.”

  I rip my bag out of the closet, and déjà vu of Court attempting the same move last night smacks me in the face. It’s beyond repulsive what this house does to people.

  “I can’t make you stay,” Adam says impassively from somewhere. Always the lurker.

  “No, you can’t. So don’t try.”

  “Fine. I’ll let everyone know.”

  I peek over my shoulder to watch him step into the hall, only to swivel back a moment later. “Although a few people aren’t going to take it so well—that is, except Jensen. He knows you’re cockblocking him from a certain someone, so I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

  Is he kidding me with this? “If you’re interested in Jasmine, go tell her. Leave me out it.”

  “And then of course there’s Emma,” he continues, completely ignoring my words. “If you leave, who’s gonna keep Cruz on a leash?”

  I’m fast to lunge his way, stopping only when we’re toe to toe. He doesn’t so much as blink. I poke his chest, the designer suit he’s wearing doing nothing to hide the ripples of taut muscles underneath.

  “Don’t you dare try to lay a guilt trip on me! And unless you want your fancy ass kicked,” I say, flicking his tie, “I wouldn’t refer to Cruz as a dog, either!”

  “Or what?” His lip quirks. “You’ll sick ’im on me?”

  “I hate this place!” I snap, adrenaline pumping so fast and hard I feel lightheaded. “This show! These cameras!” I grab the first thing I see and throw it at the globe mounted in the corner. “You’re messing with my head, and I want out.”

  “No.” The finality in his voice startles me. “You don’t give up that easily. I’ve seen you fight this long. You don’t get to walk away now.”

  “Are you insane?” My hands tremble at my sides. “It’s just a ridiculous TV show. You can’t make me stay.”

  He leans back against the doorjamb and crosses his arms, looking unnervingly comfortable. “Did you know Oakley was offered a spot on Celebrity Treasure Hunters?”

  My face scrunches up. “What?”

  “The network put together a lineup of celebs for the show, but Oakley turned it down. Said he heard about Date, Mate, Fate and wanted in. ‘Why?’ should be your next question, Harlow.”

  Oakley could’ve been on a different show? I want to be angry, but what’s the point? Still, I open my mouth and the word drips out. “Why?”

  “Said he had a high-school sweetheart he thought was the one, but…” He pauses annoyingly for emphasis. “He needed a chance to find out for sure before he moved her back into his life completely.”

  The bottom of my stomach drops out, and I literally wince from the stab of betrayal. Oakley doubted our relationship before the show?

  “Doesn’t matter anymore. He hates me, and I’m not about to stick around and watch the sluts in this house take advantage of his new single status.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “STOP WITH THE GAMES ALREADY!” I scream, exhaustion seeping in as the adrenaline fades. “We are real people, Mr. Producer Man, with real feelings. God, how would you like it if someone mocked your pain—glorified it to pay for their fourth Mercedes?”

  “I wouldn’t willingly put myself on a reality show.”

  “I did it for Oakley.”

  “I know that, and I think you’ll find that you, too, gained some invaluable things from being here. Harlow, Oakley’s not angry with you—he’s disappointed that his hunch was correct all along and that he dragged you both through this unnecessarily. He knows you’re right—spot-on, if you ask me—about the two of you. Gotta be hard for him to swallow, facing the fact that he’s lost a girl like you.

  “But people change every single day, and it’s nobody’s fault. I have no doubt you can still salvage a friendship. You’re both good people—just not each other’s person. If you leave now, you risk ruining multiple relationships in this house. Is that who you are—someone who walks away when things get too tough or uncomfortable?”

  He starts to walk out, but not without a few parting words. “By the way…I know Cruz, and he’d kick my ass over letting you walk away a lot sooner than he would over my dog reference. Think about it. I’ll delay the mini challenge for thirty minutes to give you some time.”

  “Can’t I miss one? Em—”

  “That wasn’t a challenge they missed, Harlow. Thirty minutes.”

  He leaves me with that suffocating glimpse of time to decide on my next move. I slouch down on Miles’ bed, my temples pounding as I struggle to stay afloat amid a tsunami of tears.

  Confessional: Oakley Abrams

  “I’m supposed to be at the challenge right now, but I don’t give a shit. I need a minute, and it’s in everyone’s best interest I take it, trust me. Plus, you get a confessional outta me. Everyone happy now? Excellent, ’cause you know that’s what matters—that everyone out there is feeling it, chillin’ in their living room, munching on popcorn or whatever, enjoying me getting kicked in the fucking gut.

  “I’m guessing you already saw Harlow give back the ring and break off our engagement—probably the shortest in the history of engagements. Hell, I’m sure the producers are getting off on the footage they no doubt captured. Vultures, all of ’em.

  “I swear to God, they open this door with a cue card asking how I feel about it and heads will fuckin’ roll. How the hell am I supposed to feel? ’Cause right now, I think this shit sucks. I could’ve been on some other island for a different show, having fun, but instead I came here with her. Why? ’Cause I wanted to give her the whole fuckin’ world. But that goddamned computer had to go and fuck everything up. If it had labeled us soulmates, we’d be on vacation somewhere, just the two of us. I planned to move her into my condo and wife her up. And now look at us.

  “I don’t even know how I’m gonna pretend I don’t love her. I can’t just make that shit stop. I fell when I was seventeen, and for almost three years she was mine, always at my side. Even after I left to play pro ball, I knew she’d be waiting when I came home to visit. And she was. Every time.

  “And now what? If she’d stopped to think rationally before just bailing, she’d realize how much I care. She knows I would’ve let her do her wedding thing. Everyone needs a hobby.

  “Shit, that didn’t c
ome out right. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just pissed. I need some fucking air. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea…I can’t think straight.”

  Chapter 16

  I don’t need the full half hour to decide—I need to suck it up and play the game. If I’m lucky, I’ll be matched up with someone I can stand and sent on some luxurious vacation before I trudge back to school and my measly job at the truck stop. Miles wouldn’t be so bad to travel somewhere with. Peyton either, if I keep earplugs handy. His closet transgression is long forgiven after that last elimination.

  Blocking out the lingering fears, I wash my face, pull my hair into a high ponytail, and muster a smile. My mother does always say, “It’s impossible to be frumpy when your hair’s in a ponytail.”

  Halfway down the stairs, I spot Callie sitting at the bottom. She stands when I reach her and walks at my side, saying nothing, but her support is there. She’s a friend I know I’ll keep after we leave this place—one who doesn’t need to ask a thousand questions about what just happened, yet the unspoken offer to listen is heard.

  We make it down to the beach and find everyone standing around, chatting in groups. But the moment they see me, I’ve captured their full attention. Callie takes my hands as Jasmine walks over and stands at my other side.

  “You need anything, I’m right here,” she whispers.

  “Thanks,” is all I can get out before Tom announces his exuberant, “Good morning!”

  Emma and Cruz step out from the shade a moment later and I watch Court, who also notices, stiffen. Oakley’s in a group consisting of Jensen, Miles, Rachel, and of course Nadia. He’s staring straight at Tom, his jaw locked. I attempt to quell the sense of hollowness creeping up from my toes and landing square in my chest.

  “Welcome to your next mini challenge!” Tom’s voice has well surpassed grating. “Down to twelve. Should make things a lot easier…or much harder.” He laughs. I somehow resist gagging. “Guess we’ll find out. Since we all had to wait out here while some issues were resolved in the house—Oakley, would you care to fill us in?”

  Expecting Oakley to shoot down the meddling offer, I’m livid when he steps forward and speaks. “Not much to say. Oh, except that I just got dumped on national television. Not the best day I’ve ever had.”

  “I’d say not.” Tom goes for sympathetic, but misses the mark by a long shot. He looks to me, then back at Oakley. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out. However, you’re on a beautiful island with your true soulmate standing within feet of you now but yet to be discovered, so there’s something to get excited about!”

  My plastered-on smile couldn’t get any tighter. Insensitive prick.

  Not skipping a beat, Tom blathers on, as cheery and meaningless as ever. “We’ve got a couple new twists for you today. First, a spin of the wheel you see behind me will decide the pairings for what I’m calling ‘Lip Strip.’”

  I hear Nadia and Rachel laughing and whispering a few feet away and see red—blood red. The thought of their lips doing anything to Oakley, even though he’s no longer mine, is almost more than I can handle.

  “The guys are probably a little hot at the moment, as they’ve been instructed to dress in two of everything, shirts, underwear, and shorts. You ladies have to get them out of the extra layers and down to just one pair of underwear—using only your mouths. The men can lift limbs, bend, whatever they can do to help. But if either of you uses your hands or the ladies use feet, head nudges, or any part of the body other than their mouths, their team is disqualified. Any questions?”

  I’d swear I was being held hostage by one never-ending, continually ascending-in-horror nightmare with each “experience” more traumatic than the next, but I can feel Callie squeezing my hand. So unfortunately, I’m awake…it’s actually happening. I want to take a long nap, bath, and plane ride, in that order—not strip a guy from this house with my freakin’ mouth!

  But for the sake of perseverance—the challenge with myself, the only one that matters—I reinforce my phony smile.

  Wyatt’s gone, and he was the scariest of possibilities by far. But I’m not taking any chances. I’m sick to death of surprises.

  I raise my hand. “I have a question, Tom.”

  “Yes, Harlow?”

  “Are we positive they’re all actually wearing underwear?” I ask matter-of-factly, unsure why everyone, including Tom, laughs.

  “Yes, Harlow, they all have on underwear—two pairs. Our previously defined commando contestants are outfitted as called for, just like the touching challenge.”

  No need to get mouthy, Tom. Better safe than sorry.

  “As you know by now, the winners each receive $5,000 in their personal charity banks and a luxury item. With four people gone—Dana, Dalton, Ivy, and Wyatt—previously packed bedrooms have shifted, leaving some very interesting dynamics. The winners today will earn the luxury of changing their bedroom placements any way they want.”

  Room change? I’m a hard no, but I’d love to see Emma win and get out of Jensen’s vicinity. No one should have to endure that.

  Apparently, the first to spin was somehow already chosen while I was daydreaming, as the wheel’s in motion. Jensen’s spin pairs him with a sulking Callie, and it’s my turn to give her hand a comforting squeeze.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, and she shrugs.

  Next, Miles lands on Jasmine, which they both seem fine with. Then it’s Court’s turn.

  With my own personal life falling apart, I’ve missed whether he’s spoken with Emma. But judging by the death rays she’s shooting him as he walks to the wheel, I’m guessing not.

  He spins the wheel and I watch as it slows, ticking closer and closer to the one name I know he’s begging the universe to let it land on. Proving that miracles may exist, it stops on Emma’s name.

  “Fantastic,” Tom chirps while Court heads toward Emma. Her arms are crossed, her narrowed eyes looking at anything but him.

  Cruz prowls up to the wheel next, looking mad about that last pairing…until his spin lands on Nadia. He looks closer to lethal now and moves back to his place, ignoring Nadia when she sidles up beside him. That puts Oakley up. The pointer is on Rachel when the wheel stops, which leaves me with Peyton.

  I don’t mind at all. Miracle two for the day.

  “That’s our teams! Everyone line up on their marks.”

  We follow our cue, a crewman asking Peyton and me to wait next to Emma and Court while they get the others situated. I can’t help it—my ears are perked.

  Okay, so maybe I don’t even try not to listen.

  “You can’t ignore me forever, Emma,” Court says, standing in front of her.

  Emma says nothing.

  “Come on, at least talk to me. Hell, I’m all for you screamin’ at me again—anything except this,” he pleads. “No? Silent treatment it is then. Might as well just sit this one out, since I know we won’t win it. You gonna just stand there with that angry scowl on your pretty face while everyone kicks our ass? It’s not like you’d want to swap your room anyway, right? I bet Jensen makes one helluva roomie. Yeah, come to think of it, I’m great with my room too.” He gives her the most daring grin possible.

  I see her flinch and have to smile. Court’s good. He knows exactly how to press her hot buttons, and it’s working like a charm.

  Who’s he room–ah, Rachel and Nadia, alone with him. No wonder he’s desperate for the win. And, guaranteed, Emma didn’t even have to stop and think about it. No wonder she flinched. He played the perfect card.

  Although she’s not about to let him get too cocky. She turns her head to Peyton and smiles.

  “Those shades look great on you, Peyton. Hot.” Her voice is poisonously sweet.

  “Uh, th-thank you,” Peyton stammers, adjusting the aviators on his face. He does wear them well, but I’m pretty sure Court is about to rip them off his face if the tic in his rigid jawline is a reliable gauge. I place myself between them casually and change the subject. “Look!” I point. “Is
that a shark? I think I see a fin!”

  I don’t. Quite honestly, I probably need glasses; I can’t see but a few feet in front of my face. But the three of them are squinting toward the water, Operation Pummel Peyton long forgotten.

  After much ado, we’re all positioned as deemed by the powers that be, lined up straight across from our teammates with about eighty yards between us. “Remember, mouths only, ladies—and no hands for anyone. On my…GO!” Tom yells.

  The guys stay put and we women rush across to them. Peyton’s a drill sergeant, and my minion self just goes through his dictated motions. He bends forward and kind of half growls, half whispers, “Bite both shirt hems at once, at the very bottom, and pull up hard. I’ll wiggle down and out.”

  It works, and both his shirts are off in about ten seconds. He drops to his knees, and barks that I do the same. “Unzip. Then we’ll stand back up!”

  I try to follow Captain Bossy’s orders, but the commotion beside me is distracting. It sounds like Emma isn’t interested in taking her time or being gentle, and I look over before I can stop myself.

  Court’s stepping out of his first pair of shorts. His shirts are already gone, and he’s back to his knees for her to start on the next pair of shorts. Crap, way ahead! I force myself to ignore the show and hustle.

  I’m in the zone, my face closing in on Peyton’s crotch, when Court shatters the uncomfortable-to-say-the-least moment with a wail.