“Take you with me!” I grip his neck as tightly as I can and propel myself back into the pool, indeed bringing him in with me. I’m out of his arms when we hit the surface of the water, and when I come up for air he’s nowhere to be seen.
I whip around to search the pool. Nothing. Emma and Jasmine laugh from the shallow end, while Court points behind me.
Crap!
Slowly, I peek back. But the moment I spot him, it’s too late—down I go. He dunks me once, then waits for me to resurface, wiping my eyes and wringing my hair.
“You finished?” I ask, struggling to prevent my lips from curving upward.
“For now.”
I splash his retreating back and head over to join my girls on the steps.
“You two are cute together,” Jasmine leans in and whispers.
I don’t reply, but I want to. For the first time in a long time, the butterflies are swarming in my stomach, and it feels good—natural.
“Who’s playin’?” Court asks, holding up a Nerf ball and floating basketball hoop.
“I’m in!” Emma shocks us by saying, and Court couldn’t look happier. She uses his stunned moment to steal the ball, and drags Jasmine back out into the water with her. “You’re on my team. Harlow you’re with Court.”
I stand and am about to join when I notice Cruz sneaking off into the dark cave thing in the corner. A grotto, I’m guessing.
“Actually, I’m gonna relax a while,” I tell them, already following him.
They don’t seem to notice or mind, so I wade through the cave as slowly as I can and my whole being lights up at the beauty inside. It is a grotto, with a blue light shining brightly under the water, casting a beautiful hue over the glistening rocks.
Cruz is there, facing away, elbows braced the ledge. His back is broad and defined, droplets of water refusing to let go of his perfect form. He must sense my approach because his muscles contract, but he doesn’t turn around.
I’m not sure what fuels me to make a move—maybe the desire to be near someone who makes me feel so alive again. It’s the reason I don’t stop myself.
Directly behind him now, I lean in and press a kiss to the center of his back, watching his shoulders rise. Still, he says nothing, so I continue, kissing again a little higher, then again at the base of his neck. Finally, he turns to me.
Completely vulnerable and scared to death of my own uncharacteristic brazenness, I’m unsure what to expect. He reaches out and strokes down my cheek with the back of his hand. I close my eyes, absorbing his tenderness, and feel his finger skim over my dimple.
I open my eyes, and my smile fades as I watch darkness creep into his eyes. He bends to my ear slowly, moves my hair aside, and whispers, “Don’t embarrass yourself.”
I lunge back, dumbfounded and hurt. But then I catch the subtle head nod he gives toward the corner. I follow his motion and spot the camera mounted there.
Dear God. They’re watching us, and I just…
Horrified, I creep backward, desperate for him to say something—anything—to calm the riptide of humiliation inside me.
But he doesn’t. He just watches me, looking noticeably irritated—angry, even. So I do the only thing I can. I dash through the water, forgetting for a moment I have nowhere to hide.
Confessional: Nadia Minkin and Rachel Gardner
“Hey everyone! We’re bored, so we thought we’d treat you to a double dose of fabulousness. I’m Rachel Gardner, comedian. And this gorgeous lady to my right is Nadia Minkin, international supermodel who, like me, has never done a confessional. Although I planned to—just kept forgetting.”
“Right, you just like Adam reminding you. Don’t blame you.”
“Maybe. So what’s your excuse?”
“No one tells me vhat to do. I say vhen, and that is now. Is it just me, or is not as much fun in this place if little girls are hiding? Who vill ve torture?”
“I’m glad they’re gone. Maybe they got nabbed by aborigines, or whatever they’re called here—or fell in a sinkhole. That’d leave us with only Callie to take out, who’s not the badass she thinks she is.”
“I not vorried about Callie. Actually, I not vorried about any of them. Pure nuisances is all they are. No threat. Harpo and Oakley are no more, vhich makes it easier for me.”
“It’s Harlow—”
“Vhatever. Hate her.”
“Well, I’m glad she took that Jasmine blowup doll with her wherever they went. Bitch wracks my last nerve. Oh, maybe somebody bit her on one of those huge, inflatable tits and she popped and flew away.”
“Or perhaps they quit—found airport. Couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Mine’s better.”
Chapter 19
The moment I make it out of the grotto and into light again, a decision is made. I’m done making a fool of myself on national television. Let’s be real, if I want a career as an event planner—especially a romantic-event planner—how can I expect anyone to take me seriously after they watch my actions on this island? Could I be any worse at romance?
My head’s spinning, my entire body flushed with embarrassment and rejection. What the hell was I thinking kissing Cruz? What could I possibly have been hoping—that he’d kiss me back and we’d live happily ever after in a house with my ex-fiancé? That we’d start a fling to help me get over said ex-fiancé? Obviously I wasn’t thinking at all.
I trudge through the water and climb the steps, oblivious to everything but my own pestering thoughts. I’m an idiot, and now the whole world knows it, if they weren’t suspicious already. Or worse, they think I’m a slut. My eyes close, my head dropping in shame.
Oh my God…Oakley’s parents are going to see this! My parents will see this.
I’m about to find a place to crawl into and hide when something locks around my arm.
“What the—” A hand covers my mouth, and I’m being forced to a corner of the deck.
“Shhh,” Jasmine whispers. “Don’t want to get busted.” Her hand drops from my mouth. I look around to see Emma pulling on her dress and Court his shoes.
“Busted?” I repeat softly, confused until I hear the voices from inside the guest house. Someone else is here.
Jasmine leans in. “Turns out this is where the crew is staying.”
“Ah. Guess we might as well go say hi.” I don’t bother to whisper. “They have a camera in the grotto, so I’m guessing they already know we’re here—or they will soon enough.”
“What?” Emma yelps. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. Not that it matters.”
Cruz’s low timbre hits my back and I freeze, watching him step around me to grab a towel from the rack.
I’d like to say it’s me avoiding eye contact with him, but honestly, he’s yet to notice me. It’s just one more reason to block out what happened, focus on the game, match people up, win some money for the shelter, and get the hell outta here as soon as I can.
“Come on, let’s go,” Cruz says, holding the gate open. I can’t help it; my eyes roam of their own volition, meeting his when I walk past. There’s something there—an unnamable intensity. But I decide it’s best that way, and push all thoughts of it aside.
We escape from the house unseen and travel back through the jungle, Cruz and me in silence, Jasmine and Emma singing some nature song they swear I should remember from grade school. Maybe I do, but I’m just not in the mood for anything but the speediest trip possible back to the house.
The very second we’re there, I take off, jogging inside and straight to the shower—the only means of solace in this place. The warm water cascades down my body, and I try to think about the game and who’s a good match. I have no idea about Miles and I’m hoping Jensen belongs with either Rachel or Nadia, though I’ve not seen any clear soulmate “signs” there. But what are those signs? Would I even recognize them if they were shoved in my face?
I’d say my record speaks a resounding “no” for itself.
Emma matches with C
ourt—of that, I feel certain—but sending them into the Soul Search, if I’m lucky enough to win, poses two challenges. One, if they’re not a match, well…we’ve all seen how that can play out, and I don’t want to give Emma another reason to push Court away. And two, I’m not ready for Emma to leave yet. If I’m here, I want my girls here, as selfish as that is or not.
“Harlow?”
I startle, my hand halting a bar of soap mid-thigh. I can’t see through the glass, but I know the voice.
“Yeah, everything all right?” I ask Jasmine.
“Adam’s pissed we snuck off—says the challenge was supposed to start an hour ago, so they’re waiting for us on the beach.”
“’Kay, give me a sec to rinse.” I should rush to finish, but I don’t.
There’s a gap before she speaks again; I almost thought she’d left. “Adam wouldn’t even talk to me…just made it clear to the group we messed up and put the show at risk.”
My head’s dipped back to rinse the conditioner out, so I don’t respond right away.
I hear her rustle something, then add, “I think I like him.”
Wiping the water from my face, I turn off the shower and poke my head out. “I know you do.” She hands me a towel. “And it’s obvious he feels something for you too.”
“Maybe, but now…”
I wrap the towel around my body and step out. “And now nothing. So he’s upset. He’ll get over it. No one was hurt by us going out. No harm, no foul.”
“I guess,” she says softly, lowering her head. “Doesn’t matter anyway. Jensen’s being really sweet, and he says he has a surprise planned for tonight.”
“Okay, listen to me,” I say clearly, taking a stance in front of her. “Adam will get over this, I promise. Just think—”
“Challenge time—now!” Callie nearly shouts as she walks in. She looks pissed. “Adam says if you’re not both there in five minutes, we’re all eating leftovers tonight. So come on already.”
I squeeze Jasmine’s arm and offer her a reassuring smile. “Trust me, Adam will talk to you again. Just give him time to cool off.”
She nods and heads off with Callie while I run to my room. I throw on a bikini, a pair of shorts, and a tank top, then race my ass down to the beach.
I make it with a minute to spare.
“We meet again!” Tom greets. “And also, again, we played the waiting game.” His eyes cut to me and the other escapees. “Care to enlighten us about your little adventure, Emma?”
Cruz takes a step forward, clearly not liking her being the one called out, but she’s got it under control. Nudging him aside, she grins. “It was fabulous. Thank you for asking, Tom.”
“I see. Well, let’s hope next time you’ll allow the cameras to be part of all the fun too.”
“Perhaps,” she replies, still smiling.
I glance at Adam, and Jasmine’s right. He doesn’t look happy. He’s sitting in a director’s chair under a canopy out of the shot, scowling at some papers in his hand. Jasmine’s watching him too, from her place next to Jensen, whose arm is snug around her waist.
“Now, then, let’s get back to it,” Tom spouts. “This afternoon’s main challenge is an individual effort called ‘What’s Their Language?’ The universally recognized five love languages are Quality Time, Gifts, Words of Affirmation, Physical Touch, and Acts of Service. During your screening process, you ranked these in order of importance to you to give and receive, and gave an example of each that would mean something to you.”
My mind wanders back to what I put down, and I shudder. Love languages. I’m feeling anything but lingual. But on the plus side, this gives me a chance to see how well I know the people in the house. They’ll be easier to pair up if I win.
“All twelve of you will play at the same time, guessing about the other eleven,” Tom continues. “Behind me are twelve boards, each with the faces of your eleven cast mates and a square hole beside them. Down there,” he says, pointing, and we all turn to see large piles of square cubes, “each cube has one cast member’s top two languages and examples of such.
“When I say go, you must run down, retrieve one cube at a time, and come place it in the hole beside the picture of the person you believe it represents. Of the first three people with all twelve cubes placed, the one with the most correct wins. Any questions?”
I’m glad it’s an individual challenge, the relief vast, for several reasons.
One, I won’t get paired with Oakley. Two, I won’t get paired with Cruz and three, I don’t have to touch or lick anyone. All points making the game one of my favorites from the start.
“If there are no questions, here’s the hook we’ve thrown you this time. The winner can take their dream date and has one pick for the Soul Search, as usual—or they can forgo their date and send in two picks tonight. If the two couples sent in are both a match, we put $75,000 in the community bank for charity!”
Cheers erupt, but Tom’s quick to hold up a finger. “The catch? If even one couple isn’t a correct match, the bank loses $10,000.”
A series of groans explodes now. Everyone wants to be the hero who wins $75,000 and eliminates two couples, but being the asshole who cost a charity $10,000 on national TV? It’ll take a brave soul to risk it. But I’m in a give-no-fucks kind of mood, so I’m in it to win it.
“If everyone’s ready, good luck, and…GO!”
I race as quickly as my feet will carry me to the blocks and notice Rachel and Nadia taking their time, talking and walking their way down. In fact, maybe they’ve got the right idea on this one. Maybe I should save my energy too. The men are out for blood, flying up and down the hill in flashes of speed and endurance that I won’t possibly be able to imitate.
When I make it to my pile, I grab a cube and read quickly. I remember this part of the questioning vividly; it was one of the few things that seemed to carry any validity. My top two languages were Quality Time (an example being a night of movies, snuggled on the couch) and Words of Affirmation (getting a compliment every single day). I like Physical Touch and had debated on it, but a “You’re beautiful” seems a more honest effort to me than a boob graze.
The block in my hand boasts “Receiving Gifts” and “Acts of Service,” the examples being “A necklace they know I’ve had my eye on” and “Surprising me with a gift.” I’d bet the beating heart in my chest it’s Nadia’s, so I sprint back and plug it next to her ugly mug before running back down the hill.
I grab another block and am about to read it when I hear Court shout, “Come on, darlin’, you got this!”
I look, and damn, he’s not just encouraging her, Emma’s on fire; she can fly. And because she might actually have a chance of winning, I slide down to the sand and sit, hoping she takes the whole thing. Curiously, I read each block one at a time. Some I don’t know the answers to, and some I’m positive of. The block boasting “Physical Touch,” with an example of “Staying by my side like I’m the only man in the room,” and “Acts of Service,” the example being “Showing me she loves me with random kisses, touches, and praise” is definitely Oakley Abrams’.
The next one says “Quality Time,” “Nothing but us—doesn’t matter, anything she picks” and “Physical Touch,” “Giving me her kiss in the morning, her hand in public, and her body freely and openly.” Whomever it belongs to…the computer’s broken beyond repair if it didn’t match me with him as my soulmate.
When I finally mosey my way back to the group, I hear the horn blow and Tom declare Cruz, Miles, and Emma the top three finishers. How did NFL Oakley not beat Emma and Miles up and down a hill? I look at their boards; all three got mine correct. But with a total of ten out of twelve correct, Miles is the ultimate victor.
Good for him, depending on what he chooses to do. Immediately, everyone but a few are on him, all talking at once and pitching their agendas. Peyton is the loudest of them.
“Enough, enough,” Tom chuckles. “Everyone back up. Miles, this is your decision. You can
always just take that date and one pick.”
“No way, Tom. I’m picking two and going for the big money!” he declares adamantly. “And I’m ready to choose the couples now.”
“I like your confidence. If you’re so sure, go ahead and tell us who you’re sending in and we’ll all head inside and do this thing!”
“I’m sending in Peyton and Rachel…” Good choice, though I feel bad for Peyton. My self-respect would waiver if I were matched with the likes of Rachel. “…and Jasmine and Jensen.”
What? Does he want me to punch him?
“The hell?” Peyton blurts out, his face twisted with shocked disgust that melts the second Rachel scoffs. “I mean…no offense, Rachel, but I just don’t think you’re my match—or how anyone else could, for that matter.”
“Ditto, asshole,” she snips, leading the pack to the house.
I’m bringing up the rear, but not for long as Emma, Callie, and I all hurry to Jasmine’s side. She’s pale and frazzled, and with one glance at Adam I see he is, too.
“Are you all right?” I ask, unsure why Miles would send her in with Jensen. Yes, they screw around, but it’s obvious they’re not soulmates. And Miles is supposed to be one of the good ones.
“Perfect.” She attempts a smile. “I came here with Jensen because I believed he was my soulmate, and this is what I wanted. Why wouldn’t I be happy?”
“Believed is the operative word there, Jas,” Callie replies.
But before we can say anymore, Jensen prowls over and begins pulling her away.
“Come on, baby. Let’s go do this and see where our vacation is taking us next.”
My fingernails dig into my palms, the urge to knock the presumption right off his face, barely contained.
Jasmine doesn’t look back at us, stepping into his embrace as he leads her to the Great Room. Furious, I find Miles and tug him aside, my nails digging into his skin harsher than is probably necessary.
“What are you doing?” I seethe. “Jasmine and Jensen? You can’t tell me you seriously believe they’re a match!”
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