“Honestly, what did you expect to happen, Harlow?” Her voice has risen an octave, and her mouth is a thin, firm line.
“What? I…I don’t know—”
“I do. You wanted to use my brother as a rebound.” Her eyebrows pinch together, and she stands abruptly. “Not cool. He should be pissed.”
Stunned by her unexpected fury, I hurry to my feet. “No, I didn’t…I mean, I just don’t know.” My explanation’s as jumbled as my thoughts.
“Do you like him?”
My mouth opens, but no words come out. My eyes land on the cameraman at the end of the hall, and I lower my voice to a whisper. “Emma, please. Let’s find somewhere else to discuss this.”
“No, here’s just fine. Tell me—you expected my brother to what? Kiss you back? Take you in the Lovin’ Lounge and keep your mind off Oakley till you leave the show?”
“Emma...” I’m desperate to end the conversation.
“Screw you, Harlow.” She backs up. “He won’t say it because he’s too nice, but I’m tired of people in this house treating each other like objects just to get off on!” She pokes a finger at my chest and leans in. “You have no idea everything he’s given up—everything he’s done for our family. How dare you try to use him! He deserves better than that—better than you!”
“That’s enough.” Cruz’s stern growl has Emma’s mouth snapping shut, and an intense tremor spikes through me.
My entire body’s a solid, painful brick. I can’t look him in the eyes, but I study his feet and long legs as he stands behind Emma at the top of the stairs. How long has he been here? Did he hear everything?
It doesn’t matter. I hurt a friend, and I need to fix it.
“Emma, I’m sorry.” It’s a shamed plea aimed at the floor, but when I raise my head to try again, it’s to her retreating back.
My eyes finally risk a collision with Cruz’s dark-blue pair. He gives nothing away, binding me in his steely gaze until he, too, turns and heads back downstairs.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been in this position—alone. The cameraman creeps closer, no doubt zooming in on the tears of regret begging to spill. And at my wit’s end, pushed way too far, I flip him off and march down the hall.
It’d be a power move, except I have nowhere to go. Downstairs definitely isn’t an option, so I stand in front of my door and am able to hear Adam talking.
“Can’t answer that for you, Jasmine. It’s your life.”
I pull my hand from the doorknob, not about to interrupt them even if I am just hanging out in the hall alone like a loser. That leaves the only extra beds in the house either in Oakley’s room (no, thank you), Nadia and Rachel’s room (kill me first), or Peyton’s room, where he’s still packing. Looks like I’m going down to the Lovin’ Lounge if I want to nap off my building migraine—if it’s even free.
But on my way there, I’m stopped dead in my tracks, my breath hitching at the sight in front of me.
Oakley’s outside the lounge with Nadia in front of him…and their lips are connected.
No! Not Nadia!
I turn on my heel and run as fast as I can. Justifiably or not, my heart is shredded.
I hear Callie calling my name as I sprint through the Great Room and out the back door, seeking refuge in a hammock in the yard, far away from the rest of the world—well, except the persistent cameraman, whose pounding feet have kept up behind me.
I do my best to ignore his presence and manage to climb into the hammock without tossing myself over it. Breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, I close my eyes and drift off, imagining I’m on a beautiful, tropical island…alone.
Confessional: Emma McCall
“You probably saw me yell at Harlow and maybe jab her in the chest with my finger a little bit, so let me explain. I swear I’m not a mean person, but that’s my brother—the best person in the world—so she had it coming. I like Harlow a lot, but I love my brother. He…God, he’d do anything for me—has done anything for me. You have no idea.
“It pisses me off beyond belief that she cheapened things, because I know Cruz, and…never mind. He didn’t deserve to be some revenge rebound, and now she ruined it!
You can never get that first moment back. Even if he forgives her, it’ll always be tainted. Gah, she’s an idiot.
“See, now I’m getting all worked up again. She’s not an idiot—not a complete one, anyway. I’m not saying I’m not one as well…I mean, look at me and Wyatt. It’s just that I hate that she robbed herself of that moment, too. I truly do. I don’t know…maybe I was too harsh…pretty sure I saw her asleep outside in a hammock. But geez. I’m not going out there to get her.
“Sorry, give me a second, I…crap, this is all too much. Great, now I’m bawling on TV. I came on this show to have fun and for Cruz to lighten up and have fun too, and all anyone’s done is fight! Jasmine’s getting her pride snuffed out a little more every day, Court’s…ugh, I don’t know what Court is besides a hot-and-cold bathroom-blowjob bastard, and it’s not fun. And even if I do forgive him, my family will never accept him because I just announced his indiscretion on tape!
“Ugh, now look at me! My nose is stuffed up and my headache’s back. God, screw this stupid show! BYE FELICIA!”
Chapter 21
“Harlow.” Someone shakes my arm. “Harlow, come to bed.”
My eyelids peel open to reveal Jasmine towering over me. I rub my eyes and look around, realizing I’m still outside in the hammock. It’s pitch black out, aside from the faint light of the Tiki torches around the pool.
“What time is it?” I grumble, sitting up, setting the hammock in motion.
“Whoa, easy mama,” she snickers, stopping my glide. “About ten. You okay?”
I nod and stand with the help of her hand. “Yeah. You?”
“Been better,” she confesses. “Come on, we have a mini challenge at noon tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep in a real bed.”
“Yep.” There’s nothing else to say, both of us anything but thrilled about another day in this nightmare.
We walk back to the house, past Nadia and Rachel. They’re sitting in the Great Room, whispering to each other.
“Ignore them,” Jasmine says, not bothering to keep her voice down. “Rachel’s on her way out, and then Nadia’s a one-bitch operation.”
“Don’t care, just want to sleep.”
“Couldn’t agree more.”
The next morning, I’m up with just enough time to shower and have my usual smoothie. Everyone’s scattered throughout the house, avoiding at least one other person. The tension is at an all-time high, leaving only Callie and Jasmine sitting at the kitchen table.
Adam breezes by, tapping his watch. “Ten minutes, ladies.”
“Another challenge, yay!” Callie cocks off loudly. “What do you think it’ll be this time? Sexual positions?”
“I wouldn’t put it past them,” I laugh, needing to relieve some of the anxiety closing in around us. “Have you guys seen Em yet this morning?”
Jasmine nods while Callie answers, “On her way to the shower earlier. She told us about you and Cruz.”
I lay my head on my arm, which is strewn across the table. “Great. She still hate me?”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Jasmine says. “She’s just…upset. Plus, everything with Court—I think it’s all getting to her.”
“It’s this show, making us all crazy.”
“I don’t disagree, but right now they’re waiting.” Callie stands and sets her coffee cup in the sink. “Let’s go see what awaits us this time, ladies.”
When we arrive, Tom is standing on the beach, as annoyingly chipper as possible. “Good afternoon. I hope everyone had a restful night. Harlow, how’d the hammock sleep?”
I don’t want to answer, but won’t give him the satisfaction of a perceived victory. “Heavenly.”
He’s still smiling, but there’s a fleeting hint of disappointment when I don’t expand on my answer. �
�Glad to hear it. Okay, for today’s mini challenge, we have something very special planned…visitors!” His hand motions to the right, dragging our attention to the incoming bus that stops just short of the sand line.
“This can’t be good,” Jasmine worries quietly.
“Now, before we reveal who these special guests are, we need everyone lined up on their markers. The most important rule here is no speaking—to anyone—from this point forward until directed to do so by me, and only to the one person I specify. If you break this simple rule, you’re instantly disqualified from the chance of winning $5,000 more for your charity—and a night in the never-before-used Posh Suite!”
“I’m gonna win this,” I decide aloud, taking a spot next to Callie. Emma materializes from somewhere behind me and I give her a rueful smile that she ignores. It’s no fun walking in Court’s shoes.
“And who’s gonna be your suite buddies, if you win?” Callie asks me with bouncing, persuasive eyebrows.
“Not a damn person,” I answer easily. I’d saw off one of my own limbs in sacrifice for some isolation at this point.
Jasmine and Callie look to agree with my thought process as we wait for everyone else to assemble, taking their marks in the sand to form one long line of ten people. I can hardly wait to see what’s in store.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this challenge will test your intuition, and is suitably named ‘Exes and Ohs.’ Don’t say hello to…some blasts from your pasts!”
Please, God, if it’s what I’m thinking…make. It. Stop.
The bus door slides open, and off walks a short tomboyish woman with a baseball cap on her head, the oversized jersey she’s wearing concealing any shape. I’m also pretty sure her shorts are meant for men’s basketball. I have no clue whose ex she could be. Maybe Jensen’s?
She stops on the mark directly in front of Callie as another woman comes into view and joins us. She has long legs, a perfect slim figure, and a maddening, gorgeous smile. I hate her instantly. She just screams “cheerleader”—worse than I ever did, which means there’s a good chance she’s here because she was once with Oakley. And of course, she’s standing right across from me. Very tricky, evil masterminds.
Two more girls take their places and they’re both stunning, but it’s the final one who throws me. Dressed in black combat boots, tiny Daisy Dukes, and a shredded Rolling Stones tank top, the short bottle blonde looks anything but sweet—or from this decade. Now she could have dated Jensen…or the lead singer of Whitesnake. But he’s not here, so this may turn out to be harder than I thought.
Next are the men, which has me overly curious and anxious considering I’ve never had an actual boyfriend besides Oakley. So who the hell could they possibly have found for me?
My question is answered the moment Jake, a truck driver I went on a total of three dates with, steps out. And wouldn’t ya know it—the next open spot for him is facing Oakley.
Why are they being so blatantly obvious? It has me suspecting there’s some secret caveat to this game that I’m missing. Jake and Oakley were never friends, per se, but we’re all from the same town…and Oakley’s blanched fists pumping in and out at his sides, it’s clear he definitely recognizes him.
I’m so busy trying to pretend—hope, even—this is some pre-stroke apparition that I miss the rest of the men as they line up.
“Welcome!” Tom walks up and down the aisle between the two lines: us…and them. “Normally I’d ask that you all introduce yourselves, but like you’ve been told, there’s to be no talking, touching, or communication of any kind. Cast members, in case you haven’t figured it out, we’ve brought in these ten people to spice things up—an ex from each of your pasts. Obviously, you’ll recognize your own, and perhaps a sibling’s or friend’s too. Maybe you’ve even talked about them to the others in the house and said their names…which is why no one’s allowed to speak and the guests all have a number on their shirt for identification. So how’s this going to work? I’d be happy to tell you!”
Get on with it, Tom. Cheeky’s only cute on chubby babies.
“We’ll go down the line, and each of you will be allowed to ask one yes-or-no question of the person standing directly in front of you. That question cannot in any way include or directly insinuate a specific name—theirs nor one of your house mates’. Each cast member is now being handed a clipboard, on it is a list of your fellow roommates. Your job is to write the appropriate guest number next to the correct contestant’s name.
“When all ten of you have asked your questions, the clipboards will be collected and the winner will be whoever matches the most exes to housemates correctly. Yes, you’ll need to be very clever and precise with your questions. And pay attention to all the questions asked to help you figure this out,” Tom explains. “We’ll start on this end, with Callie and guest number one.”
Callie openly scrutinizes the person across from her for way longer than socially acceptable before she asks her one question. “Are you a lesbian?”
Yep, she just said that out loud. I’d scold her and throw in an arm swat…if I could talk or touch. Number one answers easily, though—and fortunately, doesn’t seem offended. “No.”
I give the poor girl an apologetic smile and stare down at my paper. Who the hell do I put her with? Not only was Callie’s question tacky, but it provided absolutely no indicative information. So we now know she’s not a lesbian…which helps me pair her to one of the guys how? Great job, Callie. Unless…that’s her plan? This is an individual challenge, and nothing sounds sweeter than a night alone behind a door that locks.
I settle for Jensen by default, because I have no more clue who’d be his ex as I do why.
“Harlow,” Tom says, “you’re next. One question for guest number two.”
This is a cinch, my intuition is keen. “Are you, or have you ever been, a cheerleader?”
The girl smiles softly, trying for the innocence I doubt she possesses while screwing a certain NFL player during half-time. Okay, Callie’s excused; I’m ate up with the tacky too. This invasion seems to have brought it out—fast.
“Yes,” she answers, just as I knew she would. I brace for the wrench of jealousy at the torturous imagery—she and Oakley warming up locker rooms while we were apart—but it never comes.
Thankfully, Tom steals away my choice of dwelling on it as he tells Jasmine to go, so I jot Give-Head Cheerleader’s number, “2,” beside Oakley’s name.
“Have you ever been to the rodeo?” Jasmine asks the beauty across from her. She’s helping Emma out, and I grin. Regardless of whether she’s angry at me, I adore Emma.
“No,” she responds, so I write “3” next to Cruz, the only other option that makes sense. She’d look good with him, and that visual—the two of them hand and hand, together—has more rage surging through me than the Oakley option even came close to. I can’t take my eyes off her now, wondering what she did to win Cruz and why I care about the answer more than anything else I can remember caring about in a long time.
Emma’s up next, and her girl to be questioned is wearing the tiniest…we’ll call it a dress…with a neon-orange bikini showing through the sheer material. Her breasts are even larger than Jasmine’s. Her plastic surgeon should be arrested for reckless endangerment; one wrong move, and those things could hurt somebody.
Emma bombs the bombshell. “Do you suck dick for a living?”
Half the group bursts out laughing, while the other half picks their jaws up off the ground.
I lean out to study Emma’s expression. She couldn’t care less, waiting impatiently for the answer with an evil smirk and judgment in her glare. The girl’s on fire—itching for a target for her pent-up aggression, just like the rest of us.
I don’t bother to check on Cruz’s status. Not only are we each pretending the other doesn’t exist, but he’s probably passed out from shock anyway.
“Yes,” Miss Flotation Devices for the Entire Plane replies, no shame in her boastful tone.
&
nbsp; I cross out “1” next to Jensen and replace it with “4,” moving ‘Not a Lesbian but Thank You for Asking’ to Court. But wait—that leaves the punk chick coming up with Miles, and that can’t be right. I wait for Nadia’s turn to decide how to rearrange.
“Vere you on America’s Most Vanted?” Nadia snaps, obviously unimpressed.
“No, bitch,” she barks right back, and I’m tempted to clap. “Were you on Who Wants to be a Ratchet Ho?”
And…I’m clapping.
Two crew guys get between them before the hair-pulling begins—well, Nadia might’ve gotten one pull in before Badass knocked her out cold.
I hurry to fix my answers before the men start their round of questioning. I do end up putting Badass with Miles, figuring he’s so sweet maybe he needs the opposite type of woman. I don’t feel confident in my answer sheet, but there’s no time to overthink it.
Oakley’s first for the men, and his question’s delivered with no lack of animosity. “You at least wait till I left?”
Everyone is scribbling on their sheets immediately, all obviously writing his number next to my name.
“Yes,” Jake answers. Tom moves quickly on to Jensen, who smirks across at the dorkiest little dude I’ve ever seen. His Hawaiian shirt’s too large for his minuscule frame, and he’s just a bit outside of pulling off the whole white-socks-with-sandals look.
“You ever get laid?” Jensen asks, and I think we’re all surprised when he proudly answers, “Yes.”
Who in the hell did he date? Emma would be my instant guess, but since I’m almost positive she’s a virgin…no one else makes even a little sense though, so I write down his number and make a note, ‘fill last empty slot.’
Court asks the oldest of all the male guests, who’s at least forty, if he travels around the world for his career. Finally, a question with discerning value. When he responds affirmatively, I’m quick to put him down for Nadia. Only two names left on my sheet, Callie and Jasmine.
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