Matched

by Angela Graham

  His arms come around me completely and hold me close. There’s no animalistic hunger now—only a raw need to feel as one. We sway, merged and sheathed, as his throaty grunt of my name has me clenching around him.

  In what feels like only minutes, though the setting sun reveals otherwise, someone shouts our way. “Car’s here to take you to the hotel!”

  My body trembles, tears bursting free. “I can’t go.”

  “Shhh.” He moves his hips, and my lips part on a broken moan. His hand glides down my body until his thumb reaches my sensitive bud, rubbing rough circles against my flesh.

  My body arches up further into him, his mouth covering mine as I coil tightly. My breath catches in my throat when he plunges deeper and faster once more, and that’s all it takes for me to fall apart in his arms. I’m quivering, riding the high, and then soon falling back down. I claw to keep him with me, my hands roaming frantically over every glistening inch of him, desperate to memorize every nuance, muscle, and scar.

  I almost wish we’d just fucked—to hell with the cameras—because this is so much harder. He made love to me sweetly, tenderly, and beautifully. It was everything I’d ever craved. How do I say goodbye after that?

  He pulls out, still hard, never having reached his own climax. “Look at me, Harlow.” He’s cradling my head, demanding my focus.

  The tears refuse to cease, making it nearly impossible for me to look at him. He kisses my damp cheek and waits until my eyes meet his before speaking. “Go to Aspen and live it up for a week. Take as many photos as you can, ’cause I’ll want to see them when I leave this house.”

  I give a feeble attempt at a nod.

  “And do me one favor. Remember this moment—how perfectly we fit together and how crazy I am about you. ’Cause for as long as I’ve lived and through all that I’ve done, I’ve never felt anything even close to this. I want more, gorgeous—more time, more you, more us.”

  He’s kisses me again, and I hear footsteps heading our way. I close my eyes tightly, unable to control my sobs when he rolls away and out of the hammock. I open my eyes and watch him head to the beach, with no final glances back my way.

  “Time to go, Harlow.” The new producer, a middle-aged woman, appears with a cameraman in tow.

  I sit up and wrap the blanket around my body, inhaling his lingering scent and giving the property one last look. The memories, good and bad, replay through my mind. This place, this show, has forever changed who I am.

  I stand and cast a final glance down at Cruz on the shoreline with his back to me, staring out at the ocean.

  I smile, cherishing every irreplaceable memory, and begin to walk away without a single regret.

  The Reunion

  I have no idea what to expect as I stand backstage. My palms are clammy, and there’s a relentless lump in my throat I can’t swallow past. And where is everyone else? Are they keeping us separated on purpose to build anxiety? Because it’s working.

  In the few weeks since leaving the show, I’ve of course talked to Court while we were in Aspen and several times to Miranda, as well as exchanged a handful of stiff texts with Callie…but that’s it.

  No, no Cruz. No sighting today yet, either.

  “Ten minutes!” a guy with a headset rushes by and barks.

  I look around, uncertain how to feel. Where are my other cast mates?

  “Psst.” A black curtain slides open to reveal Miranda.

  My sigh remedies at least half my jumbled nerves as I envelop her in a hug. “Thank God! I was wondering where you were. I’m so happy to see you!”

  “You too. I missed you.” We break apart and she whispers, “I think we’re all sequestered—you know, always with the clever tricks—but I’m a rebel.” She laughs. “Hunted you down.”

  A warning shout comes from somewhere. “Five minutes!”

  “So catch me up, fast,” I say. “Have you heard from—”

  “Nothing. He hasn’t called. Which is fine—we had our goodbye—I just have to accept it.” Her voice cracks, but she’s quick with a bright smile and change of subject. “But I moved! New apartment, new city, new Miranda. So screw Adam! What about you? Anything?”

  I shake my head, my teeth tugging on my bottom lip. “Still nothing, but I didn’t give him my number. With everything going on right at the end, I forgot.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Adam could’ve given it to him. Assholes, both of them.” She throws an arm around my shoulder. “At least we have each other. I’m surprised about Emma, though.”

  “Yeah, me too. I’m surprised by a lot of things.”

  “Harlow, Jasmine, there you are! Places!” The crewman is ushering us forward, but Miranda rips her arm from his grasp.

  “My name is Miranda. I already told them repeatedly to use it, or I’m outta here. And don’t touch us—ever.” She yanks his other hand from me. “Come on, Harlow.”

  I bite back a proud grin at how feisty Miranda has grown as we interlock our arms and walk onto the stage together. It takes everything in me to hold onto my polished smile when I see the stadium seating awaiting. He’s here, in the top row, and not looking at me.

  “Harlow, red mark, front row. Miranda, yellow, third,” we’re instructed.

  “We got this,” Miranda whispers. “After, we’ll grab a drink?”

  “Sounds good,” I reply, struggling to rein in the flurry of emotions building in my stomach.

  I take my spot with my head down, raising it slowly once I’m settled. I’m about to look around and chance a peek his way until fingers snap in my face.

  “Facing forward in five, four, three…”

  “Welcome to the Date, Mate, Fate reunion special! I’m your host, Tom Peters, and I’m joined by the cast of men and women from the first-ever celebrity edition.”

  He sure is; we’re all crammed together again. Honestly, it’s been so long that I forgot some of these people were even in the house.

  “Let’s start with our couple sent into the Soul Search right off the bat, Dana and Dalton!”

  Exactly whom I’d forgotten about. I angle my body to see them better.

  “Dana, how are things between you and Dalton now?” Tom asks.

  I could answer myself just by reading their body language; there’s at least a good foot between them. It’s hard to get comfortable or cozy on these bleachers—yes, they have us sitting on metal bleachers—but the animosity emanating off those two is due to much more than the seating.

  “There are no ‘things’ between me and Dalton,” Dana snips. “The minute we got home from Paris, he stopped answering my calls or texts.” Her judgmental scowl lands on a tight-lipped Dalton as she goes on. “At first, I was worried he lost his phone. But no, he found it just fine enough to post pictures of him and his hoochies all over Instagram.”

  I shuffle to face forward again, already losing interest. I spot Oakley as I do, with Callie right beside him. I’m the unlucky one here, with Wyatt—joy—to my immediate right. But where the hell is Emma? It takes everything I have to keep from turning all the way around to glare at Cruz. I won’t give him the privilege of even a second of my time.

  “One of the questions we received the most from Twitter followers pertained to the Meet Your Mate Mixer. Dalton, can you tell us what was really happening under that table?”

  “Exactly what you think was happening, Tom,” he answers in a monotone.

  “Classy, Dana,” I hear Callie chastise her from behind me.

  “Why don’t you—”

  “Next, we have Ivy and Wyatt!” Tom interrupts Dana. “There’s no forgetting Wyatt’s antics in the house. Tell me, were you two surprised you matched?”

  “Not a bit. Ivy’s a hot movie star. Who else would she match with?” Wyatt laughs. “In fact,” he says, swiveling, “come sit by Daddy, sugar. Harlow, scoot over.”

  I move aside as Ivy slides in and lays her hand on Wyatt’s thigh. “Hey, Harlow.”

  “Um…hi, Ivy.”

  “Congrat
ulations, Ivy. And Peyton,” Tom says, waving toward the top of the bleachers, “on the huge success of Always Was. How many of you out there saw it?” he asks the nonexistent studio audience. “Wow, looks like most hands are up!”

  “Thank you all,” Ivy coos at the invisible people. “We’re very grateful.”

  “So, you and Wyatt? Was the Soul Search correct?”

  “I think there’s a shot. He’s flown out to see me and vice versa a few times since the show, and it’s always a lovely night. Wyatt?”

  “I keep boardin’ the planes, so what do you think?” Wyatt asks, grinning.

  Not sure whether it’s the start of a meaningful relationship or an expensive series of booty calls, but either way, they deserve each other.

  “Wonderful! And now a Twitter question from tabbycat. ‘Was there a Callahan brothers threesome with Nadia or not?’”

  “No!” Ah, Nadia’s up there somewhere in Cruz’s vicinity.

  “Well, there’s your answer.” Wyatt chuckles. “Let’s not speak of my brother when he’s not here to defend himself, yeah?”

  I whirl around and search the bleachers. How did I not notice Court and Emma missing? A spike of fear stabs me. But Cruz is here, so what’s going on?

  Speaking of Cruz, I take the opportunity while I’m turned around to shoot some daggers at him before Tom moves on.

  “Peyton and Rachel, hello. How are you both?”

  “If I was any better, I wouldn’t be sitting on bleachers,” Rachel says, trying another of her infamous not-funny jokes.

  “Have you stayed in contact with any of your cast mates?” he pushes on.

  “Only Nadia, who’s impossible to get ahold of, and Ivy, who’s almost as bad.”

  “What about Miles, your plus one? Isn’t he your roommate?”

  I steal a subtle peek at Miles, who’s sitting just behind me and to my left, and grin as he answers Tom. “Not her anything, Thomas. May I call you Thomas?”

  Miles is a lot funnier than his former roommate.

  “You can, but I won’t answer you.”

  Who knew Tom had a personality tucked away in there?

  “Don’t get mouthy down there, Miles, or I’ll air it all!” Rachel threatens.

  “Oh please, pumpkin, allow me.” The metal squeaks as Miles stands, and I turn to look at him. “I’m gay. Surprise!”

  “Called it!” Oakley boasts, stretching to high five Wyatt.

  “And that hot mofo off stage over there,” Miles says, pointing to a very handsome man who waves, “is my boyfriend, Zeffrey. Honey, come out here and meet my girls.”

  Zeffrey strolls out like he owns the place, and Tom’s gaping mouth looks ready to catch flies. “This is my Harlow.” I rise to shake his hand and am pulled up and around for a hug instead. Over Zeffrey’s shoulder, Cruz winks at me.

  I slam my eyes shut, and swing back down to sit. Nope. Can’t even begin to deal with how a simple goddamned wink riles me up.

  “And this is my precious Miranda,” Miles continues, and she’s enveloped in the same full-embrace treatment. “Callie Sass,” Miles introduces Callie, then looks around. “Thomas, where’s Emma? And Court?”

  My eyes dart back to Cruz, and this time he averts his gaze.

  “All in due time. Everyone, please have a seat.”

  I hate that Miranda’s a bit far for me to reach—I need my girls right now—but I see her worried expression mirrors my own when she looks down at me. Callie is right below her, and reaches up to grab her hand before they both look to me. I’m just about to stage a coup when it dawns on me.

  What if it’s something bad? Like…

  I suck in a lungful of stale air, unable to even think it. Emma has to be fine, or Cruz wouldn’t be here. Maybe she’s gonna make a grand entrance—perhaps she and Court married? I don’t want to steal her thunder, but—

  “Gorgeous.”

  The calm, low timbre has me jerking my eyes to him in spite of myself. “S’okay.” He nods and I breathe slowly, swinging my gaze to Callie and Miranda and attempting the faintest smile to help ease them as he did me.

  Even though he didn’t call, or come to me, or find me backstage…if he says it’s okay, I trust it really is.

  Tom recovers. “Zeffrey, welcome. Nice to meet you. But Miles, I have to ask, why come on a show matching men to women if you’re homosexual?”

  “Ah, Thomas, Thomas, Thomas,” Miles scolds. “Shouldn’t the question be, ‘Why didn’t your all-knowing computers pick up on that and send me a perfect match I might actually be attracted to?’”

  I fall a little more in love with Miles every time he speaks, and I wish I’d have gotten to know him better when we were in the house.

  “Well, er…” Tom stammers, looking to the crew off-camera for help. But the lot of them seem just as baffled as Tom, and most are looking either at the ceiling or their shoes.

  “That’s what I thought.” Miles holds out his hand, and Zeffrey slaps it. “I figured you’d toy with the emotions of innocent people, which you did. I also figured someone would need to be able to attest to the load of crap your whole premise is—offer everyone reassurance that no matter what your ‘system’ said, they should listen to their hearts.” He looks to me and Cruz, then Miranda, and finally Callie and Oakley before Tom again. “And thank heavens, they did.”

  “Okay.” Tom shifts uncomfortably in his seat before donning a plastic smile and looking up top. “Peyton, I believe we were on you?”

  “Just want the record to show I would’ve won. Had all the matches figured out, whether they made sense or not.”

  “Really? Is that true, everyone? Was Peyton the mastermind behind deliberations?”

  “He thinks so,” Ivy scoffs.

  “He was pretty damn good,” Oakley adds. “He had charts going and everything. I think he would’ve been close. Couple loopholes, shockers…” His voice trails off.

  “Miles picked up very nicely where Peyton left off,” I say with a smile. “So much so that he won the whole thing. Right?”

  I look to him, and he blows me a kiss.

  “That’s right. Our grand-prize winners—the final couple standing—were Miles and Emma.” Tom looks up to the back row. “Cruz, any thoughts?”

  “Miles is a helluva guy. I have no problem with that.” He leans forward to pat Miles on the shoulder.

  “You’re just glad there’s no chance he’d fuck her,” Wyatt snorts.

  I reach around Ivy and slap him across the face without a single thought other than the fact that we’re not “on the show” anymore. They can feel free to kick me out of here. And Wyatt can watch his mouth.

  “Your brother would kick your ass for that, you pig! Don’t you dare talk about—”

  Hands grip my shoulders. “Harlow.” Cruz’s voice invades my fury. He’s pulling me out of Wyatt’s face, where I’m now standing. “Come sit up here with me. We’re gonna let Court take care of that. I wouldn’t dream of robbing him of it.”

  I climb the bleachers with Cruz’s help, my body thrumming with frustration, and settle down at the top. When he sits beside me, I scoot as far away as possible, which isn’t more than half a foot. But his arm’s quick to hook around me, pulling me right back flush against his side.

  “All right, kind of out of order, but seems the way to go. Harlow?” Tom singles me out, and I cringe. Probably shouldn’t slap people if you don’t want attention. “You were certainly one to watch this season, the only plus one to enter the house as part of an actual couple. I know the viewers are dying to hear from you and Oakley. Where do things stand now?”

  Oakley looks at me over his shoulder, and I nod curtly.

  “I’ll answer that, Tom,” Oakley says as Cruz’s arm tightens around me. “Harlow and I are great friends, and that’ll never change. I’ll always love her, and I hope she’ll always love me, but we’re not in love. Life put a few years and a good bit of distance between us, and when we were reunited, we were just different people.”
r />   “Harlow, does that sum it up for you?”

  “Yes,” I answer our host.

  “But Callie was one of your best friends in the house.” He presses for something juicer to be revealed. “It doesn’t bother you that she matched with your ex-fiancé, took a trip with him, and is sitting by him now?”

  My mouth’s open, ready to respond, when Callie butts in. “I have something to say if that’s okay, Harlow.”

  Again, I simply nod.

  She takes a breath and looks at Tom. “Harlow and I had a very good talk before I left with Oakley, and as far as I’m concerned, she’s still one of my best friends in the house. Yes,” she says, peering up at me, “I’ve kissed him. But that’s it, I swear.”

  “It’s true,” Oakley grumbles. Jensen, the odd duck who’s been silent since pretty much everyone hates him, laughs.

  “And it’ll stay that way,” Callie adds quickly. I see Oakley’s head drop—not in frustration, but almost sadness.

  “What about his games you’ve been spotted at, Callie?” Rachel jabs. “And the team dinner? I saw pictures online. You two looked pretty cozy to me.”

  “I know it’s hard for you to believe, but some women are able to have guy friends and keep their legs shut,” Callie seethes at her.

  I speak up, needing her to understand. “Callie, I already told you I’m okay with it. If you and Oakley like each other, please don’t hold back. I’m serious. You two would be great together.” I give her a smile, and finally think it’s sinking in when she returns one.

  She nods, her eyes glistening with building tears, then turns back around very slowly. She’s looking at Oakley, and I watch as she grabs both his cheeks, lifts his head, and kisses him. He responds instantly, his large arms snaking around her, holding her close. He must say something against her lips, because she starts to giggle. When they break apart, Oakley looks back at me, and I’m grinning. His happiness is all I need.

  “Well, glad you two got that worked out, because let’s face it, Harlow wouldn’t have much room to talk. Let’s take a look back, shall we?” Tom says. A screen comes down, and a video montage starts to play.