by Anne Oliver
His mind wandered...he grew hard. Taming Brooke would be a fun task. She was certainly hot—and he was sure she’d be the type to demand she received her own pleasure in bed. He wasn’t into those girls who just lay there—waiting for him to take what he wanted. He liked a bit of spit and fire in the bedroom. He liked a fight—it made the winning so much sweeter.
What he didn’t like was the cuddling afterwards. Most women liked to cuddle—they wanted to snuggle and touch. But he liked to get up and away. Not because he didn’t feel affection for the women but because touching seemed a little too personal, a little too close. He wasn’t into close. And he suspected Brooke was the kind of woman who needed close.
‘Jack.’
Brooke’s angry tone brought him back to the hospital room. Brooke’s long-sleeved shirt was open, revealing a tight white singlet. He’d had someone go to the house and get some clothes for the girls last night. They couldn’t stay in their swimsuits. Jack’s mind wandered back to Brooke’s red bikini. It hadn’t left much to the imagination. And her body was perfect. Small, tight and athletic. Strong. He imagined how athletic she’d be in bed.
‘Jack.’
Again her voice brought him back and his eyes turned to hers. She was angry now. Clearly she didn’t like being ignored. ‘You need to send the cameras away until she wakes and fixes herself up.’
No. He didn’t. The whole point was to see real reactions. The audience would love to see these two, just woken up after a night in hospital. But Brooke was right—no one would want a camera in their face right after they woke.
‘This is what you both signed up for, Brooke—Alissa knows that.’
‘Alissa had no idea she was going to end up in hospital. I’m sure she didn’t sign up for that.’
‘The cameras are staying.’
He was done arguing. The more she talked, the more sense she made—and he didn’t want to change his mind. He knew what would rate best and he needed this show to work, so he didn’t want her changing his mind. He couldn’t modify this show—not for her or anyone else. It had to be raw and real and make people sit up and take notice.
‘What do you care, anyway? You look great. And it’ll make you look good to be here when she wakes up—people will love you.’
He knew he’d said the wrong thing even before he’d finished his sentence. She stood up. White-hot rage seeped through her eyeballs at him. Her fists clenched and her shirt slipped off her shoulder but she was too mad to fix it. His eyes moved to the golden tan of her shoulder. Smooth, with a smattering of freckles from too much time in the sun.
‘I don’t care how people see me, Jack. This isn’t about me—or you, for that matter. This is about Alissa and the fact that she almost died yesterday. Do you even get that? Or do you just think about ratings and audiences and everything else that doesn’t matter?’
‘That’s all that matters right now, Brooke.’
Didn’t she get that? Why couldn’t she understand that this wasn’t about her or Alissa? This was about making good TV.
‘No, it’s not what matters. You’re so caught up in what people think that you forget what this is really about. Twelve women so disillusioned with love that they think coming on some badly conceived TV show will help them find it. I don’t care what you think—that’s what these girls are here for—to find love. Not be made fools of in front of the nation.’
‘These girls are here to get their heads on the TV. If they weren’t they’d find some other way to find love.’
‘No. The problem is people like you, Jack. People who perpetrate the myth that men fall in love with looks. But they don’t. There’s plenty of beautiful women out there, but true love is not about what you look like on the telly or on Instagram or on Facebook. It’s not about what people think about you, it’s about who you actually are. It’s about the type of person you are and the little things that someone notices. People aren’t attracted to a perfect nose or the right shade of blonde in your hair. It’s not that specific. You can’t explain why you’re attracted to some people but not others. These women think that if they look hot and do some cool things they’ll be desirable, but that kind of attention attracts meat-heads and pathetic, insecure men who don’t want a real women—they want the image of a woman. And those are the men these girls should be staying away from.’
She was right. This wasn’t the place to find a decent bloke. This was a television show. Even though it was called reality it wasn’t—you didn’t live your life on a TV screen. But right now she seemed to be blaming him for the wrongs of the world. Putting everything that was wrong with society and modern dating on him. It wasn’t his responsibility to make these women see themselves as more than just images. It was his job to deliver a TV show that would achieve high ratings. That was it. The end of his responsibility.
‘They’re all over eighteen—they can make their own minds up.’
‘You have no idea, do you? Have you ever stopped to think of what goes on in the lives of these women outside this show? Do you even know anything about them? They could have no support. They could have a group of family and friends who make them feel less than they are. Have you ever thought about the reasons they’re here?’
‘No!’
That had come out louder than he’d wanted. But she was making him feel things he didn’t want to feel. Like guilt. Why should he feel guilty? He hadn’t begged these women to come on the show. He wasn’t responsible. He couldn’t be responsible. That just led to trouble and he couldn’t afford trouble. Not this time.
SIX
Brooke had stopped talking. She was clearly surprised by his violent outburst. Good. He needed her to be quiet. He needed to think. Or not think in this case. He just needed this to happen.
‘Mick, get the boys in here. We need to start taping.’ Alissa was waking. He needed her reaction. He needed to get out of the way so the scene could get shot.
He stepped back, away from Brooke and out of the way, but Brooke stepped forward.
‘Don’t you leave. You want people to see the real reactions then you need to be here. You need to take responsibility. You were a big part of this—you sent Alissa into the ocean, you calmed her down, and I suspect you were the one to send all the clothes and supplies for us. Now you’re here. You need to be in this, too.’
No, he didn’t. ‘I’m not on the show—you are. Now turn around and talk to your friend.’
He was sure that order would send her into a fit. He was sure that would make great TV and he was sure he only felt a slight twitch at the thought of that. But she didn’t have a fit. She smiled. She looked at him, direct and hot in the eye. Then she turned and went to Alissa.
It took half an hour of Brooke talking to remind Alissa of where she was and what had happened. Alissa delivered a magnificent performance, forgetting where she was and then crying over the accident before declaring that she hoped her perfect match was worth the trouble. Perfect line. Perfect TV. But for some reason it didn’t make Jack feel good. It made him feel old and jaded and uncomfortable. Uncomfortable because he knew he’d just done something his father would have been proud of.
* * *
The food in the hospital was terrible. Brooke pushed the plate away and it scraped noisily, echoing in the empty space. Brooke’s neck ached and her shoulders hurt. A night spent sleeping upright in a chair had taken its toll. Especially after a day surfing and hours consoling Alissa, who was clearly OK but still sore and unsteady.
And the cameras wouldn’t go away. They captured every word and every movement and Brooke was sure she looked about as cute as she did after a particularly hard workout. All she wanted to do was go home and have a shower and sleep. But she couldn’t. Because Jack always wanted another shot, and the cameramen were always wanting her to sit and look this way or that.
The more Brooke
saw of it, the more she realised there was no reality in reality TV. The reality was behind the camera. The reality was Jack. The man who said she was stunning. The man she couldn’t stop thinking about.
What had he meant yesterday? Why had he told her everything about her was stunning? It made it so hard to stay angry with him. He made bad choices. He did things for the wrong reasons. But this show wasn’t her responsibility and neither were the other eleven women. All she had to do was wear Wright Sports gear and get Wright Sports products on prime-time TV.
She needed to calm down. Maybe it was just the lack of sleep and the fact that it had been almost eight days since she’d had any contact with her sisters that was making her so angry. Brooke breathed deeply. Where the hell was her Zen?
‘Here you are.’
Jack. Again. Brooke searched for the cameras. She was sick of them. Sick of watching what she said and thinking about how she looked. She just wanted a minute to herself—which was why she was down here in the hospital canteen.
‘Jack. Seriously. I can’t do this right now. I’m exhausted. I can’t do cameras.’ She was too tired to fight. She just needed him and his annoying cameras to go away.
‘There are no cameras.’
Brooke looked up in surprise.
‘I wanted to talk to you in private.’
In private? Jack never did anything in private. He was all about the show. Brooke was immediately nervous. He wasn’t going to say she was stunning again, was he? Because she didn’t know what he meant by that...and it was probably just a line...and he was probably lying to get his own way...and that would make her angry and she really didn’t want to get angry again.
‘What about?’
‘About before.’ Jack scraped back a plastic chair and the noise reverberated across the vacant canteen.
‘Before?’
‘Before. In Alissa’s room.’
‘Jack. I can’t fight right now. I’m too tired.’
She was tired. Tired of Alissa’s complaining and tired of being constantly watched and tired of this bad, bitter coffee. She put the cup down and made to stand, but Jack’s arm on hers stopped her. That made her still. Jack rarely touched her. Not voluntarily. She’d noticed that about him. He didn’t touch anyone and he stood well away from people. The couple of times she’d accidentally touched him he’d actually flinched.
‘I’m not here to fight, Brooke. I’m here to apologise.’
That stopped her. Jack? Apologising? That just didn’t seem right. Something about it didn’t compute.
‘You are?’
‘I was an ass before. I made you do something you didn’t want to do. I should have waited until you girls were awake and ready before I brought those cameras in there.’
Brooke sat heavily. Jack’s apology stilled her tongue. She didn’t know what to say. She’d never heard him say he was sorry—he didn’t seem the type of person ever to apologise. This man had a real knack for confusing her.
‘Brooke?’
‘You’re saying sorry?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re saying I was right?’
He paused. His mouth went tight, then his dark eyes set on hers. ‘Yes.’
Yes. He was admitting she was right.
The shock was too much. She was tired and surprised and Brooke didn’t know what else to do so she leaned forward and rested her head on her hands.
‘Brooke?’
She felt Jack’s hand on her arm. It was warm and he squeezed her firmly. She sat up quickly and grabbed his hand, squeezing back. Jack’s face registered shock and he tried to pull away, but she didn’t let him. He wasn’t getting away that easily.
‘You’re sorry? You think I’m right? You’re taking responsibility?’
‘Yes.’
Brooke let her fingers lace between his and he tried to pull away again. Again she didn’t let him. She just pulled her light plastic chair closer to him. So close their knees were touching.
‘Where is Jack? What have you done with him?’ she teased.
She knew he wanted to pull away, she knew she was making him uncomfortable, and she liked the power she had over him. But he didn’t pull away. He actually smiled at her joke and leaned in closer. Brooke noticed his skin. It was dark and smooth and a sprinkling of hairs spread across his jaw, as if he hadn’t shaved that morning. He looked a little dishevelled. He looked a little less than the put-together, in control Jack she knew. She liked it. It made him more real somehow.
She leaned closer, taking in his eyes, dark and dancing. His mouth had turned up at the edges. She watched it, then watched his eyes again. They were exploring her face. She suspected he was trying to figure out what she was doing and what she was thinking. She pulled on his hand, letting it rest on her chest. She liked it there. She liked this Jack. The Jack without the Instagram filter.
‘I’ve got him locked up somewhere you’ll never find him.’
‘Good!’ She laughed. ‘Keep him there—I prefer this Jack.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’s real. He feels things. He touches me.’
Jack’s smile disappeared. She felt his fingers tighten over hers. ‘You like it when I touch you?’
‘Yes. Very much. I like your hands. I like your fingers.’
She squeezed his fingers again, before letting go and allowing her own fingers to trail over his palm. When she looked up he was watching her fingers. Brooke’s breathing became shallow. In this moment this wasn’t Jack. In her sleep-deprived, hungry state this seemed to be someone else. Someone sincere and real whose warm hands she wanted to feel on her skin. Someone who thought she was stunning.
Jack’s eyes met hers. Their stare was unbroken—both were having trouble breathing. Brooke wasn’t sure if it was the lack of sleep or the gratefulness she felt for his physical touch, but that was what she blamed when she leaned forward and let her lips rest gently on his.
Jack didn’t move. He didn’t react. He let her press her lips to his and sat still, clinging to her fingers. Brooke opened her eyes, instantly regretting what she’d done. He still didn’t move. Except his eyes. They darted from one of hers to the other, but he didn’t pull away. Did he want her to do it again? His hand still clung to hers. Should she kiss him again?
She didn’t know what to do so she kissed him again. And this time he did react. He pushed closer. He kissed her back, his tongue pushing on her lips till they opened, letting him in. He still didn’t let go of her hand and it was hot in hers. His lips were hot too as he tilted his head so his kisses could deepen.
Brooke’s heart pounded in her chest. The kiss felt wrong and forbidden. It was over in seconds, and it left her breathless and a little shocked and a lot embarrassed. She let go of his hand and sat back. She blinked, unsure as to why the hell she’d done that.
Brooke couldn’t speak but she looked at his face, wondering what he was thinking. He looked back at her blankly before a slow smile spread over his face. A slow, knowing smile that made Brooke’s heart drop.
‘Nice kiss.’
Brooke shut her eyes tight. Nice kiss. That was all it was. He didn’t feel anything. He’d just taken the opportunity. He hadn’t been kissing her back. He’d just been kissing whoever kissed him. She was right about him—a total player. Incapable of real feelings. Despite his apology. Despite his ‘stunning’ comment. Of course he didn’t really think she was someone special. She needed to stop doing that. Stop thinking that people meant what they said and that their actions meant anything. All that kiss meant was that she was tired and he would kiss anyone, anywhere.
Totally disappointed in herself, and extremely over it, Brooke stood.
‘That was a bad idea.’
Jack stood as well, his smile now gone. ‘Was it?’
‘Yes. V
ery bad. I need to go.’
‘Wait.’
Brooke turned back, stupid hope lifting her heart. ‘What?’
‘I came down here to talk to you. I wanted to ask you something.’
So that was it. He was only apologising because he wanted something. She was so naïve sometimes.
‘What?’
‘Meet me tonight at Lottie’s, near the apartment. For a drink.’
Jack sat back, his eyes blank and his jaw tight again. Gone was friendly, affectionate Jack from moments back. Uncaring, unfeeling, business Jack had escaped from his ropes and was back. He wanted something. Not just a drink—something else. Brooke was sure of it. A hot rash spread up Brooke’s neck and into her cheeks. Embarrassment—that was what she felt right now. She was embarrassed that she’d managed to let herself be played by a man she knew was a player. God, she must be tired!
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
Jack paused. He sat back even further.
‘I mean, clearly we just broke some kind of contestant/producer ethical code or something. I shouldn’t have done that.’
A slight vulnerability shadowed his dark eyes. Brooke’s heart saw it before her eyes did. Did he actually want to take her for a drink? No. No. He wanted something. Information. Maybe he wanted to tape her getting sloshed. He definitely didn’t want to take her for a drink because he felt something, otherwise he would have said something other than ‘nice kiss’.
Brooke’s stomach swirled and her head hurt. She wanted him to take her for a drink because he felt the attraction she did. She wanted him to take her for a drink so they could get to know each other, without the cameras and the lights and the direction. She wanted him to feel something—but she wasn’t sure he was capable of that. Not with his aversion to closeness and his playboy reputation.
Brooke wanted to get out—away from him and his knowing eyes and his expert lips and the way he was making her move again. Move violently. She didn’t want to feel for him. She just wanted to go home and sleep and forget about her recent lapse in judgement.
