Burning Choice (Trevor's Harem #3)

by Aubrey Parker

  Us? We?

  “Including you?”

  Trevor nods.

  “What’s your hidden motive?”

  I think that might earn a genuine smile, but instead I only see something small and pained. “Daniel likes you. Honestly, he does. But he has other motivations you don’t know about. Too many irons in the fire, you might say. It’s more complex even than the whole blind spot conundrum, and even as he tries to help you, he’s surely going to hurt you.”

  I exhale heavily. So much doubletalk. So much said without him saying anything. And we have to leave here with rumpled clothes and satisfied smiles? I wish someone, for once, would just say what they fucking mean.

  “He told me everything, Trevor.”

  “Everything?”

  “I know how conflicted he is about me. I know about our pasts. How he stalked me. But … it’s different now.”

  “And you know about Jessica.”

  “What about Jessica?”

  “You know about their deal, I mean.”

  “What deal?”

  I can see him wanting to say, I thought you said he told you everything?

  “Look, never mind. But nothing here is what it seems, and that includes Daniel. Maybe especially Daniel, since he’s the puppeteer. There are other … overseers … in this, and they’ve even factored in some manipulation by Daniel. We’ve tied an incredibly intricate knot. But I’m telling you, you’re in trouble here — which is fine, maybe, because I know you can handle yourself. But you’re calculating your risk based on false information, and you need to understand that you’re being lied to. The reason you think Daniel is keeping you here? I’m not sure what it is, but it’s definitely not what you think.”

  “What do I think?” I don’t like the way my voicing of the question constricts my chest. I’m keeping my shoulders back but still feel as if someone is punching my middle.

  Trevor, instead of answering, gives me a wan smile. The smile you’d offer a fool.

  “I don’t know what’s coming next. I’m supposed to be in the blind, almost like I’m one of the subjects. But like I said, I think I know. I’ll take alone time with each of the girls, and I suspect they’ll try to impress me. But they’re smart girls, Bridget. Kat, in particular, has an IQ we think is probably over 180. Looking for our diamond in the outliers, like I told you. Girls that smart, especially when paired with a skewed moral code like Roxy’s or Kylie’s, you can bet they won’t play fair.” He shakes his head, looking away, sighing. “Or already aren’t playing fair, right now.”

  Meaning at this exact moment.

  Meaning while I’m here and everyone else is back in the courtyard.

  Meaning that there’s one really good way to get leverage on the contest’s results, and I’m not there to know if it’s happening.

  “You need to do whatever you can to get yourself eliminated, Bridget,” Trevor says, putting his warm hand on mine.

  “Even if I believe you,” I say with a touch of immature petulance, “how do I do that?”

  “Listen to your gut. If … ” And here, I know he’s deciding not to speak of something hidden, something I’m not supposed to know. He restarts and says it another way. “If you were selected to still be here, there’s a reason. I don’t know what your specialty is, Bridget. You’re a wild card. But whatever it is — whatever makes you unique — turn away from it. Do what’s wrong. Do what your heart doesn’t tell you to do.”

  “My heart.”

  There’s a noise from beyond our bubble, and Trevor stands. My hand drops onto my lap. Rather than straightening his clothing, Trevor rumples himself. His jeans are already buttoned, so he unbuttons them. Feeling cold and hating this, I follow his lead and do some of the same. I run a mussing hand through my hair. I pick up some leaves and shove bits in my ponytail, as though I’ve been sprawled on the ground. I guess I’m on the right track by Trevor’s definition, because everything about this feels wrong.

  I stand. Trevor squeezes my arm, probably for encouragement.

  Then he leans toward me and kisses me. Once. I think to pull away, but I can’t in time, and the feeling of him is left on my lips as he leaves my face. I see a slight smear of my lipstick on him, and my hand goes to my mouth, to cover it.

  But my breath flutters. I feel warm, until Trevor backs away.

  “Your heart,” he repeats.

  And then I’m alone.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Bridget

  Nerves plague me as I make my way back to the house, getting lost twice in the process. I don’t know why Trevor ran on ahead, but my mind returns to the doublespeak and trickery he mentioned earlier. I’m left wondering if his sprint back was meant as a message: something the watchers would see and interpret, so he needed to be sure they regarded it as he wanted them to.

  But if we’re being watched and weighed even now, what do the watchers think of my trudge back? My getting lost twice? The way I lose my nerve over maintaining our facade and brush the stupid leaves out of my hair, straighten my blouse, snug my jeans? I mentally run through the “outliers” Trevor and Daniel spoke of — my competition in this bizarre contest, where the goal is to choose the perfect weirdo for God knows what.

  There’s Kylie, who sounds to me like a spy. Devious and manipulative — intelligent as she is dangerous. I hate Kylie enough to stick a fork in her eye, but I have to admit the girl is smart.

  There’s Jessica, who seems capable of remembering everything. She memorized the entire psych manual, for shit’s sake.

  There’s Roxy, who doesn’t strike me as all that intelligent … but who’s as fringe as it gets. And as repellant as I find that gap between her teeth, she’s beautiful despite it. And sexy, if only by force of will. If I were a dude, I’d want to fuck her, repeatedly and often.

  And now I learn that Kat’s some sort of rocket scientist.

  The idea that between these four unique flowers, I have “something special” is laughably absurd. It’s so obvious that I’m a different league — a lower league. I can’t even find the courtyard from the blind spot between the fountains. I’ve never been good at directions, puzzles, or anything having to do with numbers. I failed math through most of high school, despite the fact that I was sleeping with the teacher two of those years. And it’s not like even that sexual proclivity earns me points in this crowd; I was slutty because I was fucked up as a kid, then straightened up and raised my standards (all the way to long-term relationships with abusive assholes) just in time to enter this contest. I cleaned up as morals became a handicap.

  None of it fits. I truly don’t belong.

  Trevor is right. I must be here because of Daniel’s interference — and now, as much as I remind myself that Trevor must be full of shit about Daniel’s deception (Trevor even admitted that he has his own hidden agendas), I can’t shake the doubt he’s instilled in me.

  Maybe Daniel does have other motivations. Maybe he doesn’t actually care. Maybe he’s using me. He used me the first time we met; he used me in the limo to the private plane; he’s been using me inside his twisted fantasies for his entire adult life. And really: Who holds a grudge that long? What Daniel has done to me is nothing short of stalking, up to bringing me here to watch my destruction. Can I really believe that’s all over, and that the tiger has truly changed his stripes?

  Do I really believe Daniel is all mine — and that he’s risking all he’s worked for just to help the girl he’s always resented?

  I’m the stupidest person here — apparently by far. So is it smart to believe that my way of seeing things is correct? I believe Daniel when we lie together. But Trevor is definitely right about one thing: The situation here is far more complex than I realize, and it’s ridiculous to assume Daniel isn’t stirring several pots at once. Even if he is telling me the truth, it’s naive to think he isn’t keeping other truths to himself.

  When I finally arrive back in the courtyard, Roxy takes one look at me and sprints away, like I’ve
entered the group holding a starter’s gun and fired it off. But despite not liking her, I wish she’d stayed. Because I see Kat’s rear as she saunters off with Tony, and realize I’m now alone with Kylie. I don’t see Jessica, either of the other studs, or Daniel.

  Kylie’s head tips as she looks at me. Strangely, it seems to be a gesture of acknowledgement: touché.

  “What?”

  “It’s your lipstick,” Kylie says. “Roxy noticed your lipstick, and saw it as a challenge she needed to run off and fix.”

  “What about my lipstick?” Then I remember the kiss, meant to suggest I’d spent my blind spot time with Trevor, fucking him rather than discussing loyalties and betrayal. My hand goes to my mouth, but of course it’s futile.

  “Where is the rest of it?” Kylie asks as I rub my lower lip, where I suspect it’s smeared. “Is it on his lips, or on his cock?”

  I know the answer I’d normally give. So I give the opposite. And not because Trevor told me to. I’m talking to Kylie, and fuck her.

  “It’s on his cock.”

  I think she’ll snap at me, but instead she just looks after the departed Roxy. “Don’t worry. If anyone can get him to come again so quickly, it’s Roxy.” She looks at me. “Assuming you knew how to finish the job in the first place, I mean.”

  Suddenly, more than anything, I want to tell Kylie about Daniel. Just so I can tell her about all the stuff I’ve done to his dick, including and perhaps especially with my mouth. Kat would back me up, if she were still around. So would Jessica, if she weren’t … well, I’m not sure where Jessica is.

  “I know how to give head.” I don’t know why I’m saying it, other than that I’m agitated, filled with an odd aggression. I remind myself that the prohibition against fighting has been lifted, then remind myself that Kylie probably wants me to attack her. Bitch is always five steps ahead.

  “Sorry,” says a voice. “I didn’t hear that.”

  It’s Logan, emerging from the house. He’s wearing his usual cocky smile, and an erection tenting his pants, horizontal enough to redirect traffic. Richard’s beside him, looking at Kylie as if he can see through her clothes.

  “Hi, Richard,” I say, ignoring Logan. “Caused any catfights lately?”

  Kylie says, “We’re not all so attached to one man. How is that going, by the way?”

  I look at Richard and Logan then decide what the hell. Logan already knows, and Richard probably does too because Kylie has a big dick-sucking mouth. And who cares if I get kicked out? I’m pretty sure I still want and need the money, but I barely know which end is up anymore. Maybe Trevor is telling the truth, maybe Daniel is telling the truth, and maybe I’m seeing the situation clearly. But who can say? It’s all a roll of the dice.

  So I tell a partial lie that acknowledges truth. “Daniel and I are over.”

  “Are you?” Kylie says, patronizing.

  “Of course.”

  “Why? Trouble in paradise? You sure diddled your clit like you loved him, in your video diaries.”

  I look at Richard and Logan. Logan’s erection twitches, making his pants dance. I’m suddenly sure she’s shared my private diaries, that they’ve all seen the body parts I’ve tried to keep private.

  I ignore the barb. I look again toward the house, but the last thing I’m about to do is ask about Daniel’s whereabouts. He could save me from this, but until he does, I’d only be exposing my throat.

  “Tell you what,” Kylie says. “I can be the bigger person. You can have Richard, right now. Is it okay with you if I find Daniel and try him out? You can watch and make sure I do all the expert things you do that make him crazy. Then I can show you all you didn’t know that will make him crazier.”

  “We both know Daniel is off limits,” I say.

  She laughs. “Oh, honey. Even if that had ever been true, it’s all part of the game now. Did you see my fight with Ivy?”

  “I saw that she got kicked out.”

  “Mmm. So many things that should get people kicked out just … don’t.”

  Logan unzips. The fucker has no shame. He has his usual look, a mischievous handsome devil. He’s the kind of guy who could fuck random girls in public, just because he felt like it — and if they object, he’d twist fingers in his dimples and say, “Oopsie.”

  His cock is out. He’s rubbing it. Practically aiming it up at me.

  “Come on, Bridget,” Kylie says. “Show us your prowess. And when you’re finished, while you’re wiping the come off your lips, I’ll run in and get Daniel. You won’t mind because you’re … finished.”

  I shake my head. Not in negation, but in disbelief. Then I walk away. Jessica emerges from the house, dressed as casually as the rest of us. She looks surprised to see me and actually jumps a little.

  “Bridget!”

  I look down. There’s some sort of grit, like stone dust, on the knees of Jessica’s pants. She brushes it briskly away then looks up at me as if she doesn’t know what to say.

  “Where did you go? I thought we had testing or something.”

  “Oh, I had a thing to do,” Jessica says. “I needed to … to … oh, gross.”

  Distracted, she’s suddenly looking past me. So I turn. In the thirty seconds I’ve been away from my former trio, they’ve linked up like Lego blocks. Kylie is wearing a skirt, and Logan seems to have taken it upon himself, once I denied his boner, to raise the skirt and stick his dick up what I disturbingly suspect from here might be Kylie’s ass. Richard has plunged his shaft into Kylie’s other end, his cock disappearing like a magic trick down her throat.

  I back Jessica inside the house. Kylie is making noise surely for the sake of kabuki as the slapping flesh increases tempo, so I shut the French doors, and the cacophony fades to what might be a pained-sounding bush rustling against the exterior brick.

  We’re in a kind of parlor. I look up to continue questioning Jessica — to figure out where she went when she should have taken her turn with Trevor — but she’s already walked away. There’s something in her cupped hands that she keeps looking down at while pacing. I move closer and see it’s a cell phone.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “Hmm?” Jessica looks up. She looks like a college student caught cheating. All she needs is nerd glasses … which, I realize, would probably only make the guys find her cuter.

  “I need to borrow it.”

  “Why would you want this?” She says it as if the thing might be covered in boogers and my poor dumb self hasn’t noticed.

  “I need to call Brandon.”

  “Your brother?”

  “Yes.” I reach out. “He’s probably calling the police about me by now.” I think of the email communication Daniel has supposedly been maintaining with Brandon to keep his protective streak at bay, assuring Big Brother I’m fine and away by choice. But Brandon’s not stupid. It’s been over a month, and there’s no way Daniel does a perfect Bridget impression via email.

  “This thing isn’t going to help you,” Jessica says.

  I assume she’s being philosophical, on part with assuring me that money can’t buy happiness.

  “I just need to tell him I’m coming home.”

  “Home!” Jessica suddenly looks alarmed.

  “I’ve stayed long enough. But Jess, I told you about Linda, my mom? If Brandon snoops too much, he’ll figure it out, and that’s assuming my sister hasn’t already explained it all, starting with her being my sister. He’s so sweet, and he’ll try to make everything better, but trust me, Brandon interfering in the whole Linda debacle will only make things so much worse. So please.” And I beckon by curling my fingers a few times, like I’m trying to get the phone to come of its own accord.

  Jessica looks hurt by the idea that I’m planning to leave her then holds up the phone. I see that it isn’t a phone at all.

  “Oh,” I say. “I thought it was an iPhone.”

  “It’s a GPS.”

  “Isn’t there a GPS in an iPhone?”

 
“Not like this one.” As Jessica shifts her feet, I see the numbers onscreen change. It’s tracking position to the fractional inch, if not more precisely than that. The kind of shit I’d expect the CIA to use, in conjunction with satellites that can read people’s fingerprint patterns from space.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “Daniel gave it to me.”

  “Why?”

  She walks to the room’s corner and, more to the GPS than to me, mumbles, “There are always patterns.”

  I watch her for a few seconds. She walks to another corner, then another. The third corner stymies her, as there’s a small alcove rather than two simple abutting walls.

  “Would you say this here is the corner, or this?” she asks.

  “Why?”

  “Almost for-sure no reason.”

  “You’re measuring rooms?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “It’s boring. So stupid.” She pockets the thing. “What’s your birthday?”

  “April 22.”

  “So 422. Or 2 and 211. Is 211 prime, do you know?”

  “Prime?”

  “You know, like math. Prime numbers.”

  “Fuck if I know. What are you doing, Jess?”

  Jessica waves it off. “What’s your Social Security number?”

  The question surprises me enough that I give it. What the hell; this house knows everything about me already.

  “Interesting. Did you know that your Social Security number and mine are only different by five digits, and that those digits are off by five, four, three, two, and one numbers, respectively?”

  “Why would anyone know that?”

  “Kylie’s differs from Blair’s in exactly the same way. Different numbers, but same pattern.”