by Lauren Layne
I look at Adam and give him my answer. “Brooklyn.”
Invitation Ceremony #8
Dear Brittany M.—
You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of Gage Barrett and his future bride on Saturday, May 21, at two o’clock in the afternoon. Dinner and dancing to follow.
*
Dear Brittany B.—
You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of Gage Barrett and his future bride on Saturday, May 21, at two o’clock in the afternoon. Dinner and dancing to follow.
*
The Runaway Groom on why he jilted both Brittanys: “The chemistry wasn’t right with either, and once I realized that, it didn’t seem fair to either to string them along.”
*
Dear Ellie—
You are cordially invited to stay on at the villa as Gage Barrett continues his quest for his future bride.
*
Text message from Gage to Ellie: Girl spy, got anything for me?
Ellie to Gage: You seem to be doing just fine on your own.
Gage to Ellie: Midnight.
Ellie to Gage: I don’t have any scoop for you.
Gage to Ellie: Meet me anyway. I promise not to sully you with my kisses.
Ellie to Gage: Well, in that case…
Ellie
We’re brushing our teeth when Paisley drops her bombshell. “I’ll cover for you if you want.”
My toothbrush goes still as I meet her blue eyes in the mirror.
“What?” I ask.
She gives me a foamy grin, then spits and wipes her mouth. “Tonight, with Eden. And every other night you sneak out.”
Toothpaste foam is now oozing down my chin, so I spit and rinse, and turn to face her. “You knew?”
“Yes, and you’re lucky it’s me who figured it out and not the Wicked Witch,” Paisley says, wagging a playful finger at me. “It’s to see him, isn’t it? You and Gage are having a secret affair.”
“No!” I exclaim. “I mean, yes, it’s Gage, but no on the secret affair.”
Her nose scrunches. “Then what are you doing?” I glance toward the open bathroom door, but she waves a hand. “Eden’s off gossiping with Aurora. Spill.”
I shut the bathroom door just in case Eden comes back in. “Okay, but you can’t tell.”
“I ugly-cry when I’m insulted, so you’d better stop that. Of course I won’t tell anyone.”
I take a deep breath. “I’m sort of…spying for him.”
Her eyes go wide. “Oh, that’s wonderfully scandalous. That’s how he seems to get rid of the ones with the crazy plans. You haven’t said anything about me, have you?”
“Of course not,” I scoff. “You’re my friend.”
“A spy,” she says, tapping her fingers against her mouth. “This is perfect. How do we get rid of Brooklyn?”
“What’s wrong with Brooklyn?”
“Um, did you not see what I saw tonight? She’s your competition, babe. She’s playing him exactly right, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her at their little balcony rendezvous that the rest of us had to watch from a distance.”
I flinch before I can help it. I’ve been trying to tell myself all night that it doesn’t matter. That I don’t care that he picked Brooklyn, or that they seemed so perfect together. But the knot in my stomach still hasn’t loosened.
It’s not so much that he chose her as that he seemed to enjoy being with her. I know the guy well enough to know by now when he’s got his fake laugh and smile firmly in place, and as I watched him and Brooklyn laugh over champagne, it was clear that it was for real.
I don’t care. I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care.
“Okay, first of all,” I tell Paisley, “I’m not going to sabotage anyone. I mean, yeah, I told him about Maria’s plan to turn him into a baby daddy, and that Naomi was married, because he deserved to know. But I’m not going to bash the contestants just because.”
She sighs. “Fiiiiiine. What’s the second of all?”
“What?”
“You said ‘first of all.’ That implies a second thing.”
“Oh, right. Second, Brooklyn’s not my competition, because I’m not competing.”
“We all are, hon. It’s why we’re here.”
I shake my head. “Not me. I don’t want him. I don’t want to win. In fact, I’ve been trying to go home since the very beginning.”
She studies me for a second. “You know, I sensed at the beginning that you didn’t want to be here. You did it to promote your company, huh?”
I nod.
“But are you sure that’s why you’re still here?”
“Well…he and I did make a deal. That I would stick around and help him out with the weirdos, and in exchange he’ll help me pimp my business.”
“And yet”—she holds up a finger, then gestures at my dress—“what are we wearing today, hon?”
I glance down at the strappy white sundress that Marjorie bought me when she found out I’d been accepted on the show. “So?”
“So this is about more than just your business,” she says softly. “And it’s about more than being a spy for him.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Fine. Okay. Remember that you made me do this.” She opens the bathroom door and goes into the bedroom.
“Do what?” I follow her, then squeak in protest when she steps on the bottom bunk and rummages around under my pillow.
“I knew it.” She waves my cellphone at me, turns it on, then gives me a look. “Oh, honey. No passcode? Amateur hour.”
“I’m not used to people stealing it,” I say, making a dive for it. “Lesson learned, and I’ll remedy it immediately. Give it.”
She’s taller than me, and holds it over my head, her thumbs flying across the screen before giving me a triumphant smile. “There we go!”
“There we go what?” I say, grabbing the phone.
I groan when I see what she’s done. “Oh, Paisley.”
She’s texted Gage: Meet in fifteen?
“I can’t. It’s only ten-thirty. People will know.”
“I told you, I’ll cover with Eden. I’ll say you weren’t feeling well after dinner and took a walk. And everyone else will be going to sleep soon. You know how it’s been—I’ve never heard the phrase ‘beauty sleep’ uttered without irony as much as I have on this show.”
“I don’t have anything to say to him.”
She waggles her eyebrows. “Who said anything about talking?”
I tap my phone against my palm. “You know that I’m also your competition, right? You’re supposed to want him for yourself.”
“And if I thought there was even a chance he’d like me back, I might. But I see the way he looks at you, El. Like he can’t figure out what to do with you, but definitely wants to do something.”
“He’s just baffled because I’m one of the few women who can spend an extended amount of time without wanting to hang his poster above my bed or get his name tattooed on my butt.”
“Have you kissed him?”
“No.”
She lifts her eyebrows and crosses her arms.
“Okay, fine, once. But only because I goaded him. It didn’t mean anything, and—”
“Was there a camera?”
I shake my head.
“Exactly. Whatever’s going on with you two, it’s not about the show, Ellie.”
“I do like him,” I admit. “As a friend.”
“Well, then, if that’s all it is, take it! There are worse things in the world than befriending Gage Barrett.”
My phone buzzes, and I glance down to see an incoming message from Gage: On my way.
Paisley laughs, and I look up. “What?”
She merely shakes her head. “If you could only see the happiness on your face right now. ‘Just friends’ my ass.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. I need to change.”
I open my designated dresser drawer, but she closes it again. “Wear
what you’re wearing.”
I glance down at the dress and sandals. “I usually wear my pajamas when I meet him.”
“Wear that,” she says again. “Now, give me your phone. I’ll hide it before Evil gets back.”
I laugh at the nickname for Eden, then reach out and give Paisley a spontaneous hug. “Thank you. It feels good to talk to someone about this.”
She hugs me back. “You’re welcome. You can pay me back by at least ensuring I stick around longer than Evil.”
“Done.”
Paisley pulls back and plucks my phone from my hand, then fluffs my hair. “Okay. Go.”
I roll my eyes and do as she instructs. And as I head toward our closet, I let myself acknowledge just how much I’m looking forward to seeing him again.
Almost like I’ve missed him.
Damn it. When did that happen?
Ellie
The caution tape is still blocking our hallway, although someone’s crossed out CAUTION and written COCKROACH CITY in black Sharpie.
Effective. Even knowing it’s a lie to keep the other women away, I find myself walking cautiously down the hall, practically tiptoeing as if to avoid the horror of a disgusting bug crawling over my sandaled foot. I swear I feel a little tickle against my arch, and let out a stifled shriek, rubbing frantically at my feet.
I glance up when I hear someone snicker in the darkness.
Gage is leaning against the doorway, looking every inch the Hollywood heartthrob even in his pajama pants and T-shirt. Two champagne flutes dangle from one hand, a bottle in the other hand.
“You’re such a girl,” he says as I get closer.
In response, I punch him in the arm, but it’s mostly pointless because his biceps is stronger than my fist. “ ‘Cockroach City’? Your handiwork?”
“It works,” he says, opening the door for me. “You don’t see anyone else here, do you?”
“No. Not even Brooklyn,” I say, fluttering my eyelashes and preceding him into the closet.
I wait for him to say that he doesn’t want Brooklyn to find him here, but he doesn’t say anything at all. Instead, he hands me the flutes before tearing off the foil from the bottle.
I hold up the glasses as he pours, then settle back on the love seat while he sets the bottle on the table and plops down beside me.
The silence stretches on for another minute, but it’s not uncomfortable. If anything, Gage seems relaxed. Thoughtful.
I take advantage of him being distracted to study his five o’clock shadow. The stubble there is lighter than his hair. Not quite red, but more mahogany than his hair, which is dark chocolate.
Oh, good Lord, Ellie. I decide to study the bubbles of my champagne glass instead.
He turns his head and looks at me. “So. What was with the hurry to meet?”
“What? Oh,” I say, remembering that I’m supposed to be the one who set up the meeting ahead of schedule, not Paisley.
For a split second I try to think of a lie, but I’ve always been pretty bad at the white lie thing. Once my mom caught me coming in an hour after curfew after letting A. J. Castor get to second base, and when she asked me where I’d been, I told her I wanted more bras—prettier ones. She took me shopping the very next day. In hindsight, that doesn’t exactly win her the mom-of-the-year award, but I certainly appreciated it at the time. So did A.J.
Anyway. Not a good liar.
“Paisley knows about this,” I say, gesturing between us.
He blinks. “Huh?”
I sip my champagne—it’s good, really good. “Don’t be mad. She won’t tell anyone.”
“Do I look mad?”
“No, but…just don’t eliminate her, ’kay? Not yet. She’s the only person who keeps me sane around here.”
“What about me?”
I study him over the glass. “I’d say it’s a bit the opposite. You’re the one making me insane.”
“And yet here you are.” He clinks his glass to mine. “So, Paisley’s the one who texted me the invitation?”
“Yeah, but—”
He lifts his eyebrows. “But?”
“How are you?” I blurt out.
I’m expecting some smart-ass answer, but he surprises me by holding my gaze, his expression serious. “Tired. Exhausted, really.”
“Not sleeping?”
“No, not that kind of tired. More just…this whole thing. I want it to be over with.”
“I know,” I say, shifting so that I can pull my legs up beneath me, smoothing the dress over my knees. “Who’d have thought that hanging out in Hawaii for days on end would be so exhausting?”
“Yes, and you’ve added to my stress by ignoring me. That must be tiring.”
“You know, it sort of is,” I say. “My eyes get very tired trying to avoid yours…oh, wait. No, they don’t, because you’ve been ignoring me.”
“Had to. My man pride made me do it.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s not often I kiss a woman and have her tell me it’s not real.”
My heart pounds, because though his tone is light and teasing, his eyes are intense.
“What?” he says with a smile when I don’t reply. “You thought we weren’t going to talk about it?”
I purse my lips. “Honestly? I thought we’d agreed that it was just…a thing.”
“A thing,” he repeats.
“You know.” I wave my hand a little desperately. “Like, we were arguing, and you wanted to shut me up, so you kissed me, and that was it.”
“If I kissed every woman I wanted to shut up, I’d have kissed almost every single one of the contestants on this show. Especially the ones I’ve already sent home.”
“You should start a checklist,” I say, trying to keep us in light territory so he won’t know how badly I want him to kiss me again—me, and just me. “Then you could rate us all, and read the list in the final episode. So far we’ve got me, Cora, Hannah, Aurora, Brooklyn—”
His stupid avocado eyes twinkle enticingly. “Someone’s keeping track.”
“If I’m going to be your spy, I have to have all the facts.”
“All right, then,” he murmurs, leaning toward me.
For a wonderfully awful moment I think he’s going to kiss me, but he merely sets his glass on the table beside the bottle.
His eyes flick toward mine, giving me a knowing look. “Expecting something else?”
“Shut up,” I say with a little laugh.
In response, he takes my glass and sets it on the table beside his.
“Hey, I was drinking that—”
Gage’s right hand scoops beneath my butt, hauling me toward him. I squeak in protest, and before I know it, I’m straddling him.
“That’s better,” he murmurs as my knees settle on either side of him.
“Better for who?” I say, wriggling in an attempt to get off.
His big hands settle on my hips as though they belong there. “Ellie.”
“What?” I mutter. I notice my skirt’s ridden up nearly to my lady bits, and I tug it down irritably.
“Ellie.”
“What?” I finally give up on him letting me go, and I cross my arms and glare.
His gaze is as warm and intense as I’ve ever seen it. Uh-oh. I am so in trouble here.
“Not Brooklyn,” he says quietly.
“Not Brooklyn what?”
“You wanted to know which women I’ve kissed. You said, you, Cora, Hannah, Aurora, and Brooklyn. All correct except Brooklyn. Really, though, the others are only partially correct, since they kissed me.”
“I didn’t.”
“You kissed me back.”
I narrow my eyes.
“And you want to kiss me right now.” His hands move forward slightly, drifting up along my thighs.
“Is this what happens when you stay in Hollywood too long? You start informing women what they want? Does it ever work?”
“I’ll tell you what,” he says. “I’ll drop the e
ntire subject and let you go if you admit one thing for me.”
“I can’t wait to hear this,” I grumble.
His hands continue their light stroking along my thighs, and though the gesture is casual, almost as though he’s doing it on instinct rather than as part of a deliberate seduction, my body responds in all sorts of feminine ways. Goosebumps. My nipples at full attention beneath the dress. Panties damp.
“Admit that it bothered you tonight, seeing me with Brooklyn,” he says.
His hands stroke all the way down toward my knees, and this time when they begin their ascent upward again, they’re under my dress, his fingers hot against my skin.
“I didn’t care,” I say, the words coming out a little breathless. “I like Brooklyn. I’m your spy, remember? And except for Paisley, she’s the most decent one here.”
“So you wouldn’t have cared if I kissed her?” His thumbs brush my inner thighs.
“No,” I whisper, my eyes closing as I give in to the pleasure of his hands on me. “Maybe. But seeing you laugh with her hurt worse. Knowing that you like her, really like her. That hurt me.”
Gage’s hands go still, and my eyes fly open as I realize what I’ve said.
I groan and try to crawl off him, but this time an arm slips around my waist, holding me all the way still. “Damn it, Ellie, quit wriggling. You’re like a cat.”
I struggle a moment longer before going still, realizing that in terms of physical strength he’ll win every damn time. “Please let me go. I get that you’re used to these kinds of games, but I’m not. I’m in over my head. Is that what you want to hear? You win.”
He frowns. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Why do you assume that everything I do is pretend or a game? Why assume that I’ve got no brain, no feelings, no wants and needs just like you?”
“Because you treat everything like a game. The other day you tried to press me to admit I was jealous when you kissed other girls. Today you need to hear me say out loud that I didn’t like seeing you with Brooklyn, all so you can declare victory—”
His hand skates up my back, fisting in my hair as he pulls my face closer. “It wasn’t Gage Barrett the Jilted contestant who wanted to hear that you were jealous. Gage Barrett the man wanted to hear that. Wanted to hear that you want him the way he wants you. Wanted to know that—”
