The Bachelor Beach: The Love Connection Series - Villa One

by Ryan, Shari J.

  Yes, you should be worried about me carrying a tray ... especially if you plan to continue to say nice things to me like what you just said.

  “I assume there won’t be these types of distractions causing me to lose my balance while I’m working,” I retort.

  “I don’t know, Ashley, sometimes a challenge can be fun, right?” He smirks. “I’m kidding. We have rules to follow, right?”

  Dear God. Nothing good is going to come out of this. I’ll be fired within a week.

  I shove my hand in front of me, offering to shake his again. “Noah, thank you very much for this generous job opportunity. I will not let you go down in any way.”

  “Noted,” he says. “Thank you.”

  I just said what I think I said. Shit. I don’t think he has noticed.

  We make our way down the remaining steps, through the kitchen, and into the main dining area without another word.

  I leave him standing at the hostess podium as I walk out the front doors, having the urge to turn around and see whatever reaction I’m leaving behind.

  I shouldn’t have turned around though, because I do so, just in time to see his arm slip around the hostess’ waist. He must be a player. It’s obvious. No dating at the workplace unless he says so. I’ve met his type.

  On the other hand, go figure a man-like him would offer to show me around “downtown.” I know full well what that kind of tour guide does.

  With a bit of aggravation running through my blood, I head down the few blocks until I reach the circle of villas. Only one person is outside, thankfully, and he’s mowing his lawn. I figured everyone would be at work or tending to work right now, but evidently, Theo doesn’t have regular working hours.

  Now, I know where Theo lives. Two villas down from me. The lawn mower’s engine is released as I approach the sidewalk in front of him. “Ash,” he calls out. I guess he’s already comfortable enough with me to shorten my name. Another mental game, I assume.

  I hold my hand up to wave as I continue walking by. “Hold up for a minute,” Theo says, jogging over to me. Theo, with his perfectly styled hair and a genuine smile, makes his way over to me. “Got a minute?”

  I check my watch, so he knows I don’t have much time, because I’ve come to learn that each time I end up in a conversation with one of these guys, there are several more in their footsteps, waiting for their turn to talk to me. “I have a minute, sure,” I tell him.

  Theo takes my elbow within his hand and looks around as if he’s searching for spying eyes. “Come here.” I follow him out onto the sidewalk in front of the development, and we walk a few more feet down the block. “I know everything seems out of the ordinary here. It is, okay? Just hang in there and keep doing what you’re doing. Everything will make sense soon.”

  “What will make sense soon?” Other than the fact that I have all these men chasing me for no particular reason.

  “Not everything is what it seems, okay?”

  “And you are?” I question.

  He lowers his head toward mine to whisper in my ear. “I’m not here for the same reason the rest are.”

  “Why are they all here, Theo? Can you answer me that?”

  He shakes his head. “I can’t, but just know you can trust me. I can be a good friend, and I’m not looking for anything more than that.”

  I find myself staring at Theo, trying to read between the lines. “I don’t understand.”

  He whispers, “I’m not into women. You’re safe with me, but let’s keep that to ourselves.”

  The relief I feel hearing him say this makes my day. “You just became my new best friend, Theo. Please tell me you’re being truthful.”

  He holds up his pinky. “I swear to you.”

  I offer my pinky in exchange. “Okay, then. Anything else I should know?”

  “A lot,” he says.

  “But you can’t tell me …”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head in shame. “Let’s get back before we’re spotted having this conversation.”

  I follow Theo back into the development, and without another word, he rejoins his lawnmower, leaving me with a quick wave and smile.

  My head is spinning as I walk back into my villa, but it nearly explodes when I spot the scene laid out in front of me.

  I’m in the doorway, the door is still wide open, and the slider has no blinds, which means anyone and everyone can see inside this house if they choose to right now.

  Kricket should care, but Kricket doesn’t care. Kricket is in a black leather thong, a matching bra, knee-high black boots, and a pair of handcuffs hanging off the strap around her ass. She has one of the men up against the wall between the front room and the kitchen. He’s in a pair of tight white-boxer briefs with his hands pressed flat against the wall above his head. She has her hand on his chest. “Oh, shit,” she says. “This isn’t what you think.” The guy then mouths the word, “help,” to me as Kricket stares me down with a sneer inching across her pale skin.

  “What the hell is going on in here?” I ask Kricket.

  “I found him looking through the sliding door. I figured I’d give him what he was looking for,” she says.

  “Kiss me, Tristan,” she says. “You know you want to.” Kricket presses her body up against his bare chest. Tristan. We met on the beach when he was playing volleyball. He twists his head to the side, keeping away from whatever it is Kricket is trying to do.

  “No, I’m not kissing you,” he says. “I’m not here for you. Stop.”

  “That’s not what you said ten minutes ago, is it,” she replies.

  Kricket releases her hold on Tristan, and he cups his hands over his junk. I guess this is a junk kind of day. “I didn’t mean what you think—“

  “You didn’t mean to look in our window?”

  “I—uh, well, I was looking for Ashley.”

  “Well, surprise! You found me instead,” Kricket says. “Ashley, just so you’re aware, I didn’t take his pants off. He took his own pants off. I was playing dress-up while I was home alone. It’s not my fault he wanted to come inside and play.”

  “Why does he look so scared right now?”

  “When I agreed to play back, he changed his mind.” Kricket shrugs, twisting her lips into a scary looking pout. “How am I supposed to read this guy’s mind?”

  “Leave,” I tell him.

  Tristan grabs the pair of pants hanging on the side of the couch. I’m not sure who or what to believe at the moment, but I wish I could have avoided this entire scene.

  Without bothering to pull his pants back on, Tristan slips out the way I assume he came in, through the slider. He runs off like he’s stepping on hot coal. “And that’s how we scare them off, girl.”

  “Kricket, that’s a little too much. Don’t you think?”

  “I didn’t touch him inappropriately. I know where to draw the line. That’ll teach him not to look in our windows again, won’t it?”

  She’s like an ant trap. I guess that might be the irony of her name being Kricket …

  Chapter 10

  Somehow this has already felt like the longest day ever, and all I did was snag a job, call an Uber, purchase a pair of black shorts and a white polo, then grow a little more concerned about my living environment. I also managed to find curtains for all the windows, and a selection of bath-bombs and candles because hiding in a garden-size tub seems like the best distraction from everything happening outside of the bathroom.

  Apparently, I shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts out loud though because now the doorbell is ringing. I’m just glad no one is looking in through the back-slider now that I finished hanging curtains, due to today’s debacle with Tristan.

  I open the door, finding Max, the oral surgeon, standing in front of me with a bunch of roses. I’m surprised I remembered his name seeing how many names I've learned in the past few days.

  “May I come in?” A bit forward. I noticed this the other night, though.

  “I was j
ust about to—” Nope, not telling him I was about to take my clothes off and get into the bathtub. God only knows he’d probably take it as an invitation. “I’m kind of busy.”

  “Ah, well, I just wanted to stop by and bring you these flowers,” he says, handing them to me.

  “Wow, thank you. The flowers are beautiful.” I’m not sure if my lackluster response is as apparent as it feels.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says.

  I glance down at my sweatpants and the stained t-shirt I adorn. “Um, thanks,” I think.

  Max continues staring into my eyes as if there is another world he’s discovering for the first time. They’re just eyes, dude.

  “You have something—” he says, reaching for my face. I recoil and pull back.

  “What? What’s on my face?” I swat at my cheek, hoping there isn’t a bug or something.

  “No, no, here, let me—”

  His hand makes contact with my cheek, and he leans forward as if he’s trying to see something. I’m relieved when his face slips to the side of mine because if he were any more centered, I would have punched him in the stomach for trying to kiss me.

  He smells like he doused himself in cheap cologne.

  “Got it,” he says, pulling a flower petal out from behind my ear.

  “Not only can I fill holes, but I can pull things out of holes too.”

  “Okay, Max, your jokes are raunchy and not funny, at all. I’m not interested in you, and you need to go take a cold shower,” I tell him, patting my hand against his chest. “Thank you for the flowers, though.”

  “Come on, let me take you out for dinner, please?”

  And he’s begging.

  “No, I’m eating alone tonight,” I tell him, pointedly.

  “You don’t have to,” he continues.

  “Oh, no, I want to,” I assure him.

  “Well, then, I look forward to getting to the ... root ... of this problem we seem to be having.”

  “Is that another dentist joke?” I ask, trying to understand what he’s saying.

  “I’m an oral surgeon,” he corrects me. “It’ll only hurt for a second.”

  “That’s it. Out. Get out. Here, take the flowers too. I don’t want them.”

  I shove the flowers into his chest and push him a couple of feet away from the door.

  With more steam bursting through me, I hurry up the stairs toward the bathroom before there’s another knock or ring.

  It doesn’t take long to settle myself into what will hopefully be a relaxing bath. I turn the volume of my music to high and steam up the room.

  Ten deep breaths.

  Ten.

  And a note is slipped beneath the closed door before the bubbles even cover my waist. This note better be from Kricket or Krow.

  Nope. Not opening it. Not reading it. I’m ignoring the world right now.

  I locked all the doors in the house before coming upstairs.

  What if someone other than Kricket or Krow is inside the house? Kricket will handle it. Just like she man-handled Tristan earlier. Nothing to worry about.

  I close my eyes trying to push the thoughts away. No one is in the house. It was one of the girls. Ignore it. Let it go. Focus on the ocean, the blue sky, the slight breeze. It’s beautiful—nothing else to think about.

  A fist bangs against the door.

  Nope.

  I’m not answering.

  There is another bathroom downstairs.

  Another knock.

  “What?” I shout.

  Another note.

  “I’m not reading your notes!”

  After another three notes and five rounds of knocking, I end my bath and redress in the clothes I had on. I was going to walk across the hall in a towel to get new clothes, but I don’t feel like that’s a good idea right now.

  I collect the envelopes and whip open the door, finding no one in the hallway. I glance down the stairs, but I’m not so lucky to find the space empty .

  I jog down the stairs, holding up the envelopes. “What is this?”

  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. There are ten men in suits, standing in two parallel rows. They’re staring straight ahead, not at me but the white wall with only a framed piece of abstract art hanging down the center.

  “Get out of my house,” I tell them. “You are scaring the hell out of me. Is that what you want?” They don’t move. Their hands are folded together, hanging in front of their waists. “I’m calling the police.”

  One of them clears their throat, but I don’t notice which one. I’m not focusing on any of them in particular, just the overall group of these men. There’s ten, even though I swear I’ve met more than ten now.

  I turn back toward the second floor, but Kricket, who is no longer working as a dominatrix mistress, steps out of her room, crossing her arms over her chest and stares down at me. “One of them needs to leave,” she says.

  “What?” I question.

  “Did you read the notes, Ashley?”

  “No, nor do I plan to.”

  “You can do this the easy way,” she suggests.

  “Are you threatening me?” I reply, walking toward her, unafraid.

  “It’s not a threat,” she says.

  “Well, then I’ll take the hard way,” I tell her, brushing by her side so I can close myself in my bedroom.

  My heart is pounding by the time I get the door closed. I grab my phone off the end of my bed and search for Bradley’s text chat.

  Me: Should I expect to be murdered here? Is that what this is? I didn’t agree to this, Bradley.

  It’s a good ten minutes before a return message appears.

  Brad-Bro: Murdered? Do you think I would put you in a dangerous situation?

  Me: Yes, at this particular moment, I do think that!

  Brad-Bro: Just hang in there. Enjoy the free rent.

  Free rent that comes with stalkers. Best big brother ever.

  Me: Tell me why I’m really here, or I swear this won’t end well for either of us. You said it was a former social study. What is the study, Bradley?

  I actually thought Bradley would respond to me since he was being responsive, but I’m not entirely shocked when he doesn’t respond after my last round of questions.

  Infuriated with this situation, I call Mom’s cell number. I haven’t talked to them in the last few days. I texted them to let them know I arrived in one piece, but neither of them responded. They do that all the time, though; they’re not big on text messages.

  I hold the phone up to my ear, and a loud, long beep stings my ear, followed by a robotic voice stating, “This call cannot be completed as dialed.”

  Panic sets in and I search for Dad’s number and press on his contact next. I’m nervous as I lift the phone to my ear. Again I am met with a beep and the operator’s voice.

  My fingers are tapping against the keyboard a mile a minute as I prepare another message to Bradley.

  Me: I have no form of communication. What is this?

  Three little dots pop up on my display. Then they disappear. The pausing dots flicker five more times before the screen goes blank for good.

  I thrash my door open and feel a slight bit of relief to see the men are no longer standing in the middle of the living room. I knock on Kricket’s door first and walk in without being invited.

  She’s sitting at the small writing desk in the corner of her room, working on her laptop. “What?” she says without turning around.

  “Call your sister Katarina and ask her what the hell is going on around here, and why I can’t call anyone outside of this house.”

  “Why would I call Katarina?” Kricket questions, clicking her mouse around her screen. “No one cut your phone privileges, princess. The service isn’t great here, though.”

  “I want answers. Real answers. Not fake mysterious answers,” I tell her, sounding abundantly snippy to the point where I don’t expect her to help me.

  “I already know the
answers to your questions. Therefore, I don’t need to call my sister, Ashley.”

  “What? Do you know what’s going on around here? Do you know why we’re the only women in an all-male-community? And why they’re approaching me like I have the last bit of water on earth. You know all this?”

  “I told you they were kept away from women for six months. Therefore, I’m a little surprised you haven’t figured it out yet,” she mutters.

  “Figured what out?” I shout, throwing my hands up in the air.

  “Never mind,” she says.

  I groan and storm out of her bedroom and head across the hall, opening Krow’s bedroom door as I knock.

  I shouldn’t be surprised to see her sitting at the edge of her bed, her knees up to her chin, and a pile of tissues tossed to each side. I could try to be a little more compassionate about what she’s going through, but I’m having a hard time caring about anything more than the situation I’m living in here.

  “Why are we living in an all-man community?” I ask her.

  “Man,” she says, choking up again. “Richard loved the word ‘man.’ Do you know he would walk by me and say, ‘Hey, man, what’s happening today?’”

  I’m not getting anything out of her. “Sweetie, you might want to go get laid by someone else at this point. There are plenty of options out there, trust me.”

  I know it’s terrible advice, but seriously, it seems like it might be the only way to make her feel better right now. “I can’t do that,” she says.

  “What, why not?” I question.

  “Because, they aren’t mine to sleep with,” she says.

  “Whose are they to sleep with?” I press.

  Another sniffle and a quiet blow of her nose into a new tissue. “You, silly. You’re the only one who can choose to sleep with any of them.”

  I close my eyes and hold my hands up. “Okay, that’s ridiculous, and I will not be sleeping with any man who lives in this development. I can assure you.”

  “You know?” she asks.

  “I know what?”