Most eligible, p.9
Most Eligible, page 9
“And have you?” he asks. His pupils are blown, no green peeking through the gloom. “Have you fallen in love?”
My mouth opens in a little O, and I stare at him. It’s the same question Lainey asked, but with Rhett, I’m not sure how to answer.
“I keep second-guessing myself,” I say, sidestepping the question. “I keep thinking maybe I’m not here for the right reasons, maybe I’m a terrible person for trying to find love like this. Maybe it’s all a mistake.” The words gush out and I bite my lip. It’s not the complete truth, but it’s true enough that it hurts.
Rhett barks a laugh and shakes his head. “No one’s ‘here for the right reasons.’ Not me, not you, not any of the other women. Not even Lainey.”
“Why isn’t Lainey here for the right reasons?”
He hesitates, then says, “Be careful with Lainey.”
“Why?”
He shakes his head. “Just … be careful. She’ll find your weak spot, and once she sinks her teeth in, she doesn’t let go.”
My face flushes, and I duck my head. She already locked on to my weak spot, but I have a feeling that next time, she won’t let go so easily. And if she knew about my other weak spot—the one sitting right next to me—I’d be a goner.
Up here, with him, I can almost forget the nervous hum running through my veins. I can almost forget that everything about being a hundred feet in the air makes me feel like the world is ending. But for that very reason, he’s dangerous. I can’t lose sight of real life. Not like last time.
“It’s…” I fidget my fingers. “She was asking about my parents. I didn’t think it’d be so hard to talk about. It wasn’t even a huge thing when it happened,” I continue. “My dad lived with us one day and the next he didn’t.” I shrug, but it’s forced. “Half of America is divorced, but here it has to be some sort of sob story?”
He nods carefully, brows raised like he knows I’m stretching the truth. He might not have known about my fear of heights, but I let other things slip last year.
I cross my ankles and try to adopt a more confident pose. “If you’re so sure about Lainey’s tactics, what’s your weak spot?”
He tilts his head toward me, as if deciding whether to lie. “My family,” he says finally. He doesn’t expand on that, just lets it hang in the air between us.
Rhett may take a while to trust—to know something’s real—but I have a feeling that when he loves, he loves hard.
“Your parents?”
He nods, and the shadows in his eyes loosen something within me.
“Are they still together?” I ask.
“My dad passed,” he says. “But they were together until the end.”
I roll my lips in, nodding. “I’m so sorry. But at least they were together—at least you have that.”
He makes a face and crosses his ankles to mirror me. “Some people aren’t meant to be married,” he says. “Sometimes divorce is the kinder thing.”
I stare at him, but he’s still preoccupied with the horizon. It’s embarrassing how badly I want him to be wrong, to not be a product of something that was destined to crash and burn. But deep down, I know he’s right. Sometimes ending a relationship can be an act of mercy. I wonder if it felt like that when he and Cassidy divorced.
He runs a hand through his hair, then starts to undo the cuff links on his left sleeve—slowly, carefully. Just as carefully as he once undid me.
He unbuttons both sleeves and folds them up to his elbows. I don’t know if it’s the dusting of red-brown hair on his forearms, or his easy lean back on the roof tiles, or the way he tilts his head back and parts his lips like he wants to drink in the night, but it’s all so fucking sexy. It makes me wish his lips were parting for me. To kiss me, to savor me, or to ask me a question like he did that night.
“How’d you get into music?” he’d asked.
Maybe he’d just been searching for conversation, a little nervous to get down to business now that we were within striking distance of my bed. But to me, it wasn’t a casual question. It wasn’t something you’d ask any person with a Spotify account. It was clear from my shelves that music wasn’t a casual interest, something to fill my ears on a long drive. It was an obsession. A lifeline.
“My parents,” I said.
He cocked his head to the side. “They’re big into music?”
I bit my lip, teetering on the edge of telling him something that so far, I’d kept almost entirely to myself. “They fought a lot,” I said quietly, sinking onto the end of my squashy mattress. I rested my arms behind me and leaned back. I expected him to ask another question, but he just nodded and walked slowly until he was standing in front of me, carefully rolling up his shirtsleeves to just below his elbows. A tattoo peeked out on his forearm, but my eyes were too glued to his face to see what it was. He smoothed the cuff of his right sleeve and dropped his arms to his sides, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.
I inched my knees wider on the edge of the bed. He stepped between them, his thighs pressed against the inside of my blue-jeans-clad knees. The contact spots pulsed with heat.
I jutted my chin up like a challenge, and he smirked, running his hand through his hair. Then he leaned down and put his hands on either side of my head, hovering over me, taking up my whole sky. He dipped his head and ran his nose along my jaw. My stomach squeezed. In that moment, I wanted him so badly I twisted my sheets between my fingers, biting my lip to keep from begging.
“That’s what I like about music,” he said. My mind spun. His lips brushed the hollow of my ear, and he breathed in through his teeth, the sound sending shivers to the soles of my feet. “You can lose yourself in it.”
I sucked in a sharp breath as his knee dropped to the bed between mine and he ran his thumb down my cheekbone. He was so close I worried he’d see the confusion and shock and relief unspooling inside me. He’d understood me so completely that it was like a full-body flush of air conditioning after sweltering heat. I thought it was some kind of magic that he understood. It didn’t occur to me that maybe he had a reason to lose himself too.
The record I’d put on came to a beat of silence. The second stretched and stretched, a faint ticking coming from my Victrola. I felt each tick deep in my belly, each intake of his breath, and when the record finally started up again, I reached up and pressed my lips to his.
I’d been losing myself in music for so long I’d forgotten what it was like to lose myself in someone else.
Or maybe I’d thought it wasn’t possible.
But that night, we lost ourselves in each other so deeply that it took me months to resurface.
At least, I thought he did too. We curved into each other, my shirt disappearing into the folds of my quilt, his tattooed chest pressing against my stomach, his head dipping below the swell of my breasts, between my legs, his stubble grazing my skin as he kissed my thigh. Side by side, my leg hitched around his hips, pulling him closer as his breath rasped against my neck. He could never be close enough.
My heart beating so fast, so hard, that my vision pulsed. It was like a movie montage, speeding up, music getting louder, sure to end in mutually assured destruction.
And the next morning, when it was over, when he was gone, I knew I’d lost myself a little too much. I couldn’t make the same mistake again.
If the producers don’t like you, or if they start to question your motives for being on the show, they won’t hesitate to send you packing.
—Shacking Up: The Definitive, Unauthorized Guide to Winning Love Shack
Chapter Twelve
When I emerge from the back hallway into the glitzy, camera-ready heart of the mansion, panic expands in my chest. Producers are running around more frantically than before. Outside, they’re already setting up for the ceremony, but it’s too early for that, isn’t it? How much time have I wasted?
Chloe catches up to me in the hall and winds her fingers around my arm. “I can’t believe I didn’t get a chance to talk to Roland,” she whispers, eyes wide as saucers. “I’m going home for sure. And after what Lainey said to me…” Her eyes fill with tears and she brushes them away. She’s far too sweet for Lainey’s mind games. But what did she expect? Surely I can’t be the only one who knew this wouldn’t be a cakewalk.
I put an arm around Chloe, squeezing tightly. Being naïve doesn’t mean she deserves this.
“That was horrible.” I stroke her short hair. “You’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, Chloe. They’re lucky to have you here. Roland is lucky to have you here.”
She smiles up at me. “Thanks. That’s nice of you to say, but I really feel like this is it for me.”
“There’s still time.” I nod to the huge clock on the wall, hands ticking like it’s counting down the minutes to Cinderella’s midnight. “We have another hour, right? Why don’t you go try to talk to him now?”
She shakes her head. “Lainey said we’re starting the ceremony early. We have to be in the garden in fifteen minutes. I think she’s pissed about what happened with Phil. The necrophilia comment was too far.”
My heart sinks. Did my rooftop rendezvous with Rhett cost me the chance to talk to Roland? Does that mean I’m going home tonight? I don’t know how much our tennis court kiss will count for, now that the other women have been pouring their hearts out to him all night.
As Chloe follows the rest of the women outside, I cast around for Roland, desperately trying to find him, to let him know I want this—I want him. Or at least, I want what he can give me: more time to get the intel I came here for.
Rhett stalks past, resolutely avoiding my eyes, and I frown at his retreating back. I wonder if he pulled me away on purpose, knowing I would have less time with Roland, if his apology was all a ruse.
I want to kick myself. I was so hypnotized by him that I let myself forget how much we both have to lose. Of course he wants me gone.
This house is haunted for him, and I’m just another ghost.
* * *
As Norbert shepherds us to the rose garden, Roland emerges from the mansion, flanked by producers. I double back, trying to catch him, but someone grabs me. Lainey.
“Time’s up, Little Miss Georgia,” she croons. I pull my arm away from her pinching grip.
“I just want to say—”
“Surely you’ve said everything you need to.” Her saccharine voice makes my blood curdle. “You’ve had so much time. Unless you’ve been doing something else? Something more important?”
Before I can respond, she sweeps away to whisper something to Norbert. All I can do is file forward and take my place in the wide semicircle of women.
I’m done. This has to be it. Even if Roland could forgive me for not talking to him tonight, there’s no chance Lainey will want me around if she knows where I went.
Nina catches my eye and gives me a reassuring smile. Next to me, Olie is fluffing her hair, which puffs into my face and makes me cough as Rhett comes out to greet us. We aren’t waiting long before the cameras are rolling and bright TV lights drown out the darkness.
“Ladies, it’s been quite the night,” Rhett begins. His gaze flicks to me, but I don’t look at him. I can’t look at him. I’m too busy trying to catch Roland’s eye, and when I do, he smiles. I widen my eyes, trying to let him know that tonight was a mistake, that I thought I had more time. And somehow, magically, he understands. His gray eyes turn up at the corners and he smiles. He mouths something that looks like “you and me,” but I can’t be sure. I smile back, trying to pack as much emotion as possible into my face.
Next to me, Olie is still buzzing with anticipation, and she looks at Roland, eyes shining.
“You and me, baby,” she whispers, and I frown. Now Roland is looking at her. Did I just imagine our entire silent conversation? Is he seriously talking to Olie right now?
Before I can overthink it any more, the moment has arrived. Just like he did on the first night, Roland steps forward and takes his place next to Rhett. He takes a slip of paper from his pocket and stares at it for a moment before tucking it away again.
“Before me are fifteen incredible girls,” Roland says, clasping his hands together. I stiffen at his use of the word “girls,” and I’m not alone. I see Nina barely control an eye roll and Brooklyn, sitting on Nina’s other side, frowns deeply before rearranging her face into a pleasant smile. “But I can only go into next week with ten of you.”
Rhett stands stoically beside him. His green eyes flash in the TV lights, but he doesn’t look at me. Is he about to get what he wanted? Am I about to be sent home?
“Monica,” Roland says. No surprise there. I try to look happy as she floats forward and joins him at the front of the group, planting a kiss on his cheek and making him go pink. He murmurs something to her, brushes his hand against her shoulder, and then Rhett leads her into the mansion.
Addison is next. No surprise there either, though I wish he’d shocked us all and sent her home. Olie fluffs her hair again as Roland looks at us. I can’t help straightening my back, smiling even wider, like those few millimeters could make a difference in Roland’s decisions.
Nina and Brooklyn go next, called up to the front by a smiling Roland and led inside by a silent Rhett.
“Chloe.”
Chloe lets out an audible sigh of relief and hustles forward to give Roland a quick hug. She whispers something in his ear, and he smiles, blushing slightly.
Across the semicircle, Philippa watches her go inside, chin jutted forward stoically.
“Philippa,” Roland says.
She blinks rapidly, and she jerks her head to look at him. “I—” she splutters. “Are you sure?”
A few people laugh, and Roland nods, beckoning her forward. “Yes, I’m sure. Are you?”
She walks forward and gives Roland a confident peck on the cheek, like she’s the one doing him the favor of staying into next week.
Before I know it, there are seven of us left outside, and it’s lost on no one that Roland will call only two more names. One of them has to be me. But the same thought must be running through each hair-sprayed head in the garden.
My money’s on Sonya at least—and hopefully me. Both Hannah A. and Hannah L. are near tears, but I don’t think either of them stand a chance. And as much as Olie makes me laugh, she just doesn’t seem like a realistic option for Roland. Honestly, she’s too interesting for him.
“Olie,” he says. I can’t disguise the shock from my face. Occasionally, the producers keep wacky contestants around to spice things up, but something in Roland’s eyes is genuine, like he can truly see something with Olie.
She hustles forward and gives him a huge hug that melts my heart. I hope he’s not keeping her just to jerk her around. She glances back and gives me a thumbs-up as Rhett leads her away. It’s more than I deserve.
Roland pulls out his paper, but I don’t know what he expects to see there. Everybody knows he’ll call only one more name, and if he hasn’t already decided who it’s going to be, then we’re all in trouble.
“Ladies,” Rhett says, returning to Roland’s side. “There will be only one more name called tonight. The rest of you will say your goodbyes. Roland, whenever you’re ready.”
Roland looks like he might pass out. He keeps shifting his eyes between the remaining women and someone off to the side. I glance over and see Lainey shaking her head at him. He looks down at the paper, then goes to stick it in his pocket. Unnoticed by him, the paper flutters to the ground as he clears his throat. The Hannahs are vibrating with nerves. Sonya’s jaw is set, eyes trained on Roland like a hawk.
“Georgia,” Roland says resolutely.
Relief washes through me. Suddenly I’m in his arms, enveloped in a hug, and he’s whispering into my hair.
“I’m sorry you were last. I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head against his neck, inhaling a piney, minty aftershave.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, pulling back. On impulse, I kiss him on the cheek, not willing to be outdone by the women who went before me.
“Off you go,” Rhett mutters at my side. He extracts me from Roland, places his hand on the small of my back, and leads me away.
I hear Lainey say something about “closure” and glance back to see Sonya shaking with sobs. As Hannah A. says goodbye to Roland, Sonya bends down and picks up the paper on the ground.
We’re nearly out of the garden when I hear her shriek.
Rhett pauses and looks back at the group. Sonya is staring at the paper with a horrified look on her face. Her eyes find me and she points menacingly.
“You,” Sonya cries. Across the stone path, the tension crackles between us, but I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“It was supposed to be me,” she screams, and launches herself forward.
Before she closes the distance between us, Norbert grabs her around the middle and lifts her off her feet, where she screams and beats her fists against his bulky arms.
“Come on,” Rhett says in my ear. “Come on, Georgia. Quickly.”
Still staring back at Sonya, I stumble after Rhett, who pulls me off the path and into a thick grove of bushes.
“Are you okay?” he asks, looking me up and down. He wraps his hand around the microphone in his collar, and I reach into my neckline to do the same.
I nod, eyes still wide. “What was that about?”
“It wasn’t supposed to be you,” he mutters. “Sonya was the last name on his list—I saw when he dropped it—but he changed his mind. Not unheard of, but messy. Look, you have to watch out. Lainey wanted you gone, and she won’t be happy that Roland chose you anyway.”
I stare at him. “Why are you telling me this? Don’t you want me gone?” It’s the only reasonable explanation for why he’d pull me away from the party, knowing full well it could ruin my chances with Roland.
“I—” he begins, his eyebrows knitting together. But we hear people coming down the path and he tugs me out of the bushes.
