Page 30 of Most Eligible
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 swelteringheat. 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 WinningLove 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.Rolandis 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 wanthim. 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—”
