Stuck With You

by Sara Cate

  America’s boyfriend.

  Give me a break. Pathetic.

  “Good thing we have plenty of candles,” he says as he pulls out a lighter from the drawer in the kitchen. I roll my eyes as he lights the red tapered candle sitting on the counter.

  As I walk toward the small kitchen area of the suite, I try not to let the tempest outside make me too nervous. Sam’s calm demeanor is keeping me from freaking out.

  “Looks like champagne and chocolate covered strawberries for dinner,” I laugh, reaching for the bottle.

  “Let me get that,” he says. My eyes roam the thick cords of muscle running up the length of his arm, barely hiding under that too-tight shirt he’s wearing. Sam is not my type at all. He’s all grit, guns, and muscle. My type is more like Eli—an entrepreneur from Portland with good liberal convictions. Sam looks like the kind of guy who has the 2nd amendment tattooed on his ass.

  Still...I bet it’s a nice ass.

  As I watch him wrestle with the cork on the champagne bottle, i let my mind wander, wondering what it might be like to climb into bed with a man like Sam. After the day I’ve had, it’s not asking for much. Those broad shoulders, full lips, and large hands.

  “Can I help you?”

  I have to shake myself out of my daydream to find that I’m practically drooling. The cork pops as our eyes meet, sending a fountain of bubbly all over the counter. Quickly, we scramble for the flutes but settle on a couple red solo cups I find under the sink.

  It’s not chilled, those bastards, but it does the trick.

  “Slow down, sugar,” he says when I nearly chug a whole cup full.

  “Stop calling me that!” I snap with a hiccup.

  He just laughs. That stupid laugh!

  “What is it about me that you find so funny?” I ask, slamming my cup on the counter, waiting for him to pour me more.

  “It’s nice to see the real side of you.”

  “The real side?” I ask, my face starting to heat up with my anger. “I was always real.”

  “No you weren’t. That jerk deserved your rage far more than I do, and you always just smiled and let him get away with it.”

  When I reach for the bottle, he pulls it away.

  “I wasn’t angry with Eli...well, not before today.”

  “What about when he cut your date short to see why Katrina was fake-crying in the hot tub?”

  My jaw drops. “He genuinely cared about her.”

  “He fingered her in the hot tub ten minutes later. They made us cut the cameras.”

  I gasp, ready to slap him for even saying that. Then I remember that night. It was our solo date, only moments after our first kiss. He told me he felt a deep connection with me that he didn’t have with any of the other girls. A moment later Deb peeked her head in to tell him Katrina was extremely upset in the hot tub, and he left. I was enraged...at her.

  “That motherfucker,” I mumble as Sam fills my cup.

  “I was never laughing at you, Sugar. I was laughing at him.”

  The second cup full of champagne goes down even faster than the first.

  “Wanna know the worst part?” he asks, taking a drink from his own cup.

  “What?” Another hiccup escapes my lips.

  “I was filming them for a good ten minutes before the producers realized what they were doing. I have her on camera trying to tell him where her clit was.”

  A mouthful of champagne sprays out of my lips, and the alcohol surely hit my system because I can’t stop laughing. I hear his low rumble across the counter, and for the first time, his laugh brings me comfort.

  “Wanna hear the good news?” he says as thunder strikes again.

  “Definitely,” I answer, my voice starting to slur already.

  “I know where they keep the stockpile,” he answers, waving the already half-empty bottle.

  Getting drunk with a hunky cameraman on the night I was dumped on national television sounds like the best idea I’ve had in a long time. Together, we light every tapered candle we can find in the suite. Finally, the thunder has subsided and it seems like nothing more than a heavy rain and some strong winds. Still we stick to the backside of the suite, eating chocolate covered strawberries over goose-down comforter and two-thousand count sheets.

  “I don’t think you’re going to get the shot,” I giggle, feeling the champagne really kicking in.

  “They’ll live.”

  My cheeks stretch into an easy smile as I try to lie down sideways on the bed. The rational part of my brain knows that being drunk in a bed with a man Id ont’ entirely trust is a stupid thing to do, but there’s a part of me that knows Sam won’t hurt me. Sure, he has a shitty attitude and probably thinks I’m of the weaker sex, but I feel strangely safe in his company.

  “Why don’t you change out of that dress?” he asks, his eyes roaming down my body. The satin gold dress I’m wearing hugs all of my curves, showing a little more than I thought it would, but I feel sexy in it. Not to mention, I love this dress. I haven’t changed out of it because it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever worn, and I keep thinking that if I wear it out too much they’ll let me keep it.

  “You trying to get me naked, cameraman?” I say with a teasing tone.

  “Honey, if I was trying to get you naked, you’d be naked by now.”

  My cheeks redden as his piercing stare finds my eyes.

  “Okay, then.”

  I try to stand up, but start to sway as the room tilts.

  “Easy, sugar.” He grabs my arm and steadies me.

  “I’m fine,” I say, shrugging off his hold. “I’m going to take a bubble bath in my giant heart-shaped jacuzzi tub,” I say, unable to hold back my laughter.

  “Like hell you are. You’ll drown in that thing.”

  “Will not,” I argue. “I need to wash this day off, and like you said, it’s about time to get this breakup dress off.

  “Well, then I’m supervising. Can’t have you dying on my watch.”

  “You’re going to watch me take a bubble bath?” My stomach fills with butterflies. Maybe he’ll be willing to wash me too, I think.

  “I’m not going to watch you. Just make sure you stay upright and awake.”

  “Fine, then.” With that, I turn my back toward him and wait for him to unzip the back of my dress. Then, I pick up a candle and walk into the big bathroom, feeling him following close on my heels.

  Sam

  I’m about to get myself into a whole lot of trouble. Alice keeps giving me those come hither eyes and I know the girl technically can’t stand me, but with a liter of champagne in her, she’s acting like she wants to put that hate to good use.

  And the bathtub supervision was not a come-on. I legit can’t have a drowned show contestant for the producers tomorrow. Losing my job would be the least of my concerns.

  “Zipper please?” she asks, turning her back to me.

  Slowly I slide the thin zipper down and nearly choke when I realize it goes clear down to her ass. I catch sight of a little barely there thong when the zipper finally stops.

  Clearing my throat, I turn away as she starts the bath. The room is so dark I can hardly see anything anyway so I sit on the countertop and face the opposite direction when I hear her dress hit the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the tiny lace thong fly to the floor at my feet.

  What is this girl trying to do to me?

  With my half-drunk champagne bottle between my legs, I try to hide the growing erection, not that she could see it in the dark anyway. Still, it feels like a violation.

  When I hear her step into the bubbly water, I relax. She has her own bottle on the side of the tub and a moment later, she starts up the bubbles.

  “Oh, there’s lights,” she laughs as the room starts to glow in a red haze. I sneak a peek back to see the water she’s sitting with bubbles up to her neck is most certainly shining with a rosy glow.

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen,” I say, which makes her lau
gh even harder. She’s definitely drunk, and for the first time since she walked out of that limo, she seems genuinely happy. I love her loud giggles. She’s finally letting her guard down, relaxing, and being herself. It’s sexy as fuck to be honest.

  After a few moments, it grows quiet and I have to look back to make sure she’s still alive.

  “Stop trying to see me naked,” she says, her voice slurring through her perma-smile.

  “You’re gonna have to talk to me or something, so I know you’re not dead.”

  “Fine.” I hear the sound of her chugging back another drink. “Who did you want to win the show?” she asks.

  I groan. The last thing I want to talk abotu is this stupid fucking show. “Katrina,” I answer honestly.

  She scoffs. “Rude!”

  “That wasn’t an insult. You don’t want to end up with that guy anyway.”

  “Actually, I really did.”

  The water sloshes around like she’s moving, and I can tell she’s not relaxing as much as she should be.

  “You’re too good for him if you ask me,” I say, hoping it will calm her nerves.

  Silence fills the room, until she whispers. “I don’t think you’re supposed to say that to me.”

  “Well, I just did. I wanted Katrina to win because I would have really hated to see you walking away with Eli.”

  Fuck, now I think this champagne might actually be getting to me. I’ve been working the last seven seasons, and I never once took a drink of the stuff, but now I’m starting to understand why those girls were always so quick to confess their love. This stuff loosens lips for sure.

  And belts.

  But that's a different story.

  “I thought you hated me,” she whispers, and when I take a peek back, she’s perched, arms folded on the side of the tub. The thing is so big, she can practically stretch out, and I happen to catch a glimpse of her perfect little backside as it breeches the thick layer of bubbles.

  Swallowing hard, I look away. The bottle in my lap isn’t doing much to hide what seeing her in that tub is doing to me.

  “Not even close, sugar,” I whisper back. “I’ve seen a lot of girls come and go on this show, but I never wanted to see one lose as much I wanted you to. When he picked Katrina, I couldn’t have been happier.”

  “I was devastated,” she mumbles, sounding defensive.

  “You’ll get over it. Besides, you deserve a man who can take care of you, Alice.”

  “Oh, like you?” There’s a hint of flirtation in her voice, but I catch the sincerity there too.

  “Yeah, like me.”

  Outside the thunder cracks again, and the rain picks up, slamming against the picture window, but the sound still doesn’t overpower the sound of my heart hammering away in my chest as she whispers my name.

  “Sam, come here.”

  Setting the bottle down on the bathroom counter, I turn toward her. Even in the darkness, I can see the look in her eye. She’s nervous, probably more than I am.

  “Will you help me wash my hair?”

  She turns her back toward me as I stammer, “Sure thing.” Pulling the pins out one-by-one, the long brown curls fall into the water. The bubbles have started to dissipate, leaving the red-lit water exposed and every single curve of her body for my eyes to see.

  As she reclines her head into the water, my hands submerge, massaging her scalp and trying to keep my cool as the pink buds of her breasts peek out of the water.

  “That feels good,” she moans.

  I’m going to lose it.

  Taking one of the tiny bottles of shampoo and pouring as much of the contents into my hand as I can, I get lost in the rhythm of lathering her hair. After rinsing it out, I’m about to pull my hands out, when she grabs my hand.

  “Do you really think I’m better off without him?”

  I settle onto the floor next to her, my shirt sleeve soaked but not giving a shit about it.

  “Fuck yeah I do.”

  When she turns her head and her eyes find mine, I notice the moisture pooling in her lashes. “Thank you,” she mutters. For a moment, I think she’s going to kiss me, and I’m ready for it.

  Ready to lose my job for it.

  But she does one better. Without a word, she grabs the washcloth folded into the shape of a rose off the side of the tub and hands it to me.

  I don’t hesitate as I take it, lathering it up with the heart-shaped soap. Starting at her shoulders and sliding the washcloth down her arms and around until I crest her soft tits under the water, I start writing the resignation letter to Deb in my head.

  3

  Alice

  In six weeks and at least four private dates, Eli never made me feel the way Sam is making feel right now. With Eli, I was convinced that I played the right part. I was his cookie cutter, easy-going, too eager to put out girlfriend. He made me believe that if I did everything right, I could win.

  But with Sam’s big hands gliding the length of my body, I’m starting to think I didn’t lose anything.

  Maybe it’s the champagne, but I just handed him that washcloth as an open invitation to third base, and I don’t regret it. In fact, I’m thinking we need to take this baseball game to the boom-boom room.

  Oh my God...what am I thinking? I wouldn’t give it to Eli and I thought we were about to be married...why would I give it to Sam—a guy I barely know and might despise, a little.

  But then his hand goes lower on my belly, and all rational thoughts go out the window.

  “Is this okay?” he mumbles into my ear, his voice low and delicious, like rich chocolate.

  “Yes,” I moan, my head hanging back, now on his shoulder as he suds up my body under the water.

  When his hand reaches the spot between my legs, I reach down and pull away the washcloth, leaving his fingers bare against my sex. It’s like I’m not even thinking anymore...only acting. Acting on what I want without any thought of consequence and right now, I want Sam’s hands—his fingers—right there.

  His lips find my neck, just below my ear as the palm of his hands rubs the delicate spot between my legs, causing my toes to curl and my back to arch.

  The storm rages on outside, reminding us it’s there, but instead of an ominous sign of danger now, it’s just the sweet reminder that neither of us are leaving his suite anytime soon.

  When his finger finally dips inside, I let out a moan louder than the next crack of thunder.

  The sound of my reaction is like fuel to his fire, kissing me harder, holding me tighter, and diving deeper. Before I know it, my thighs are clenched around his hand, and my body is lit up like a Christmas Tree. If I didn’t know any better, Sam is about to make me come, and no guy has ever made me come, especially with two fingers and his palm.

  If this is some sort of runner-up consolation prize, I think I may be having a better night than Katrina.

  All it takes is one nibble of my earlobe and tweak of my nipple and I come undone. I should be embarrassed. I realize that about midway through my seizing tremors while the water sloshes out of the tub, but he whispers with his rugged voice in my ear, “That’s my girl,” and I’m not embarrassed at all. In fact, I feel sexy. Powerful. More alive and beautiful than I ever felt with...what’s his name?

  Suddenly Sam’s hand is gone and then his weight behind me is gone. The water is starting to grow cold, but my body is still on fire.

  When I turn to look for him, he’s standing there with a big white towel, holding it out for me. He won’t look me in the eye, but even in the darkness, I can see the redness in his cheeks. His shirt and pants are soaked from my orgasm thrashing, but I’m hoping he’ll be taking them off very shortly.

  He doesn’t speak as he wraps it around me, keeping his eyes off my body. I start to stumble away from him as the room tilts again, but he’s quick to catch me and hold me against this body.

  Sam is a lot bigger than Eli. A good head taller than me, his broad chest and thick arms engulf me into a tight embrace. I
lean into him, inhaling the cologne on his shirt.

  Every rational thought in my brain seems to be swept away with the champagne and earth-shattering orgasm he just gave me in that stupid heart-shaped tub.

  “Let’s go to the bedroom,” I whisper against his chest.

  “Easy there, Sugar.” His lips touch the top of my head, and it warms me from the center of my chest.

  We try taking one step, but my legs are already wobbling. Before I know it, he has me cradled in his arms as he carries me to the bedroom. The storm somehow sounds worse outside, but maybe that’s just the pounding of my head.

  When he lays me on the bed, I reach for him, trying to unbutton his shirt.

  He laughs at me, and it makes my brow crease. “Don’t laugh at me. Just help me take your shirt off.”

  “I think you’ve had enough fun for one night,” he says, walking over to my suitcase across the room. He comes back with a cami and pair of underwear. I might as well sleep naked with as much as they cover.

  “Come on,” I whine, sitting up and letting the towel fall away, leaving me exposed in the candlelight. He’s quick to cover me, and his sudden change of tune has me irritated.

  Why are men so goddamn unpredictable? I thought he was into me the same way Eli was and now I can’t even get him to look at me.

  I snatch the clothes out of his hand. “Just forget about it. You clearly got your kicks already and you’re done with me, the same way Eli was.”

  “Now, wait a moment…”

  “No. I’m tired of trying so hard. I’m tired of men like you playing me like a fiddle and then throwing me out when you’re done with me.”

  I stand up, still naked as the day I was born. But I’m angry enough that I couldn’t care less. I’m also pretty drunk...which helps.

  “What happened in there was great, but I’m not about to…”

  “About to what? Make a commitment? Yeah I know…I’ve already heard this speech today.”