Max rolled his eyes. “Are you serious right now? What are you filming this for again, Milo?”
The camera shook a bit. “Er, my future children. I want them to have memories of you, Max!”
Max’s brow furrowed. “Because I’m going somewhere?”
The girl named Milo laughed. “No.”
“Because you’re assassinating me?” Max winked. “Seriously, Milo, what gives?”
“Fine.” She set the camera down and walked around to join Max on the couch. She was really pretty. Funny, they looked good together. Almost too good. “Grandma asked me to.”
“Grandma?” Max eyed her suspiciously and crossed his arms. Muscles bulged beneath his white T-shirt. Suddenly a bit . . . parched, I took a long, soothing sip of champagne. I hadn’t noticed he was so fit. “The same grandma that took advantage of my brother, Reid, and made it so he weeps whenever he sees dentures? That grandma?”
“Don’t be dramatic.” Milo sniffed.
“Milo.” Max braced her shoulders. “I’m the one who has to hear him sob into his pillow at night, dude’s got it rough.”
“Dude’s a celebrity playboy.” Milo rolled her eyes. “He’ll be fine.”
Max released her. “Also true.”
“She wants us to build memories.”
“Funny,” Max joked. “Pretty sure the last thing Reid wants is to remember anything to do with your grandma. Swear that woman has the strength of Samson. Did you know she held him down and—”
“No more details.” Milo waved him off. “Now, introduce yourself.”
“Does she have dementia?” Max asked.
“Er, yes.” Milo nodded. “Severe memory problems.”
“I’ll be sure to pass that information along to my brother. Maybe now he’ll stop sleeping with a knife under his pillow.”
“Max!” Milo smacked him. “Focus, now, state your name, weight, height, and favorite color.”
Max’s eyes narrowed before he turned to the camera and shrugged. “Max, and I’m not giving my last name because that’s just ridiculous, I mean I’m pretty sure Grandma knows how to use a computer. How do I know she’s not going to Google the shit out of me, find my home, seduce my brother, and take over the world?”
“Details.” Milo waved him off. “Last name?”
“Emory.” He sighed.
“Favorite color?”
“Peach.”
“Liar.”
“Orange.”
“Max . . .”
“Fine, I like green because it reminds me of grass which in turn reminds me of your grass allergy and of that one time we rolled around in the grass for hours and I kissed every single part of your—” Max grinned. “Oh, hey, Colt, didn’t see you there.”
I heard a male mutter, “Ass” in the background.
“Job?”
“No thanks.” Max shrugged.
“No,” Milo groaned. “What’s your job?”
Max’s face paled as his body slumped a bit, then as soon as the action happened, it was like he snapped out of it, pulling a panty-melting smile out of nowhere and flashing it at the camera in such a way that I felt hot and cold all over.
“Aw, sweetie.” Max licked his lips. “I think we both know I have a job that I take very, very seriously. After all, what type of man would I be if I didn’t give of myself to all those single women? Come on, you’ve had a taste. You know it’s good, so good that—” A pillow came flying at Max’s face from behind the camera. “Colt, wow, you just keep popping up places. Weird, I didn’t even notice you standing there. But then again you know what they say, small presence, small pe—”
“Max!” Milo shouted. “This is a disaster.”
“Hey.” Max held up his hands. “You’re the one who wanted to film me for Grandma.” He shivered. “Wow, just saying that out loud sounds like I sold my soul to pornography for the elderly.”
“One more question!” Milo looked at the camera with desperation. It lifted and I figured the guy named Colt was on the other end. The camera zoomed in on Max’s perfect face.
Damn, not even a scar.
No mark.
Nothing.
His skin was perfection. Then again, he was probably some metrosexual misfit who got his jollies by buying face cream and hitting the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale every year.
The guy probably couldn’t chop down a tree to save his life.
“What are you looking for in a woman?”
“Why the hell does Grandma need to know that?” Max roared.
“Curious minds would like to know,” Colt said, zooming the camera in even further on Max’s perfect blue eyes. Wow, he was just . . . too pretty up close.
“Perfection,” Max answered. “I want perfection.” He looked to Milo. “Then again, I already had that and it didn’t work out so well.” Milo blushed, he winked, Colt cursed. “Fine, fine.” Max turned toward the camera. “I’m easy. If I had my choice—I’d choose someone who could be my best friend every single time.”
Milo’s face fell. “Max—”
“We done?” He got up from the couch, his smile was forced. “I gotta go check on Reid and . . . yeah, see you guys for dinner.”
The screen went blank and then another homemade movie popped up in which Max was engaging in a popcorn fight and then playing Ping-Pong like it was World War III.
The last scene was of a shirtless Max on a run, sweat pouring down every plane of his chiseled chest.
“Stats.” Rex cleared his throat while the frame froze on Max’s six-pack. “He’s heir to the Emory Hotel chain. Net worth around twenty million, give or take a few. He graduated from NYU with a degree in poli-sci, which he has yet to put to any use. He plays lacrosse, soccer, and enjoys going for long runs. Your first competition . . .” You could hear a pin drop in that plane. “Get him to kiss you. He kisses you—you stay. No kiss? You’re on the next flight out. You have forty-eight hours.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MAX
Chocolate. Damn, it tasted good. Milo held out the doughnut, but just as I leaned forward she pulled it back and took a bite, sinking her white teeth into the softness of the dough—stealing the breath right out of my body.
“Be the doughnut, Max.” She winked.
“How about I just kiss you?” I offered lamely. Because that’s what best friends do. It had started as a stupid crush, but there’s something about seeing the girl you’re crushing on not crushing back, that kind of kills a man’s pride. Sure, we would have never worked. But when she’d married Colt, I’d kind of lost a part of myself. The only part I actually liked. She’d made me feel confident, carefree, and selfless . . . so losing Milo? Well, it was like being abandoned in the deep end with no water wings and absolutely no recollection of how to swim.
“Damn doughnut.” I scowled and crossed my arms.
“Aw.” Milo licked her pink lips and leaned forward, her face inches from mine. A piece of chocolate frosting had found its way onto the corner of her mouth.
“You missed a spot,” I said in a husky voice.
“So get it for me,” she challenged, her eyes narrowing in on my lips.
The chair creaked as I moved closer; my mouth hovered over hers and then something wet touched my face.
“What the—”
Milo tilted her head.
And more wetness.
I blinked as the dream disappeared and was replaced with what I’d like to say is every guy’s nightmare times fifty.
Things were still fuzzy on account that I’m pretty sure I’d been given a pill that I saw on Nightline a few nights back could cause sudden death and slight hallucinations—but one thing was clear.
I was getting straddled by Amazon.
And she had just licked my face.
And not in a way that made every male part of my body rejoice in excitement. No, try the exact opposite.
She smelled like pine nuts.
And it just so happened that she was kneeing me in the nuts, wh
ich I thought fit pretty well, all things considering.
“Hey there, lover,” she purred.
“That work?” I whispered. “Calling a guy lover? Does that normally get them all hot and bothered before you knee them in the boys, or is that part of your game? You hurt them and then they finally give up? That turn you on?”
Stop talking, Max, stop talking!
Amazon’s gaze narrowed until her eyes were tiny slits. Well, shit, I was about two seconds away from getting neutered.
“Kiss me.” She gripped my hair so tight I was pretty sure I’d have two bald spots for the rest of the TV show.
“Um, no thanks.” Hey, she might have been crazy but I was still raised to have manners.
“Kiss me, bitch!” She tugged harder, and beads of sweat rolled down my temples. Where the hell was my security? And why was the host letting women attack me? My terrified mind went back to last season, when they’d said they were going to make changes to the show.
Changes, changes, changes.
Money.
Competition.
Game.
Funny, all the tiny little pieces of the puzzle finally settled in, and instead of adding to the fear—it just added to the rage.
I’d never considered myself an angry person, but lately there was a feeling within me that seemed to be building into this horrible thing I couldn’t control. I felt anger at every turn—at myself, my parents, even Milo for abandoning me and marrying Colt just when I was starting to get comfortable with my place in the world.
Over the past few weeks, the anger had turned into a simmering rage at feeling worthless because I hadn’t been working.
Colt got the girl because Colt had a job. Well, that and Milo had been obsessed with him for years . . . but still, it made me wonder what I had to offer.
What did I have? I had money, but no purpose, no real direction for what I wanted to do.
The rage grew.
I literally had so many options I didn’t know which one to choose and then felt like a guilty dumbass because how many people can say they have that many good options in life? I had everything handed to me. I should have been happy. Instead I was lost and confused, unsure of my place in the world and why I even mattered. People work for two reasons. To pay the bills and because they like it.
I didn’t need to pay bills.
But I wanted to like what I did. I just didn’t know what I liked, not anymore.
“Hello?” Amazon snorted. “You alive?”
“I’m breathing, aren’t I?” I snapped.
Amazon pulled back a bit, her eyes widening.
“Go sit down,” I ordered.
“But—”
“Sit.” I lifted her off my lap—a bit impressed with myself that I was able to do so, considering her obvious height advantage—and followed her as we walked toward the back of the plane, where the rest of the girls were sitting.
Amazon ducked into her seat and looked down at her hands while the rest of the group fell into a hush.
A hand touched my shoulder. “Max.” Rex chuckled. “Didn’t expect you to wake up so soon!”
“Nightmares,” I said coolly. “You know how it goes.”
Rex squeezed that same shoulder. “We’ll be landing in about twenty minutes, why don’t you go back and—”
“No.” I licked my lips and watched as the girls all shifted nervously in their seats. “I think I’ll stay right here.”
“But—”
“Thanks, Rex, you can go now.” I shrugged away from him and walked up to the first row of girls. Three of them. Each had manicured nails, perfect sleek dark hair, and perceptive eyes. The ones you can tell are calculating your every move.
So I did what I do best.
I played their game.
Because one thing was for certain. I wasn’t going to play the victim on the Island—and I sure as hell was going to have my own streak of fun.
Not only were my best friends going to be watching from back home, compliments of the network streaming select episodes online, but apparently my life had made room for some changes.
And this was what a change looked like.
Twenty-five eager women.
None of whom I could trust—because they all wanted to win money. Who knew if love was on the table?
But that fit in just fine with my life plan—because I’d decided a few weeks ago that if I couldn’t have someone who could be my best friend and partner, I was going to stay single the rest of my life. No time for the headache that came with relationships, and I’m pretty sure God only made one Milo.
So I zeroed in on the first three girls, purposefully marched over to them, and hovered over their seats so they could get close enough to smell my cologne, near enough to see my smile and the flicker of my eyes. With a smirk I winked. “Hey, girls.”
In a fluster they all started speaking at once.
It wasn’t until someone nudged me in the back that I realized the camera crew was filming everything.
Game. On.
CHAPTER TWELVE
BECCA
The minute Gina returned I knew something was up. Max didn’t look like himself. Not that in the one day I’d known him I actually knew what normal looked like, but he had dark circles under his eyes and a confidence about him I’d missed during our initial run-in.
In fact, his face basically said, “Screw off” to the entire world.
Was it wrong to find the anger marring his face slightly attractive?
I swallowed and tried to look away when he sat down next to the three youngest girls on the show. They’d decided to group together—alliances were getting built and there I was still drooling over the guy who, when we first met, had used the worst pick-up line known to mankind on me and actually appeared to believe the crap himself.
Laughter sounded from where Max was leaning over the girls. One of them reached up and touched his chest. I squirmed in my seat while the girl on the far left whispered something in his ear.
His eyes widened and then he took a step back and looked around the rest of the seats, his face completely white.
“Are you sure?” I heard him whisper to the first girl.
She nodded. “The producer said not to tell.”
Right. Like I said, they were the youngest. And HELLO, the producer was standing a few feet away. Surely he’d hear her say that, unless that was part of her strategy. The camera crew focused in on Max. His face went from white to flushed and then white again.
Curious, I watched as he slowly walked up the aisle and disappeared.
Okay. I know I was supposed to stay in my seat. And I shouldn’t have cared. I didn’t care, I just . . . he looked upset and . . . I was a barista! I made people happy for a living, right? One cup of coffee at a time? Wasn’t Starbucks’ entire mantra to make the customer happy?
Right, was I really using that as an excuse to chase a guy in a dating game in hopes of winning some money? Howard Schultz would have been so disappointed.
Then again, if I saved the Bachelor, he might just give me one of those fancy cards rumored to give you free coffee for life.
For life.
Sacrifice officially worth it.
I unbuckled my seat belt and hightailed it out of coach toward the first-class cabin.
I greedily searched for Max; he was back in his seat with a few sheets of paper in his hand. He stuck a pen in his mouth and narrowed his eyes as he examined the papers.
“What are you doing?” I blurted. Wow. Smooth. So smooth.
“Thinking,” Max said without looking up.
“Finally.” I sat down next to him.
“Funny.” He tapped the pen against his mouth.
I watched.
Not because I was attracted but because I was concerned that the, um, pen would leak and how embarrassing would that be if he had a blue mouth for the rest of the week?
“Stop staring at me,” he sang. “Unless I have something on my face, and then you’re obl
igated to tell me on account that you’ve been staring so hard it would be embarrassing otherwise, so what is it? Crumb? Pieces of Amazonian pine nuts? Because I’m pretty sure that woman’s damn well marked me. I’m surprised she hasn’t peed on my pants or something.”
“Amazon?” I laughed.
“The tall one.” I nodded. “I nicknamed her Amazon, look.” He pointed to the sheet he had in his hands, where Gina’s picture was located. Underneath it he’d written, “Amazon.”
“Clever.”
“I thought so.” He put a giant X over her face and moved on to the next one.
“So which one is she?”
“Jayne.” He nodded.
“But her name’s Sarah.”
“Right.” Max put another X over her picture. “But my trigger word is Jayne on account that every time I hear that name my boys do a little dance in my pants. Not a good dance, so don’t slap me, but the kind that makes me kind of wish I was batting for the other team, and no straight man should ever have to utter that sentence aloud. Humiliating. Oh, and P.S.: She’s terrifying. I’d take my chances with a goat any day.”
“Because goats are terrifying?” I leaned in so I could see the rest of the pictures.
Max dropped the papers onto his lap and turned to face me. “Have you seen a goat?”
“Are you serious?”
Max rolled his eyes. “Goats be crazy. They have red eyes, they’ll eat anything, including your shirt, and they have no manners. Plus they’re unpredictable. I like my animals . . . slow.”
“This is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had.”
“Whatever, I’m just trying to explain my feelings.”
“About goats.”
“About Jayne!” Max lifted his hands into the air. “Hey, what are you even doing up here anyways? This is a camera-free zone and we’re supposed to be landing soon.”
Embarrassed, I leaned back in the seat and shrugged. “I was worried Gina, also known as Amazon, was hunting you again.”
“Yeah, well.” Max shrugged. “I’ll be sure to use my bow and arrow next time she decides to trounce through my forest.”
“There’s a sexual innuendo somewhere in there, isn’t there?”
“Aw.” Max winked. “Would you like there to be?”
The Consequence of Revenge Page 7