Matched

by Angela Graham

  “Jasmine…” My eyes prickle; her pain now my own.

  “It’s okay, really.” She produces the tiniest of smiles. “I know how to take care of myself. I promise.” Slowly, she stands. “Let’s go get dressed up for tonight’s elimination. I have this black gown I’ve been looking for a reason to wear.”

  “Jasmine…” I try again, but she’s already walking away.

  Looks like the subject is dropped…for now.

  Jasmine and I dig out our favorite dresses, taking our time on hair and makeup—because looking good means feeling good, or so she keeps telling me.

  Once we’re pleased with our reflections, we make our way back through the house, coming upon Rachel and Nadia with their ears planted against the door of the Lovin’ Lounge. The scene’s a familiar one…Jasmine and I just looked way better doing it. I’m ready to simply keep walking by, but a cold tingle of realization paralyzes me in place.

  There are seven girls left in the house, with two of them on a date and four more standing here.

  You do the math.

  The girl in the lounge is Emma.

  My same power of deduction leaves five guy possibilities. As out of tune as Oakley and I may seem, I’ll wager both legs it’s not him. And Cruz? I think it’s safe to say he’s not in there with his little sister. That leaves three men—one of which will be at risk of an ass-kicking very soon.

  I’d say I’m praying it’s Jensen—for the ass-kicking aspect, of course—but that’d further hurt Jasmine. And it’d mean Jensen’s in there with Emma…that’s bad enough.

  But no; Emma would never give him the time of day. Which means either Miles or Wyatt is about to get their ass stomped. My obvious choice is Wyatt, but again, then Wyatt’s with Emma…and that makes me as sad as it does sick. I know Emma’s hurt over the Court-and-Ivy revelation, but hooking up with his brother? She has to be drinking—something I’ve yet to see her do—so my concern for her wellbeing hits catastrophic levels.

  There’s simply no good outcome.

  And just when I’ve herded Nadia and Rachel out of the way, psyched up to break down the door and drag Emma out, Cruz joins us.

  “Ladies, we in third grade?” he chuckles. “How about a little privacy? At least someone actually took it to the right room this time.” He slips a disapproving glower my way.

  Oh God, the shower. Does he know?

  In classic form, Nadia’s lip curls and her eyes dance with merriment. Thrilled at the prospect of inflicting torture, she and her cohort Rachel—somehow an even bigger bitch—begin snickering. Evil minds think alike. “You’re absolutely right, Cruz. How rude of us. Emma’s finally getting to have some fun, and here we are ruining it.”

  “WHAT?” he roars murderously, an octave lower than has ever been registered before. “How the hell do you know it’s Em in there?” he asks her, but looks at me.

  Why’s he giving me the death eye? I stumbled upon this mess too!

  “Harlow, I want the truth. I’m not about to believe this crazy bitch,” he implores me. His pupils are so dilated his eyes look black instead of blue, begging me to make it not be Emma.

  Unfortunately, I can’t undo mathematical theory.

  “Cruz…” I step in front of him, blocking the door, and speak as though to a child. “Listen, just because they’re in there doesn’t mean—”

  “Are you sure it’s Emma?” Why this sudden trust in my word? What a flattering yet untimely curse.

  I nod slowly, staring at his nostrils as they flare rapidly. “There’s four girls standing here, and two on a date. That only leaves one.”

  “Who’s in there with her?”

  I liked it better the other way he was talking, as this eerily calm voice is somehow even scarier.

  “Has to be Miles or Wyatt.” Nerves crack my voice, and dread keeps me from meeting his gaze as I add meekly, “Or Jensen.”

  “Move. Out. Of. The. Way. Please,” he says. I have no idea what to call the inflection in his tone. If homicide has a voice, that’s it.

  “We could knock,” I offer in vain. It even sounds stupid to me.

  “Now.” He speaks in unnamable mode again, and Oakley’s suddenly pulling me aside and tucking me against him.

  Two strong hands, blanched in a fierce grip, fly to either side of the doorframe. Before I can blink, Cruz kicks in the door with one hard blow.

  Unlike everyone else, I try not to look inside as Emma yelps and comes running over in her teeny-tiny pink bikini to stop Cruz, both her hands on his chest. She’s not naked. Thank you, Lord. Perhaps this is salvageable and won’t include murder.

  “What are you doing?” she screams in his face.

  The crash of the door must’ve gotten the attention of Miles and Jensen. They sprint up the stairs to check out the commotion, and I hear Jasmine’s sigh of relief. But just because Jensen wasn’t fooling around with Emma doesn’t mean he wouldn’t. I refuse to ever give up on her, and am as determined as ever to make her eventually accept the truth about her future with Jensen. But now’s not the time to revisit that. One disaster at a time.

  Seeing the two guys who just joined the party confirms what I hadn’t done so visually yet, it’s Wyatt in the lounge. The shit just hit so far over the fan it can’t be measured. Cancel the salvageable optimism.

  All I can see is Cruz’s impossibly tight back, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Why in the fuck is that son of a bitch on that bed, Emma McCall?” His head dips so he can look down at her, and I start to worry his body might actually explode from the obvious rage pumping through it. “No, don’t answer that! Just get out of my way—and for fuck’s sake, put some goddamned clothes on!” he hollers. “I damn sure didn’t see that bathing suit in your bag!”

  He steps back, running his fingers through his hair and turning just enough that I can finally see it’s not just anger on his face, but disappointment. He sucks in a chest full of hoped rationale—which fails—and whips his head back to her. “Jesus Christ, Em, him? Have you lost your mind?”

  Against Webster’s definition of “better judgment,” I give Oakley the slip and scurry into the room just as Wyatt throws off the blanket. I brace myself, but mercifully he has trunks on. I snatch Emma’s cover-up dress off the floor and move with damage-control swiftness. “Here.” I nudge her. “Put this on, quick. I beg you.”

  She gives me a sad smile and does so, then steps right back up in her brother’s face with renewed zest. “We were only messin’ around! It’s not what you think!”

  “That’s bad enough!” His eyes slice to Wyatt, who’s sitting on the edge of the bed and stretching his arms over his head as casually as ever.

  “You’re a dead piece of shit,” Cruz growls as he tries to maneuver around Emma, unmistakable ferocity pouring off him. But all 100 formidable pounds of her block his attempt; she isn’t backing down.

  “Cruz, if you punch him, you go home—which means I’m here all alone.” She smirks, twisting her hips proudly from side to side.

  “Nah, man, you gotta kick his ass for that shit,” Oakley—yes, my Oakley—goads him. “Another few minutes and he’d have had her naked. And let’s be real, he’d have banged her. Don’t worry—I’ll watch out for her if you get booted. Go ahead…teach him a lesson.”

  I gawk at this stranger, his wicked smile unfamiliar and unattractive as he encourages physical violence and yet another squashing of Emma’s independence. Why is he doing this? My disappointment in Emma is nothing compared to my disgust at Oakley right now.

  And to crush me further, he adds, “I’d never let a dude get away with that shit on my sister. Just sayin’.”

  “Oakley, you don’t have a sister!” I snap, my anger bubbling up quicker than I ever felt coming. “Butt out!”

  “Wow, whose side is she on?” Rachel snarls, scooting closer to Oakley’s left—Nadia already consoling him with an arm rub on the right.

  “I’m on Emma’s side,” I inform them all snidely before looking only at
Emma with a sigh. “I get it. You’re hurt and angry, and that’s all jumbled up with defiance and suffocation.” I shoot Cruz a pointed glare. “But Wyatt? Come on, Em. Tell me you think that’s okay, and I’ll shut up.”

  She shocks me by leaning in to kiss my cheek, then turns to Wyatt. “Stay in here a while—trust me. Cruz?” She offers her hand. He’s slow and resentful, but he takes it and follows her out. But not before he stops in the doorway and gives Wyatt a look back to convey a threat of inhumanity.

  “You so much as think about even breathing her air ever again, and I will kill you,” he says as calmly as one would a friendly goodbye, then drops Emma’s hand and walks away.

  This reaction is more unsettling than the one I was expecting. A bloodbath? At least I’d know what he was thinking.

  “Come on.” Oakley shakes off the leeches and moves toward me. And for the first time since the night he scaled the bleachers and asked my name, I flinch, shunning his touch before marching past them all to my room.

  Miles walks in right behind me, and I ask him to turn his head so I can change into something more comfortable. I’m no longer feeling the glitzy-party-dress vibe; jean shorts and a tank top are calling my name. He does, carrying on a conversation while I change.

  “That was way cool of you back there, girl, defusing Cruz, giving Emma some dignity, and calling your man out for being a dickhead.”

  Whoa, Miles has spunk. Surprise. He’s usually quietly tucked in a corner somewhere. “Yeah, I don’t understand the Oakley thing at all. It’s not like him.”

  He laughs. Another shocker—in fact, now that I stop and really think about it, Miles seems perpetually sad.

  “Cruz sleeps inches from you every night and has licked your body—and that’s just one tip on the slippery mountain of moments we’ve all caught. It’s obvious your beefy boyfriend doesn’t like Cruz and wants him gone. That’s exactly what all that was about.”

  The second he’s done speaking, I know he’s absolutely hit it on the head, though I still don’t think it’s reason enough for Oakley’s behavior. But I’ll dissect it later. I’m eager to get some more guy perspective while I can.

  “But Oakley licked Jasmine, and I’m not mad. Hell, he went on a date with Nadia! That’s the game—one we’re all playing! So what do you have to say about that?”

  “Not your style to get petty for the camera, which I respect. Can I turn around yet?”

  “Oh, yeah.” I laugh. “Sorry.”

  “Like I was saying…” He grins at me. “We all see what’s happening—the disconnect in your relationship—and Oakley’s feeling it. Last thing he’d want is some guy adding to the already massive obstacles you two are facing.”

  I’m speechless. No one has called it out yet, but I know it’s the truth.

  “One word of advice?” he asks.

  “Sure.”

  “Practice what you preach. You’re all eyes when it comes to Jasmine going for the familiar, comfortable route. Maybe it’s time you ask yourself if that’s exactly what you’re doing, too. It’s not easy to think clearly when your heart cries louder than your head—believe me, I know—but try to be honest with yourself.”

  The reality of his advice is a cruel, penetrating bitch. How can I expect Jasmine to listen to me when my own relationship is going down faster than a torpedoed ship?

  “Who knew you were the omnipotent one in the house?” I crack to lighten the tension.

  “From the outside is always the clearest view. Plus, I spend more time listening and watching than most, and I can recognize another struggling soul.”

  I step closer, wanting him to know that I’m here if he needs me, but he’s already heading to the door.

  “You don’t have to figure it all out right this minute, Harlow. Now come on—I heard the dates come in downstairs. Time to face the music.”

  Confessional: Emma McCall

  “I was about due for another one of these anyway, and as if I’m just going to stand out there and wait for them to stroll back in from their dream date.

  “I’m not sure what Callie thought she’d be watching over tonight, and I definitely don’t want to know what she saw. Considering Court and Ivy have apparently been caught in compromising positions several times, I bet tonight, outside these prison walls, was quite a show.

  “But whatever it was or wasn’t is none of my business. Court can do who or whatever he wants. Yes, I thought he was sweet and may have been interested in me, but obviously not. And that’s fine—it barely had time to register as a blip on the radar. Besides…seems he wants a girl who drinks real wine coolers and uses the convenient excuse of alcohol to do anything he asks or initiates.

  “I may have just had some fun of my own while he was out gallivanting. Okay, so it wasn’t fun at all, and nothing happened. But if the rumor mill lives up to my expectations, everyone will think it did. And no, I don’t feel guilty using Wyatt to help. He’s the poster boy for using people guilt-free and exploiting it. It might’ve been somewhat tacky considering he’s Court’s brother, so yeah, fine—I’m a little bit sorry for that part.

  “Moving on! Now that the word’s out that I’m actually a real-live girl—young, single, and here to enjoy myself—and it’s been proven Cruz doesn’t know about or stop everything, maybe I’ll get to know some of the other guys a little bit better.

  “Peyton? He’s handsome, smart…eh, I don’t know. Miles! He seems very nice and quiet, which means he can be sneaky and keep a secret. Yeah, I think I’ll see about Miles.

  “They’re probably about ready to announce tonight’s Soul Search, and I bet Callie got all the evidence she needed to send in the cowboy and his blonde red-carpet queen. That’s fine—nothing to get upset over. Two less in the house. That’s what we’re here for.

  “Guess we’re about to find out.”

  Chapter 14

  I’m walking down the stairs as Callie’s running up. She grabs my hand and shoves me backward into my room, her body acting as the door block.

  “Okay, talk fast, what happened while we were gone?”

  I give her a winded, babbled recap about Emma’s vengeful debacle. I watch her eyes widen and jaw drop, so at least I know my speech was coherent. Then it’s her turn.

  “Peyton’s sick of Ivy. ‘To hell with the movie,’ he said. He wants her gone. She was all over Court tonight, and I’m pretty sure they fucked in the bathroom of the restaurant!” she grieves, but I can tell she’s been close to bursting while waiting to unload that whopper. “No clue how to tell Emma, but if she’s screwing around with his brother, maybe…never mind. I was gonna say we send in Court and Ivy tonight, but now I don’t know.” She bites her thumbnail.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They definitely did something in that bathroom tonight. I was gonna lay his shit bare while telling Emma at the same time and send their asses in, even though I don’t really think they’re a match. Peyton says Ivy’s a whore—that whatever it was meant nothing to her—and I saw Court’s face when they came out. He wasn’t impressed—definitely not mooning over his soulmate. But if Emma was doing the same shit with Wyatt…well? Harlow?”

  I can’t picture Ivy and Court as a match, either. He’s a rugged, quiet cowboy, and she’s all fake Hollywood. Though I do believe in the opposites-attract theory, the two of them is just too extreme. Court may be hooking up in bathrooms, but if you look closely enough, he seems more the type to have a nice girl on his arm—not a bitchy one on his jock. And I’m with Callie, Emma’s performance tonight kinda negates the urge to put Court on blast for similar mistakes.

  I snap my fingers as a flash of win-win brilliance hits me. “I got it! Send Ivy in with Wyatt. Two whores—they’re perfect for each other. And,” I say in a hushed whisper as though offhand, looking around, “we may get lucky and really send them home. Cruz doesn’t want him near Emma, and after tonight it’d bring some peace—not to mention eliminate stupid distractions. Maybe Emma and Court will start paying a
ttention to each other. Whaddya think?”

  Sly, canny agreement flashes across her face and she nods. “And this is why I consult you! Let’s go!”

  She pulls open the door and is ready to run out, but stops short. I slam into her back and she whips around, her face pale.

  “Sorry, just need to be clear…are we telling Emma about the possible bathroom hookup or not? ’Cause if your plan works, I’m not sure I can support ‘Court and Emma’ if she doesn’t go in fully aware—and comes clean with him.”

  “Five minutes till Soul Search!” blares over the intercom.

  “If we tell her, it’s going to hurt her even more. But she can’t be that surprised or mad, considering. And it might help her move on if she can’t forgive him; his transgression does sound worse than hers. But if we don’t tell her, we’re shitty friends, and it’s not our deal, so our what’s-forgivable-and-what’s-not scale doesn’t count. Then again—”

  “Right, it’s settled, we tell her,” Callie decides for us, since I’m a bipolar rambler. As she opens the door, she nearly plows Jasmine over at her attempt to rush out.

  “There you guys are. Everyone’s waiting. By the way, secrets hurt feelings, bitches.” She shoves each of us in the arm playfully.

  “Sorry, but trust us. The live version’s gonna be better. Watch this.”

  I grin and drag her with me, following Jasmine out the door.

  Oakley sees my entrance from where he’s leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Thanks to Miles’ insight, Oakley needn’t say a word. I know he’s mad I “reprimanded” him in front of a room of people—and the nation—for the guy who licked me.

  Well, he can stew all night. I’m mad at him, too—because he didn’t seek me out to discuss it, and for acting like a childish hypocrite by provoking violence in the first place.