by Evans, Katy
I thumb the plastic ring on my finger. Only in a screwy game like this would a girl this classy, sweet, and gorgeous be wed to a bum like me.
That’s probably why I can’t bring myself to wake her.
I don’t want this dream to end.
In a few days, it will. We’ll have to make our decision and go back to our lives, in the same city but on opposite ends of the world from each other. And this dream will float out of my life forever.
Her eyes flutter a little and slowly open, drifting up to me. “Oh. Hi. What time is it?”
“No idea.” My first words of the day are a rumble. “Sleep well?”
“Amazing.” She’s smiling. She stretches her arms up above her head, and the smile fades. “Oh god. Ouch. I’m so sore.”
“That ain’t nothing a good massage can’t fix, sweetness. Roll your cute little ass over and let me have at it.”
I’m salivating to touch her by now, to feel those soft lines and muscles in her shoulders and back. She starts to roll her naked body against me, then reaches her hand out for the portable clock on the night table. She lifts it up, and I feel her muscles tense under my fingers. “Isn’t our check-in time at eight?”
“Yeah.” I skirt my hand down the curve of her back, massaging the orbs of her ass, my dick getting harder yet. I’ve been sporting a permanent erection around her for days, and just when I think I’m used to it, my balls get tighter and my cock swells more against my boxers. The pressure is bad now, and when I get my hands on her again, it’s just going to get worse.
But I’m game. She lets me touch her everywhere now. She’d let me do anything I damn well want, in the name of pleasing her. It’s me that’s in the way, treading a fine line between sanity and madness.
I don’t get the chance. She jumps into the air, pretty damn limber for a girl who wrecked that confidence course yesterday. “Oh hell! Oh fuck! It’s eight thirty! We missed check-in!”
I don’t know how we do it, but we manage to get dressed, throw our stuff together, and race downstairs to the check-in platform in five minutes. Will Wang is nowhere to be found. He couldn’t be bothered to wait around for our sorry asses. The only people standing there are a backup staff member and a single cameraman. He scolds us as he hands us the next envelope, then says into the camera, “Our first-place team is now in last place, thanks to oversleeping! Whoops! And so late in the game! Let’s hope this doesn’t mean doom for Dr. and Mr. Cross!”
Fuck you, she’s Dr. Carpenter, I think as we grab a cab and slide into the back seat. Fucking great. I’d wanted more time with Penny, and now I’ll probably never get a chance to finish that massage. Put a fork in us. We’re probably done.
Or are we? All we’ve ever done is talk about getting back to Atlanta and annulling the marriage. But wouldn’t it be so crazy, wouldn’t it totally blow everyone’s mind if we . . .
I can’t think about that right now. “Slab City,” she barks at the driver in a voice I never knew she had. “We’ve got to get there. As fast as you can. Please. Step on it.”
Our driver doesn’t mess around. He guns it ninety down Interstate 8, getting us up to the place in what has to be record time. As he does, Penny sighs. “I can’t believe we did that! I can’t believe we were so stupid. We gave up our lead! For what?”
For what? It’s still hanging in the air as I wait for her to realize what she said. She doesn’t.
Does she really not think it was worth it?
Maybe it wasn’t. It’s a hell of a lot of money in the balance. The chance to pay off her student loans and get out of that hole. Maybe that’s more important.
She looks at the clue in her lap and reads, “This place used to be a naval base. But now it is an art community where many people live. We need to find the toilet bowl sculpture. Our next clue is in there.”
“That shouldn’t be hard.”
The driver laughs a little but doesn’t say anything, and when we pull up, I see what’s so funny. The place is overrun with junk, as far as the eye can see. The hunks of gleaming metal in the California desert may pass for sculptures to some people, but all I see is a bunch of shit it’s going to take forever to get through.
And it’s balls hot. Like a hundred, at least, the sun beating down on us full force, no trees or any source of shade anywhere. There are no other cabs in sight, though, which tells me the other teams have already found their clues and driven off.
Shit. I don’t want to tell Penny, because I don’t want to make her think last night was a mistake any more than she already does.
But it’s true. We fucked up. And it might be a million dollar mistake.
“Let’s go!” she says, rushing off into the scrub brush. We end up climbing over mountains of discarded landfill shit that people have set out on the desert floor. It’s fucking insane. The sweat’s pouring off me, and all I can think is that an hour ago I was in heaven, and this sure as hell feels like the other place.
Then I hear her calling to me. “I found it! Luke, I found it!”
I run down the hill toward her. She’s standing at the edge of a large, crumbling concrete slab, reading the clue.
“Yuma,” she says. “We’ve got to get to the airport in Yuma.”
Another flight. To think I’d never set foot in an airport before a couple of weeks ago, and now I feel like a goddamn world traveler. I’ve lost count of how many hours we’ve spent on airplanes. I’m just glad that it’s not ending yet. That we get to go on, somewhere else.
We get to the airport just as the flight is boarding. When we sit down at our seats and finally have a chance to rest, she looks for any other members of the race and, finding none, says, “We must be so behind. Do you think they’ll send us off when we get to wherever we’re going?”
“I don’t know,” I say. Because I don’t.
I don’t know anything anymore. Even the things I thought I knew.
I feel like it’s all up in the air.
ALOHA, HAWAII
Nell
Yes. We are back in last place. Made it through by sheer luck again. I’m looking forward to spending our downtime on the beach. I’ve never been to Hawaii before.
—Nell’s Confessional, Day 13
After a brutally long connecting flight, we end up on the platform in Maui at eleven the next morning, covered in leis from the girls welcoming us at the gate. We throw our bags down, waiting for Will Wang to tell us we’ve been eliminated, because he’s giving us the puppy-dog sad eyes again. “You are, sadly, in last place, but once again, you’re in luck,” he says to us, his face magically brightening. “This is a non-elimination round!”
I turn to Luke, tired and still sore, and we hug again. I feel all jetlagged and weird, like I could sleep for a day.
Then Will gives us the best news ever: We’ll have the entire day to hang at the hotel and relax before the game picks up tomorrow. There will be something called a farewell luau at night with the other three remaining couples, which makes me look at Luke, my eyes widening.
Farewell. We’re almost done.
It’s so funny. It’s been nearly two weeks since I said goodbye to Courtney at the Georgia Tech rec center. And yet I feel like I’ve changed and grown and become this completely different person. Like when I get back to my apartment and try to fit into the life I left behind, I’ll be a square peg in a round hole.
As much as I miss Courtney, when I think of home, a deep, depressing sense of dread settles in. I’m trying not to think of it so much, to just live in the moment.
“Remember to set your alarm clocks so you don’t oversleep!” Will says to us with a wink.
Luke mutters something under his breath at him and then says to me, “What do you want to do? Beach?”
I nod happily. I can’t wait. To just sit out on the beach under a palm tree with one of those fruity little umbrella drinks and my beautiful hunk by my side? Sounds perfect. I even brought a bathing suit just for this purpose.
The Million Dolla
r Marriage staff really outdid themselves this time. For this site, we’re staying in a little cabana on the beach. It’s a beautiful place with open windows to let the breezes blow in and a lanai that steps right out to the ocean. I quickly get changed and come out as Luke is going through his stuff. He looks up at me and shakes his head. “Sweetheart. That ain’t you.”
I look down at my racerback tank bathing suit. It’s modest, and I thought it’d be good for challenges. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he says, reaching into his bag and pulling out a tiny red bikini, the strings of which dangle down, “you should wear this.” It looks practically microscopic.
I blink. “Hell no. Where did you get that?”
“Just now. In the store. I saw it and thought it had Penny Carpenter written all over it.”
I gape at him. “That money is to get us from place to place, not to be buying—”
“Put it on.”
I take it, biting my lip as I look at it. It rivals the underwear he bought me. Cameras are going to be on me. And I’ve never worn stuff like this in my life. I mean, I’ve actually tried them on, wondering if I could pull it off, but I never got out of the dressing room.
But . . . fine. Time to live in the moment.
I go back into the bathroom and return wearing the bikini. “Happy?”
He nods, reaching out and wrapping both big hands around my waist and pulling me to his hard chest. He cradles my face in his hand, the pad of his thumb running over my lips. “I don’t think I can let you leave looking this way.”
“Fine by me,” I say, blushing. “There are cameras out there.”
He lets me go and reaches for his own suit. “You and me, alone, in here? With you wearing that? Don’t tempt me.”
Tempt him? Really? He’s the one who gave me the bathing suit. It appears that for the past day all I’ve been doing is tempting him. He groans when I come too near or when I look at him a certain way, and he is always muttering under his breath that I’m going to be the death of him. And yet he knows I would let him do whatever he likes. But he still insists on torturing himself, and nothing I say seems to change his mind.
He thinks he’s the only one being tortured by this. Sure, I’ve come. He explored me so well the other night that he knows my body like it’s his own, and his touch has a way of setting off fireworks instantly. But I want more. He knows exactly what I want.
And the bastard won’t give it to me.
No, instead, he’s intent on driving me insane.
We go out to our private lanai, and I sit under the shade of the palm trees, gazing at the aqua water, while he goes for a swim. I watch him in the water, the beautiful curves of his broad back, the way he moves, like a panther stalking its prey, the way the sun clearly adores every last inch of him. It’s hot and sticky, and yet he gives me cold, chilly goose bumps.
He comes back while I’m curled up on the lounge chair, finishing up Les Mis. “Come in with me. It’s warm.”
I shake my head, thinking of the way Courtney called me a flailing insect in the water. “I don’t really swim.”
He sits down beside me. Droplets of water create a mosaic on his skin, and I desperately want to lick them off, to taste the salty sweetness of him. “What’ll you do if we have a swimming challenge tomorrow?”
I give him a grin. “Let you handle it?”
I go back to my book, but he’s there, silent. When I look up, he’s staring at me, silently discerning, his gaze so intent it nearly takes my breath away.
“What?” I motion to the ocean. “Even if I went out there now, there’s no way you’d be able to teach me to swim in an hour.”
“Right. Like there’s no way you can come, either, baby.”
Well, isn’t he cocky? I scowl at him. “We have to get ready for the luau.”
“We don’t got to get ready. The producers said we can wear our bathing suits.”
I cringe.
“So, sweetheart, you’re out of excuses.” He studies my face, and I can see where recognition dawns. “Oh. So that’s it. You don’t want anyone to see you?”
I point down the beach at the two cameramen who are lurking there. “That’s right.”
He goes inside and comes back with one of his balled-up T-shirts, which he tosses to me. “Then put this on. Don’t let stupid shit get in the way of you living life to the fullest.”
I can’t argue with that. I pull his massive shirt onto my body, inhaling the heavenly scent of him as I make my way down the white sand. He’s right. The water is warm and relaxing and perfect. It’d be more perfect if the cameras weren’t here. He even gives me a few stroking tips that make me feel less like a drowning insect. But he’s careful not to touch me or do anything that might get on camera, which I guess is a good thing.
It’s also driving me insane.
“You’re right. The water was great,” I tell him when we get to the luau.
It’s right on the beach, not far from the cottages. Again we’re given leis. The sun is setting and the sky is orange, and the salt feels tight but not unpleasant on my skin.
They’re serving mai tais, so we each take one and sit down as lilting ukulele music plays. Women with flowing hair are wearing grass skirts and hula dancing.
“I could get used to this,” he says, sipping his drink as we wave to the other competitors, who are all watching the show. He has a new tan and looks even more delicious in this light. The island lifestyle definitely agrees with him. To think, not so very long ago I thought he was a thug. Now he’s so sexy it physically hurts me to look at him, knowing he’ll probably deny me what I want.
We listen to the music a little, and meanwhile, the sun sets, leaving a sky full of pink streaks. We’re served native foods like mahi-mahi and poi, and everything just seems right with the world. He may be the wrong guy, but . . . I don’t know if that’s even true anymore.
He might just be the right guy. No matter how much he denies me. Maybe I just need to convince him.
“I had fun today. I should stop worrying about what other people think,” I tell him, “and just live in the moment more.”
“You should,” he says, dragging me out into the line of hula dancers, with Ivy and Natalie. The dancers give us grass skirts and tell us how every movement tells a story. And they show us how to move our hips in time with the music, in a sultry and sensual way. I’m terrible at it, but I’m in good company.
I think I’ve finally found something that Luke can’t do.
But it doesn’t matter. We’re up here, not giving a crap what anyone thinks.
And it feels amazing.
It feels even more amazing when he turns to me and hooks a finger toward me, drawing me to him like a puppet on a string. The cameras are on us, capturing the act of him taking the lei off his chest and putting it over my head. But they can’t possibly capture the way his eyes glint at me, like I’m the only girl in the world. They can’t see the need in his expression as he tugs on the edge of the T-shirt.
I know what he’s asking, even though those eyes make it impossible to think sane thoughts. It’s getting dark, and the mai tais are dulling my nerves, and the T-shirt is still kind of wet, which is making me chilly.
So I reach down, peel it off, and hand it to him. “Good?”
“Yeah. Good.” His voice is a low rumble as his eyes drift over my body appreciatively. His arms wrap around me, his skin melts against mine, and his fingers dig into the bare skin at the small of my back. “Very, very good.”
Luke
Well, yeah. It felt like we were almost at the end. The game was stressful. It was good to just let go for a night. We all needed it.
—Luke’s Confessional, Day 14
It’s after midnight by the time the torches of the luau fade and it’s time to go back to our cabana.
The rest of the competitors have been getting along well. But none of them, not even Ace and Marta, have what Penny and I have. I didn’t want to leave her side for
a second. I stayed next to her, holding her near me, cameras be damned, wanting to brand her with my touch, mark her with my scent, make every last damn person on the beach know she was mine.
We’re still in the game, and that means she’s still mine.
And there were plenty of other fuckers sneaking looks. Doubt that Penny—sweet, naive Penny—had any idea how she made their tongues wag in that little bikini. She had them all on a string, like a little fucking temptress, and the craziest part about it was she probably didn’t see a thing because her eyes were on me.
I drank like a fish, trying to get a little buzz going so I wouldn’t be so hyperaware of every last thing she did. Even the smallest, most insignificant moves fixed me with the need to taste her, even right there in the open. I kept leaning toward her, scenting her, drinking her in.
By the time we walk back on the beach, alone in the full moonlight, frustration and anger are surging hot through my veins. Anger directed at her. At myself for unleashing this monster in her, for being half the man she wants.
She’s happy, which is only feeding my shitty mood. Holding my hand, moving her hips in the way the hula dancers showed us. Wearing that little grass skirt and that bikini and flowers in her hair and around her neck, and I just want to throw her on the sand and sink into her.
We get to the lanai, and I drop her hand and fall down onto the lounge chair, facing the moon.
She spins in front of me, still hula dancing. Moving her hips in mesmerizing circles and her hands in the way we’d just been taught means come to me. She holds my gaze, and I’m not going to give in to her. Give in to this temptress who has no fucking idea what she’s getting herself into.
I’m about to lose it. I rub the new scruff on my jaw as I watch her, my fingers shaking from want. “You come here.”
She does, still dancing her hips in those tantalizing circles, right before my eyes. When she’s close enough, I wrap an arm around her, drawing her to the side of the lounge. She lets out a little gasp and stills.