For Real (23 page)

“How’d your interview go? How was the delightful Philly?” I put air quotes around her name with my voice.

Will rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. “She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?”

Just hearing him say those words rounds out all the sharp corners of the day. Will may have flirted with Philadelphia for the cameras, but he was just acting, like Troy. All my worrying was for nothing. I scoot farther onto the bed so I’m leaning against the headboard and try to suppress a silly grin.

“I don’t know how you even got through a whole leg of the race with her,” I say.

“Hey, it can’t have been much worse than your day with
Troy the Beefcake.” He does some goofy muscleman poses, and I laugh. I kind of feel like I should defend Troy, but I don’t want to say anything positive about another guy in front of Will, in case he takes it the wrong way.

“Let’s just say I’m really glad to have you back,” I say.

“Likewise, Dominique.” He rolls over and grabs the remote off his nightstand. “You want to watch something?”

“Sure,” I say, and my heart leaps to attention. I’ve never snuck into a boy’s room before, but I’ve seen my fair share of romantic comedies, and it’s pretty obvious what’s going to happen next.

Will scrolls through a couple news channels until he finds a movie that involves a lot of things blowing up. There aren’t any subtitles, but it doesn’t matter—it’s not like we’re actually going to pay attention to the television. He switches off the lamp “so we can see the screen better,” stuffs a pillow under his head, and makes himself comfortable. I remember what I’ve learned from watching
Speed Breed
and try to make my body language as welcoming as possible: legs crossed in his direction, hand resting on the covers between us, head inclined toward him, lips slightly parted. I don’t think I could be any more obvious if I stood on the bed and screamed
Kiss me!
through a megaphone. I keep my eyes on the screen, not even registering the movie, and I wait.

But nothing happens.

And nothing happens.

And when I finally steal a glance at Will to see what’s taking so long, he’s
asleep
.

Seriously? We’re finally together in a room with a bed,
all alone and far from the cameras, and he’s chosen to spend this time with me
unconscious
? I try to tell myself he didn’t mean to nod off—we’ve both had a long day, and I’m exhausted, too. We’ll have the whole flight tomorrow to hang out and talk. But talking isn’t what I want to do, and I feel totally cheated. This isn’t how tonight was supposed to end.

I’m about to get up and tiptoe back to my own room, where I’ll spend the rest of the night stewing in frustration and disappointment. But then it occurs to me that I really have no reason to leave. Who would know if I just stayed here tonight? It’s not like anyone’s going to come looking for me, and I can always sneak out early in the morning. If Will wakes up and finds me next to him, he’ll assume we both fell asleep watching the movie.

After the evening I’ve had, I deserve this.

Will sleeps with one arm flung over his head, legs spread out on top of the covers like a starfish. I carefully curl up on my side of the bed and watch the slow rise and fall of his chest. A streetlight shines through the curtains, highlighting the curve of his stubbled cheek, the straight slope of his nose, the dark hollow of his throat. A lock of his damp hair has fallen over one eye, and very tentatively, I reach out and brush it back. When he doesn’t react, I let my hand rest on the pillow next to his head, close enough to feel his breath on my fingers. But after a few minutes, that isn’t enough. My whole body aches to get closer to him.

So slowly it’s almost imperceptible, I start inching my way across the bed. There’s less than a foot of mattress between us, but the trek takes several long minutes, and by
the time I’m close enough to feel the warmth of his skin, my heart is pounding like I’m about to commit a crime. I worry it might be loud enough to wake him. It’s probably loud enough to wake the whole hotel.

I spend another few minutes psyching myself up for the final approach. Then, in a rare moment of reckless bravery, I roll toward Will and drape my arm across his waist. There’s a thin stripe of bare skin between his T-shirt and his shorts, and I thrill at the warmth of it against the inside of my wrist. He shifts a little in his sleep, and I freeze, praying he won’t turn away. But he just sighs, and then he’s still. My arm moves gently up and down as he breathes.

When I’m certain he’s still deeply asleep, I scoot my hips a tiny bit closer, then slide my top leg over so it tangles with his. Now the whole length of our bodies is pressed together, and I think I might faint from the feel of so much contact at once. I rest my cheek against his chest, close my eyes, and try to relax enough to sleep, knowing I’ll regret it tomorrow if I don’t. But I can’t bear to let myself drift off. Every moment I spend unconscious is a moment I’ll be unaware of how close together we are.

I finally sink into sleep as the sun starts to rise, painting the ceiling of Will’s room in shades of watercolor pink, and I dream of kissing the edge of his hairline, the fragile curves of his eyelids, the dimple in his cheek, the tip of his nose. In my dream, he wakes and smiles just as I’m hovering a breath away from that gorgeous mouth. “Don’t stop,” he whispers against my lips.

And I don’t.

I wake up around eight, glowing from my dreams, and tiny fireworks go off in my brain when I discover it wasn’t all my imagination—I really
am
in bed with Will Divine. We’ve shifted in our sleep, and now Will is curled around me, his stomach pressed to my back, his knees against the undersides of my thighs. I can feel his breath stirring the hairs at the nape of my neck. I never want this to end, but I know I need to get back to my own room before anyone finds us. I’m careful not to wake him as I slowly, gently free myself from his arms and climb off the bed. Before I go, I turn to look at him one last time, marveling at the way the morning sun catches in his long eyelashes. I wish I had my phone with me so I could take a picture.

I start missing him even before the door clicks shut behind me.

Humming and dancing and grinning at myself in the mirror, I pack up my stuff and get ready for the day. I’m so buzzy and happy that I don’t even remember Miranda and Samir have the same start time we do until I spot them in the lobby. My sister has dark circles under her eyes, but she
looks determined and stoic, like she’s done crying. “How are you holding up?” I ask, hoping she’ll say she’s sorry about last night. My good mood has made me benevolent, and I’m ready to accept an apology if she offers one.

But she just shrugs. “Tired. I didn’t really sleep.”

I spot Samir across the lobby, looking perky and awake. “Have you talked to him at all?”

“Just for a second. He’s so infuriating—when anyone else is around, he acts all innocent and vulnerable, like he wants me back or wants closure or whatever, but the second no one’s looking, he just smirks at me. The whole point of coming here was to mess with his head, and he’s the one messing with mine.”

Part of me wants to ask
What can I do to help you?
But according to her, we’re supposed to be fending for ourselves now. I try to make my voice sound supportive but detached. “Well, it’s only one day. You can get through this.”

“I know I
can
. I just hate being on the same side as him. It sucks that I can’t even do anything bad to him without sabotaging myself.” She sighs deeply, and then a little crease appears between her eyebrows. “You look … rested.”

“Yeah, I slept pretty well. Maybe you can get in a nice long nap on the plane. You should buy some Tylenol PM or something at the airport.” I try to tamp down my glow so she won’t ask any more questions. “Should we go wait outside for the van?”

“I guess.”

Will joins us as we’re standing out front with Janine and Steve, and he winks when he sees me. “How’d you sleep?” he
asks, totally innocent. I can’t tell whether he knows I was in his bed most of the night.

I try to match his tone. “Pretty well. You?”

“I slept like a dead person,” he says. “I was trying to watch this movie, but I guess I crashed in the middle. I totally didn’t mean to … it was super entertaining. Next time I’ll try harder not to miss the end.” He looks straight at me, like he’s trying to send me a telepathic message, and I smile to show him I accept his apology. Just knowing he wants there to be a next time sends a little shiver down my spine.

Nobody speaks on the ride to India Gate. I try to tell Miranda good luck as she heads off with Samir to get their first pink envelope, but she barely acknowledges me. Steve and Janine head out ten minutes later, and then it’s finally our turn. Isis introduces us to our new cameraman and sound guy, who immediately sticks his hands up my shirt to attach my mike. It’s weird how even after just a few days, it’s starting to feel routine to have random guys clipping things to my bra. I guess you can get used to anything.

When he’s done, Isis blesses us with her standard “May the forces of love and luck be with you,” and Will rips open our instructions and reads them aloud.

Fly to Athens, Greece, and make your way to Mikro Kavouri Beach, where you’re in for some finger-licking good times
.

If I’d gotten these instructions with Troy yesterday, I’m pretty sure that phrasing would’ve turned my stomach. But as long as I’m with Will, I’m up for anything.

“Greece,” he breathes. “That is so awesome. Come on! Let’s go!”

I love his boyish enthusiasm—it almost makes me forget about Miranda and Samir. Even the insane ride through the camel-and-monkey-and-cow-filled Delhi traffic doesn’t seem so bad, now that he’s the one next to me in the cab.

The earliest flight out is at six in the evening on Qatar Airways with a two-hour layover in Doha, and all twelve of us end up on the same flight. As soon as we’re on the plane, I remind Will to do the breathing exercises I taught him, and when I offer him my hand, he takes it eagerly. I was hoping for a continuation of the Question Game, but staying up most of the night has left me sleepier than I thought, and I drift off the moment we reach our cruising altitude. Even with the help of a large coffee in the Doha airport, I don’t feel fully alert again until we’re standing in the customs line in Athens. I hate that I’ve missed out on so much valuable time with Will, but honestly, last night was worth it.

We stumble out into the cool night air—somehow it’s midnight again—and find a cab. Our driver seems to be in the mood to practice his English, and he asks a million questions about the race as we zip down the highway. When he gets tired of that, he serenades us with some of his favorite American songs, all of which are by Lady Gaga—it turns out her music is way more entertaining when sung by a pudgy Greek man. He finally lets us off at the beach around one in the morning, shakes our hands, and gives us his card in case we ever need a cab in an emergency. “Wherever you are, I come for you like the wind!” he promises.

We follow a winding path between a bunch of beachside hotels, but when Will finds the rickety gate that leads out onto the sand, it’s latched and locked. He pulls a tiny LED flashlight out of his bag and reads the sign. “The beach doesn’t open until sunrise,” he calls.

A couple teams are spreading out their sleeping bags and settling in to wait for dawn, and I spot Troy a little farther down the fence, alternating between sets of crunches and push-ups. Miranda and Samir don’t seem to be here yet. Maybe she’s off burying his dead body in the sand somewhere.

“What do you want to do?” I ask Will. “Should we nap?”

He shrugs. “I slept on the plane, so I’m okay. How about you?”

“I’m actually feeling kind of wired.”

“You want to walk around?”

I know we’ll only be killing time, but it
almost
feels like Will just asked me on a date. “Definitely,” I say.

Our crew guys look exhausted, and since our walk isn’t race-related, Will convinces them to rest instead of tagging along. He acts like he’s just being nice, but it seems like he wants to be alone with me. We leave our packs with the cameraman and head back up to the road. Will keeps his hands deep in his pockets, but he walks close enough to me that our arms occasionally brush. Neither of us speaks as we amble through the nighttime streets, looking at the darkened storefronts and cable car tracks in companionable silence. This unhurried time feels like a gift.

“Hey,” I finally say to Will as we turn down a cobblestone
sidewalk that’s shiny and wet from an earlier rain. “Why are you really here?”

A crinkle of confusion appears between his eyebrows. “Um … because the beach is closed?”

“No, not here on this street. I mean here on the race. Why’d you try out? You’re not really a CEO’s son who’s trying to escape some evil corporate destiny, so what’s the real story?”

He shrugs. “I just wanted to. That’s all.” But he doesn’t meet my eyes.

“Oh, come on. You’re totally hiding something. People don’t just randomly try out for reality shows. You must’ve had a reason.”