Matched (24 page)

Emma and Cruz step out from the shade a moment later and I watch Court, who also notices, stiffen. Oakley’s in a group consisting of Jensen, Miles, Rachel, and of course Nadia. He’s staring straight at Tom, his jaw locked. I attempt to quell the sense of hollowness creeping up from my toes and landing square in my chest.

“Welcome to your next mini challenge!” Tom’s voice has well surpassed grating. “Down to twelve. Should make things a lot easier…or much harder.” He laughs. I somehow resist gagging. “Guess we’ll find out. Since we all had to wait out here while some issues were resolved in the house—Oakley, would you care to fill us in?”

Expecting Oakley to shoot down the meddling offer, I’m livid when he steps forward and speaks. “Not much to say. Oh, except that I just got dumped on national television. Not the best day I’ve ever had.”

“I’d say not.” Tom goes for sympathetic, but misses the mark by a long shot. He looks to me, then back at Oakley. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out. However, you’re on a beautiful island with your true soulmate standing within feet of you now but yet to be discovered, so there’s something to get excited about!”

My plastered-on smile couldn’t get any tighter.
Insensitive prick.

Not skipping a beat, Tom blathers on, as cheery and meaningless as ever. “We’ve got a couple new twists for you today. First, a spin of the wheel you see behind me will decide the pairings for what I’m calling ‘Lip Strip.’”

I hear Nadia and Rachel laughing and whispering a few feet away and see red—blood red. The thought of their lips doing anything to Oakley, even though he’s no longer mine, is almost more than I can handle.

“The guys are probably a little hot at the moment, as they’ve been instructed to dress in two of everything, shirts, underwear, and shorts. You ladies have to get them out of the extra layers and down to just one pair of underwear—using
only
your mouths. The men can lift limbs, bend, whatever they can do to help. But if either of you uses your hands or the ladies use feet, head nudges, or any part of the body other than their mouths, their team is disqualified. Any questions?”

I’d swear I was being held hostage by one never-ending, continually ascending-in-horror nightmare with each “experience” more traumatic than the next, but I can feel Callie squeezing my hand. So unfortunately, I’m awake…it’s actually happening. I want to take a long nap, bath, and plane ride, in that order—not strip a guy from this house with my freakin’ mouth!

But for the sake of perseverance—the challenge with myself, the only one that matters—I reinforce my phony smile.

Wyatt’s gone, and he was the scariest of possibilities by far. But I’m not taking any chances. I’m sick to death of surprises.

I raise my hand. “I have a question, Tom.”

“Yes, Harlow?”

“Are we positive they’re all actually
wearing
underwear?” I ask matter-of-factly, unsure why everyone, including Tom, laughs.

“Yes, Harlow, they all have on underwear—two pairs. Our previously defined commando contestants are outfitted as called for, just like the touching challenge.”

No need to get mouthy, Tom. Better safe than sorry.

“As you know by now, the winners each receive $5,000 in their personal charity banks and a luxury item. With four people gone—Dana, Dalton, Ivy, and Wyatt—previously packed bedrooms have shifted, leaving some very interesting dynamics. The winners today will earn the luxury of changing their bedroom placements any way they want.”

Room change?
I’m a hard no, but I’d love to see Emma win and get out of Jensen’s vicinity. No one should have to endure that.

Apparently, the first to spin was somehow already chosen while I was daydreaming, as the wheel’s in motion. Jensen’s spin pairs him with a sulking Callie, and it’s my turn to give her hand a comforting squeeze.

“Sorry,” I whisper, and she shrugs.

Next, Miles lands on Jasmine, which they both seem fine with. Then it’s Court’s turn.

With my own personal life falling apart, I’ve missed whether he’s spoken with Emma. But judging by the death rays she’s shooting him as he walks to the wheel, I’m guessing not.

He spins the wheel and I watch as it slows, ticking closer and closer to the one name I know he’s begging the universe to let it land on. Proving that miracles may exist, it stops on Emma’s name.

“Fantastic,” Tom chirps while Court heads toward Emma. Her arms are crossed, her narrowed eyes looking at anything but him.

Cruz prowls up to the wheel next, looking mad about that last pairing…until his spin lands on Nadia. He looks closer to lethal now and moves back to his place, ignoring Nadia when she sidles up beside him. That puts Oakley up. The pointer is on Rachel when the wheel stops, which leaves me with Peyton.

I don’t mind at all. Miracle two for the day.

“That’s our teams! Everyone line up on their marks.”

We follow our cue, a crewman asking Peyton and me to wait next to Emma and Court while they get the others situated. I can’t help it—my ears are perked.

Okay, so maybe I don’t even
try
not to listen.

“You can’t ignore me forever, Emma,” Court says, standing in front of her.

Emma says nothing.

“Come on, at least talk to me. Hell, I’m all for you screamin’ at me again—anything except this,” he pleads. “No? Silent treatment it is then. Might as well just sit this one out, since I know we won’t win it. You gonna just stand there with that angry scowl on your pretty face while everyone kicks our ass? It’s not like you’d want to swap your room anyway, right? I bet Jensen makes one helluva roomie. Yeah, come to think of it, I’m great with my room too.” He gives her the most daring grin possible.

I see her flinch and have to smile. Court’s good. He knows exactly how to press her hot buttons, and it’s working like a charm.

Who’s he room
–ah, Rachel and Nadia, alone with him. No wonder he’s desperate for the win. And, guaranteed, Emma didn’t even have to stop and think about it. No wonder she flinched. He played the perfect card.

Although she’s not about to let him get too cocky. She turns her head to Peyton and smiles.

“Those shades look great on you, Peyton. Hot.” Her voice is poisonously sweet.

“Uh, th-thank you,” Peyton stammers, adjusting the aviators on his face. He
does
wear them well, but I’m pretty sure Court is about to rip them off his face if the tic in his rigid jawline is a reliable gauge. I place myself between them casually and change the subject. “Look!” I point. “Is that a shark? I think I see a fin!”

I don’t. Quite honestly, I probably need glasses; I can’t see but a few feet in front of my face. But the three of them are squinting toward the water, Operation Pummel Peyton long forgotten.

After much ado, we’re all positioned as deemed by the powers that be, lined up straight across from our teammates with about eighty yards between us. “Remember, mouths only, ladies—and no hands for anyone. On my…GO!” Tom yells.

The guys stay put and we women rush across to them. Peyton’s a drill sergeant, and my minion self just goes through his dictated motions. He bends forward and kind of half growls, half whispers, “Bite both shirt hems at once, at the very bottom, and pull up hard. I’ll wiggle down and out.”

It works, and both his shirts are off in about ten seconds. He drops to his knees, and barks that I do the same. “Unzip. Then we’ll stand back up!”

I try to follow Captain Bossy’s orders, but the commotion beside me is distracting. It sounds like Emma isn’t interested in taking her time or being gentle, and I look over before I can stop myself.

Court’s stepping out of his first pair of shorts. His shirts are already gone, and he’s back to his knees for her to start on the next pair of shorts.
Crap, way ahead!
I force myself to ignore the show and hustle.

I’m in the zone, my face closing in on Peyton’s crotch, when Court shatters the uncomfortable-to-say-the-least moment with a wail.

“Shit!”

My eyes fly back to them again, and I catch Emma giggling. A small area above Court’s waist is growing bright red, and…
are those bite marks?

“Oops,” Emma squeaks, then nosedives back in.

“Bite me all you want, darlin’,” Court taunts her. “Worth it to hear that laugh.”

His words only piss her off more from the looks of it, but that’s a good thing. Her anger drives her faster, and Court’s already stepping out of his second pair of shorts.

I can’t see Cruz, but I hear him getting bitched out. Nadia’s ranting about him wearing button-fly cargos instead of a zippered pair.

“Harlow, concentrate!” Peyton scolds me, and before I can blush I’m slobbering all over his shorts. I’ve officially hit the lowest level of degradation.

I get his zipper down easily enough, but there’s still one button above it and it’s not as easy to get undone with your mouth as you might think. I’m maneuvering my head every which way, but unable to open even his first pair of shorts.

“Pull over with your teeth and push the button through with your tongue,” Peyton instructs, so I try that. It doesn’t work, and I bite my tongue in the process. And if that’s an erection forming, we’re about to have serious problems. I
will
contract Emma to bite things off for me too!

I try a couple more times, fumbling again before finally getting a good-enough grasp to pop the button through. I’m moving to stand without a real plan in mind, and he just can’t help himself. His hands fly to my shoulders to drag me up, and a whistle blows.

“Harlow and Peyton, disqualified!”

“Damn it.” He kicks up sand. “Sorry.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” I say with the lack of disappointment I feel, sitting back down to watch the madness.

Oakley’s chest is bare, and Rachel’s face is buried in his crotch. I can’t watch; I look away instantly. My eyes fall on Cruz laughing, Nadia still fighting those same buttons. I look to Court and Emma, syncing like one dancer—his turn to her bend, his lean to her pull. He lies flat on his back and pushes his pelvis into the air. She may be angry with him, but she’s obviously determined to win this.

“There ya go—slide ’em right off, darlin’,” he coaches her, cleverly wriggling backward the whole time. The opposite motion works brilliantly—and they win!

Court jumps up, scoops her into a cradle, and spins wildly in circles the millisecond the air horn blows.

“Thank you, thank you!” he chants as she succeeds in keeping a rein on even a hint of cheer. “Come on, Emma.” Court sets her on her feet. “How about just a smile? Not for me, but because you kicked ass.”

I wait for her reaction and laugh when she turns to Cruz and shouts, “I kick ass! Whoo!” She’s grinning in delight at everyone, even me, before she swings her face back to Court. Her expression is wiped clean, indifference returning.

Damn, she’s good. Poor guy…Emma’s torture will last a lot longer than that BJ did, mark my words.

I glance at Cruz, who’s watching them too, looking smug. And as though he feels my stare, his eyes find mine. I’m not sure what I do with my expression, but he blinks and looks away.

All the guys get dressed. This consists mostly of just pulling on shorts, but a few put on shirts as Tom pipes up, “Congrats to Court and Emma, $5,000 richer! If either of you two would like a room change, say the wor—”

“I do!” Emma shouts before Tom’s mouth has even closed. “Can I just take an empty spot, or do I have to switch with someone?”

“Either. One move, any way you like,” Tom answers her.

You can see her mapping out the rooms in her head, but her face drops abruptly. “Actually, I think I’ll stay where I’m at.”

What? Is she crazy?
Stay with Jensen when she could
…okay, so my room’s full, and Rachel and Nadia are a no. But she could’ve roomed with Oakley and Callie. Why wouldn’t she go there?

“How about you, Court?” Tom asks.

“I’ll take the empty bed in Saturn,” he replies quickly, a shit-eating grin on his face. I’ve never really understood the phrase—why would you possibly grin if you just ate shit?—but a phrase it is, and it’s definitely fitting.

Court’s choice puts him in with Peyton, Jensen, and…Emma.
Clever boy.

“Wait,” Emma interrupts, her face now pale. “I, um…changed my mind. I want to move into Uranus.”

“Sorry,” Tom begins.

“Fine, then, Jupiter,” she throws out desperately.

Really?
She’d rather room with the sluts than Court? I get it, sort of, and I feel for her—especially when Tom explains her turn is over and she can’t change her mind.

Court gives her a sidelong smile, either unashamed or undeterred. I can’t tell which.

Oakley’s shoulders are shaking with his silent chuckle; he’s obviously taking pleasure in what he assumes will be Cruz’s unraveling. He’s really hung up on that, which fortifies my decision. He’s
not
the guy I thought he was.

“Okaaay,” Tom drawls curiously. “Can you explain to us why you didn’t go with one of the two empty spots in Uranus, Court?”

Another missed wordplay opportunity for Wyatt. Shame.

Court looks to me and clears his throat. “No harm meant, Harlow, but we all know Oakley’s got a match here who isn’t you. Thinkin’ of the game…leavin’ him alone in a room with one girl might help us all figure out more.” He tries to smooth it over once more with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

I focus on the sand. I know he’s right, and playing the game…just like I plan to do. I have no say over Oakley anymore, but if I did, I wouldn’t mind him being alone with Callie.

“Good strategy,” Tom replies, cutting through the awkward silence. “Ladies and gentlemen, this game is getting very interesting. Cruz, how do you feel about your sister’s new roommate?”

Yes, pour the gasoline directly on the flame. Great plan. Why didn’t I think of that, Tom?

“If I have anything to say on the matter, I’ll discuss it with Emma—privately,” Cruz counters, holding impressively firm on his and Emma’s dignity.

“Fair enough,” Tom says, overdoing his cover of failed onscreen antagonism. “Everyone grab some lunch, and enjoy the rest of your day. We meet back here tomorrow for an elimination challenge.”