Matched (30 page)

It’d be a power move, except I have nowhere to go. Downstairs definitely isn’t an option, so I stand in front of my door and am able to hear Adam talking.

“Can’t answer that for you, Jasmine. It’s your life.”

I pull my hand from the doorknob, not about to interrupt them even if I
am
just hanging out in the hall alone like a loser. That leaves the only extra beds in the house either in Oakley’s room (no, thank you), Nadia and Rachel’s room (kill me first), or Peyton’s room, where he’s still packing. Looks like I’m going down to the Lovin’ Lounge if I want to nap off my building migraine—if it’s even free.

But on my way there, I’m stopped dead in my tracks, my breath hitching at the sight in front of me.

Oakley’s outside the lounge with Nadia in front of him…and their lips are connected.

No! Not
Nadia!

I turn on my heel and run as fast as I can. Justifiably or not, my heart is shredded.

I hear Callie calling my name as I sprint through the Great Room and out the back door, seeking refuge in a hammock in the yard, far away from the rest of the world—well, except the persistent cameraman, whose pounding feet have kept up behind me.

I do my best to ignore his presence and manage to climb into the hammock without tossing myself over it. Breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, I close my eyes and drift off, imagining I’m on a beautiful, tropical island…alone.

Confessional: Emma McCall

“You probably saw me yell at Harlow and maybe jab her in the chest with my finger a little bit, so let me explain. I swear I’m not a mean person, but that’s my brother—the best person in the world—so she had it coming. I like Harlow a lot, but I love my brother. He…God, he’d do anything for me—has done anything for me. You have no idea.

“It pisses me off beyond belief that she cheapened things, because I know Cruz, and…never mind. He didn’t deserve to be some revenge rebound, and now she ruined it!

You can never get that first moment back. Even if he forgives her, it’ll always be tainted. Gah, she’s an idiot.

“See, now I’m getting all worked up again. She’s not an idiot—not a complete one, anyway. I’m not saying I’m not one as well…I mean, look at me and Wyatt. It’s just that I hate that she robbed herself of that moment, too. I truly do. I don’t know…maybe I was too harsh…pretty sure I saw her asleep outside in a hammock. But geez. I’m not going out there to get her.

“Sorry, give me a second, I…crap, this is all too much. Great, now I’m bawling on TV. I came on this show to have fun and for Cruz to lighten up and have fun too, and all anyone’s done is fight! Jasmine’s getting her pride snuffed out a little more every day, Court’s…ugh, I don’t know what Court is besides a hot-and-cold bathroom-blowjob bastard, and it’s not fun. And even if I do forgive him, my family will never accept him because I just announced his indiscretion on tape!

“Ugh, now look at me! My nose is stuffed up and my headache’s back. God, screw this stupid show! BYE FELICIA!”

Chapter 21

“Harlow.” Someone shakes my arm. “Harlow, come to bed.”

My eyelids peel open to reveal Jasmine towering over me. I rub my eyes and look around, realizing I’m still outside in the hammock. It’s pitch black out, aside from the faint light of the Tiki torches around the pool.

“What time is it?” I grumble, sitting up, setting the hammock in motion.

“Whoa, easy mama,” she snickers, stopping my glide. “About ten. You okay?”

I nod and stand with the help of her hand. “Yeah. You?”

“Been better,” she confesses. “Come on, we have a mini challenge at noon tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep in a real bed.”

“Yep.” There’s nothing else to say, both of us anything but thrilled about another day in this nightmare.

We walk back to the house, past Nadia and Rachel. They’re sitting in the Great Room, whispering to each other.

“Ignore them,” Jasmine says, not bothering to keep her voice down. “Rachel’s on her way out, and then Nadia’s a one-bitch operation.”

“Don’t care, just want to sleep.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

The next morning, I’m up with just enough time to shower and have my usual smoothie. Everyone’s scattered throughout the house, avoiding at least one other person. The tension is at an all-time high, leaving only Callie and Jasmine sitting at the kitchen table.

Adam breezes by, tapping his watch. “Ten minutes, ladies.”

“Another challenge, yay!” Callie cocks off loudly. “What do you think it’ll be this time? Sexual positions?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” I laugh, needing to relieve some of the anxiety closing in around us. “Have you guys seen Em yet this morning?”

Jasmine nods while Callie answers, “On her way to the shower earlier. She told us about you and Cruz.”

I lay my head on my arm, which is strewn across the table. “Great. She still hate me?”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Jasmine says. “She’s just…upset. Plus, everything with Court—I think it’s all getting to her.”

“It’s this show, making us all crazy.”

“I don’t disagree, but right now they’re waiting.” Callie stands and sets her coffee cup in the sink. “Let’s go see what awaits us this time, ladies.”

When we arrive, Tom is standing on the beach, as annoyingly chipper as possible. “Good afternoon. I hope everyone had a restful night. Harlow, how’d the hammock sleep?”

I don’t want to answer, but won’t give him the satisfaction of a perceived victory. “Heavenly.”

He’s still smiling, but there’s a fleeting hint of disappointment when I don’t expand on my answer. “Glad to hear it. Okay, for today’s mini challenge, we have something very special planned…visitors!” His hand motions to the right, dragging our attention to the incoming bus that stops just short of the sand line.

“This can’t be good,” Jasmine worries quietly.

“Now, before we reveal who these special guests are, we need everyone lined up on their markers. The most important rule here is no speaking—
to anyone
—from this point forward until directed to do so by me, and
only
to the one person I specify. If you break this simple rule, you’re instantly disqualified from the chance of winning $5,000 more for your charity—
and
a night in the never-before-used Posh Suite!”

“I’m gonna win this,” I decide aloud, taking a spot next to Callie. Emma materializes from somewhere behind me and I give her a rueful smile that she ignores. It’s no fun walking in Court’s shoes.

“And who’s gonna be your suite buddies, if you win?” Callie asks me with bouncing, persuasive eyebrows.

“Not a damn person,” I answer easily. I’d saw off one of my own limbs in sacrifice for some isolation at this point.

Jasmine and Callie look to agree with my thought process as we wait for everyone else to assemble, taking their marks in the sand to form one long line of ten people. I can
hardly
wait to see what’s in store.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this challenge will test your intuition, and is suitably named ‘Exes and Ohs.’
Don’t
say hello to…some blasts from your pasts!”

Please, God, if it’s what I’m thinking…make. It. Stop.

The bus door slides open, and off walks a short tomboyish woman with a baseball cap on her head, the oversized jersey she’s wearing concealing any shape. I’m also pretty sure her shorts are meant for men’s basketball. I have no clue whose ex she could be. Maybe Jensen’s?

She stops on the mark directly in front of Callie as another woman comes into view and joins us. She has long legs, a perfect slim figure, and a maddening, gorgeous smile. I hate her instantly. She just screams “cheerleader”—worse than I ever did, which means there’s a good chance she’s here because she was once with Oakley. And of course, she’s standing right across from me.
Very tricky, evil masterminds.

Two more girls take their places and they’re both stunning, but it’s the final one who throws me. Dressed in black combat boots, tiny Daisy Dukes, and a shredded Rolling Stones tank top, the short bottle blonde looks anything but sweet—or from this decade. Now
she
could have dated Jensen…or the lead singer of Whitesnake. But he’s not here, so this may turn out to be harder than I thought.

Next are the men, which has me overly curious and anxious considering I’ve never had an actual boyfriend besides Oakley. So who the hell could they possibly have found for me?

My question is answered the moment Jake, a truck driver I went on a total of three dates with, steps out. And wouldn’t ya know it—the next open spot for him is facing Oakley.

Why are they being so blatantly obvious?
It has me suspecting there’s some secret caveat to this game that I’m missing. Jake and Oakley were never friends, per se, but we’re all from the same town…and Oakley’s blanched fists pumping in and out at his sides, it’s clear he definitely recognizes him.

I’m so busy trying to pretend—
hope
, even—this is some pre-stroke apparition that I miss the rest of the men as they line up.

“Welcome!” Tom walks up and down the aisle between the two lines: us…and
them
. “Normally I’d ask that you all introduce yourselves, but like you’ve been told, there’s to be no talking, touching, or communication of any kind. Cast members, in case you haven’t figured it out, we’ve brought in these ten people to spice things up—an ex from each of your pasts. Obviously, you’ll recognize your own, and perhaps a sibling’s or friend’s too. Maybe you’ve even talked about them to the others in the house and said their names…which is why no one’s allowed to speak and the guests all have a number on their shirt for identification. So how’s this going to work? I’d be happy to tell you!”

Get on with it, Tom. Cheeky’s only cute on chubby babies.

“We’ll go down the line, and each of you will be allowed to ask one yes-or-no question of the person standing directly in front of you. That question cannot in any way include or directly insinuate a specific name—theirs nor one of your house mates’. Each cast member is now being handed a clipboard, on it is a list of your fellow roommates. Your job is to write the appropriate guest number next to the correct contestant’s name.

“When all ten of you have asked your questions, the clipboards will be collected and the winner will be whoever matches the most exes to housemates correctly. Yes, you’ll need to be very clever and precise with your questions. And pay attention to all the questions asked to help you figure this out,” Tom explains. “We’ll start on this end, with Callie and guest number one.”

Callie openly scrutinizes the person across from her for way longer than socially acceptable before she asks her one question. “Are you a lesbian?”

Yep, she just said that out loud.
I’d scold her and throw in an arm swat…if I could talk or touch. Number one answers easily, though—and fortunately, doesn’t seem offended. “No.”

I give the poor girl an apologetic smile and stare down at my paper.
Who the hell do I put her with?
Not only was Callie’s question tacky, but it provided absolutely no indicative information. So we now know she’s not a lesbian…which helps me pair her to one of the guys
how
? Great job, Callie. Unless…that’s her plan? This
is
an individual challenge, and nothing sounds sweeter than a night alone behind a door that locks.

I settle for Jensen by default, because I have no more clue who’d be his ex as I do
why
.

“Harlow,” Tom says, “you’re next. One question for guest number two.”

This is a cinch, my intuition is keen. “Are you, or have you ever been, a cheerleader?”

The girl smiles softly, trying for the innocence I doubt she possesses while screwing a certain NFL player during half-time.
Okay, Callie’s excused; I’m ate up with the tacky too.
This invasion seems to have brought it out—fast.

“Yes,” she answers, just as I knew she would. I brace for the wrench of jealousy at the torturous imagery—she and Oakley warming up locker rooms while we were apart—but it never comes.

Thankfully, Tom steals away my choice of dwelling on it as he tells Jasmine to go, so I jot Give-Head Cheerleader’s number, “2,” beside Oakley’s name.

“Have you ever been to the rodeo?” Jasmine asks the beauty across from her. She’s helping Emma out, and I grin. Regardless of whether she’s angry at me, I adore Emma.

“No,” she responds, so I write “3” next to Cruz, the only other option that makes sense. She’d look good with him, and
that
visual—the two of them hand and hand, together—has more rage surging through me than the Oakley option even came close to. I can’t take my eyes off her now, wondering what she did to win Cruz and why I care about the answer more than anything else I can remember caring about in a long time.

Emma’s up next, and her girl to be questioned is wearing the tiniest…we’ll call it a dress…with a neon-orange bikini showing through the sheer material. Her breasts are even larger than Jasmine’s. Her plastic surgeon should be arrested for reckless endangerment; one wrong move, and those things could hurt somebody.