Matched (5 page)

“Morning, everyone! Welcome to your first mini challenge,” Tom greets us. We’re all gathered on the beach; Oakley’s on my left. “Before we get started, let me answer for you all at once, no switching rooms.” He marvels at the several groans, one of which is mine. “Now, then, back to what we have planned for you today. Prior to each
main
challenge—the ones that could potentially send a couple home—we’ll have one of these for an extra chance at earning rewards. Today’s event is called ‘What’s on the Line?’

“There’ll be one male and one female winner, each earning $5,000 for their charities in their individual banks. You may have noticed the vault inside the house and your photos on the wall outside of it. Well, above your picture is a digital display that will show your individual account balance as you earn it by winning the mini challenges. When, or if, you’re booted from the island, any money you’ve accrued is given to your selected charity.”

Everyone around me is getting pumped up, bouncing in place and rol
l
ing their necks.

“But it’s the big display in the Great Room you want to keep a close eye on. Any time a pair of soulmates is correctly identified and sent home, $50,000 is banked in the grand kitty. In the end, the two charities of the last couple standing split that entire pot.”

I have to admit, hearing about all that money going to so many amazing causes makes this experience worth it. I’d been surprised it wasn’t just the celebrities who got to pick a charity, which is why my local animal shelter will be receiving at least $5,000…
if
I can win one of these mini challenges.

“Now, back to the prize for this challenge. You might wonder what’s in it for
you
. Well,” Tom says, waggling his eyebrows, “there’s a luxury prize for the victors. Today, that’s a five-star dinner of live Maine lobster, with a bottle of Puligny-Montrachet to wash it down.”

I am not a big fan of seafood, have no idea what kind of wine that is, and don’t want to eat a fancy meal with anyone besides Oakley, but I clap along with all the others in good spirit.

“Behind me, you see two large sheets hiding two clotheslines. One line holds eight pairs of underwear belonging to the men; the other, a pair each of the ladies packed. The man who matches the most panties to the correct owners and vice versa will win. Any questions?”

Um, yeah…who dug through my stuff to find a pair of my panties?

Blushing with wild embarrassment, I take the pen and clipboard with a sheet numbered 1 through 8 on it from a crew guy before stepping into the line the girls have formed. The men are on the other side, overly eager and ready.

I can’t believe this is an actual challenge. My mother might watch this show! And my hometown friends Paige and Viv will definitely be glued to their TVs for every episode, laughing their butts off at my discomfort. I’m sure of it.

“The clock starts when the sheets drop. You have ten minutes, and you can’t use the same name twice. Good luck! And…drop the sheets!” Tom yells.

Well, I know I’ll get at least one right, since the purple boxer briefs on pin five belong to Oakley. I bought them for him because, oddly, he loves purple.
Slots number two and eight are empty?
I look on the ground, thinking they’ve fallen, but no.

And then it hits me, two men here go commando. All the time, not one pair—really? And number three wears a fluorescent-pink banana hammock? Not as bad as stud seven, though, which is holding a pair of tighty-whiteys. Didn’t realize they still made those.

For the hell of it, I take a gander at the girls’ line.
Oh, lovely.
Not only are mine number one, but they chose to display, to fifteen strangers and anyone watching on national television, my plaid Catholic-schoolgirl hipsters! Even more shocking—a
girl
here also goes commando. No panties of any kind are on slot eight!

I am
so
not the right person for this show.

“Two minutes!” Tom warns, so I just starting filling in names kind of like Christmas-treeing at the end of a test, which leaves me with:

Jensen – gray CK boxer briefs

Cruz – commando

Peyton – pink banana sling

Court – navy bikini briefs

Oakley – purple boxer briefs

Dalton – red silk boxers

Miles – tighty-whiteys

Wyatt – also free-balling it

“Time!” Tom yells, and the clipboards are gathered from us quickly. Across the way, Oakley mouths to me,
Were you number six?
I look—it’s a sheer white lace G-string! Is he insane? I shake my head no, narrowing my eyes at him in disgusted disappointment.

They start with the girls.

“Number one belonged to…Harlow! Who guessed correctly?” Tom asks as my entirety breaks out in fevered mortification. Oakley’s eyes bulge and a heated smirk curls his lips but his hand stays down, unlike three others’—Miles, Jensen, and Cruz. Two of them are my roommates, which means they were probably going through my stuff!

The list goes on, revealing whose was whose and the guys raising their hands if they got it right. Points go beside their names on the board. Finally, it’s announced who the sheer G-string belongs to.

“Number six is Anya,” Tom declares.

“It’s Emma!” Cruz shouts back, shaking his head in a slow, menacing rage.

“Damn, dude, your sister has fine-ass taste in panties,” Jensen cracks.

In a blink, Cruz is a foot away and his arms are out, milliseconds from ripping Jensen’s head off. It takes both Oakley and Court to hold him back, and it looks to be a hell of a job.

Oakley’s laughing, holding one side of Cruz while Court tries to talk him down. Somehow it works, but Cruz holds out his finger to Jensen with a deadly expression and warns, “You so much as
look
at my sister, and you’re a fucking dead man!”

Jensen’s hands fly up in surrender, but he’s still grinning. “Sorry, man. My bad.”

Cruz turns an angry scowl to Tom, who simply says, “Your sister asked me personally to refer to her by her middle name. I was only obliging.” He looks almost nervous, despite the security guards creeping forward.

“She shouldn’t have done that,” says Cruz. “Right, Emma?”

Her head lowers, cheeks flushing as she nods.

Cruz doesn’t let up, though. “My sister seems to think Emma isn’t a good-enough name—not womanly enough. Anyone here agree with that?”

There’s a long pause before Court speaks up. “I think Emma’s a lot sexier, darlin’.”

Emma peeks up, biting her lip to fight a smile.

Cruz doesn’t give him crap for the comment, thank God. “There. Now tell our
host
and everyone else here what to call you or I swear to God, Em, we’ll be on a plane tonight.”

The bleakness on Emma’s face when she raises her head is heartbreaking. Her brother’s coming off like nothing more than a big bully by being so concerned with something as silly as a name—although a somewhat endearing bully with the softening look he gives her. I know that makes no sense—she’s twenty-one, and it’s her life—but it’s a little sweet at the same time.

“I prefer to go by Emma.” Her voice is as broken as her spirit, eyes trained at the ground. “Anya was also my grandmother’s name. I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

“No problem,
Emma
,” Tom says, ever professional and chipper. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

And he does, going through the rest of the answers as if a bomb hadn’t detonated moments earlier. All he saw was a ratings spike; I could almost see the dollar signs in his eyes.

“And with six out of eight correct, Miles wins for the men.”

By the way—Ivy Malone, the red-carpet picture of pristine, is Miss No Panties. I had my money on Nadia.

Next, we learn what the guys have going on. I’m not shocked at how badly I did, but I’m astounded at who went with which pair (or lack thereof). The perfect list would’ve been:

Cruz – gray CK boxer briefs

Court – commando

Miles – pink thingie

Peyton – navy boxer briefs

Oakley – purple boxer briefs

Dalton – red silk boxers

Wyatt – tighty-whiteys

Jensen – commando

I only get two correct. Jasmine wins with six, and I’m thrilled for her. After a horrid morning, she deserves some fine dining. Also, by the end of the game, Emma is back to her carefree self, having made retching noises when Cruz’s style was announced.

“Well done, everyone! Miles, Jasmine, $5,000 will go into each of your stashes, and the car will be here at seven to take you to dinner. The rest of you? Do as you will until tomorrow, when you’ll meet for your first main challenge!”

And with that, Tom bids us farewell and we all begin to go our separate ways.

Oakley darts to the clothesline, snatches my undies, and starts swaggering back toward me with a feral look of want in his eyes. “Why haven’t I ever seen these?” he asks, twirling them on the end of his pointer finger.

“No one has.” I roll my eyes and snag them from him. “They came with my Halloween costume last year, and you were gone playing. They’re comfy.”

He gets right in my ear, the tip of his tongue tracing the inside. “Ten minutes. Put ’em on and meet me in the Lovin’ Lounge.” He swats my ass, and I yelp. “Want you, Har.”

I make a mad dash to the house and straight into the bathroom. I slip into them, already feeling the smooth cotton dampen with the arousal of my anticipation. After putting my clothes back on over them, I exit the bathroom and head toward the lounge.

It’s locked. Can’t a girl catch a break?

Confessional: Court Callahan

“Hey, I’m Court Callahan. I’m twenty-six, single, and here for my charity and a good time. Guess that’s ‘bout it. I’m easy.

“Nope, not it. Apparently they’ve got questions for me to answer. ‘Did you have a threesome with your brother and Jasmine last night?’ Damn, y’all get right to it, huh? There’s cameras, so I’m sure you already know the answer, but I guess I’m expected to play along.

“I’ll say two things, and that’s all I’m gonna say. No, I did not have sex with anyone last night, and Jasmine didn’t have sex with anyone, either—not in my room, at least.

“‘Any early favorites?’ Hell, who knows? Takes more’n two days to even begin to figure out a woman. They’re all pretty cute. The couple cutest of ’em are off limits from what I’ve gathered, though, so we’ll see.

“Last one. Good. ‘What’d you think of Cruz’s outburst today?’ Shit, why y’all tryin’ to get me involved in everything? The dude’s lookin’ out for his little sister. Can’t fault him for that. Then again, probably shouldn’t have brought her here if you’re that protective of her. Jensen’s a douche, though, so I’d have probably already kicked his ass just for bein’ her roommate if it was my sister.

“Guess we’ll see about that one too.”

Chapter 4

“Hey, Harlow.”

Peyton, resident movie star, comes up behind me, a knowing grin on his face. “You seen Ivy anywhere?”

“No,” I reply, directing my flushed face to the ground.

“Who’s in there?”

I don’t have to look up to know where he means. I shrug my shoulders about the same time Oakley joins us. “Why are you
outside
the room, babe?”

“It’s taken,” I mutter, preferring we not discuss this in front of Peyton.

“Oh, you have
got
to be shittin’ me!” he roars, raking his hands through his short brown hair. “Come on.” He grabs my hand and drags me toward his room. The only occupant is Callie, who smiles and exits immediately, not needing to be asked.

“Oakley, the door doesn’t lock. W-what if someone walks in?” I stammer.

But his shirt’s already over his head and being tossed to the floor. “They won’t.”

He advances. Both hands hoist me up by the ass, and my needy legs wrap around his waist. His mouth sucks and licks up my neck as he walks us to his bed and lays me down gently, covering me with his own massive frame of pure muscle.

I close my eyes and try to lose myself in the feeling of his scorching mouth on my skin, his large hands roaming my body that’s only ever been his, the weight of him on me…but I can’t. I’m acutely aware of every sound in the huge house
except
his husky panting in my ear.

Someone in the kitchen just turned on the blender. Wyatt’s setting up some game and is asking Court to help him find a table. Cruz is griping at Emma for flirting. And Callie knows every word to the song coming from the stereo she just turned on by the pool.

“Harlow, baby, relax for me,” Oakley coaxes, slipping a hand up the leg of my shorts and into my panties. “No one’s coming in. Please, I need you—gonna explode if I can’t have you.”

I refocus on him and raise my head to find his lips, kissing him deeply enough to drown my anxiety as he slides a finger inside me. I gasp into his mouth and arch my back.

“There you go. Get wet for me, baby girl. Nice and slick…show me you want me,” he rumbles. It works like a charm, and I grow wetter. “Hmmm,” he hums into the skin of my neck, rubbing his massive erection harder against me.