20. Twenty
twenty
GINGER
“You’re unbelievable.” Kat’s rebuke is two parts exasperation, one part envy. It’s the slight note of whining that keeps me from coming out swinging.
We’er sitting with Matt at the high round table in the hillside gazebo behind the Hacienda while we troubleshoot our latest plot twist. “I should have told you,” I admit.
“Are we sure this is the direction we want to go?” Kat asks. It’s a fair question.
“Marlon is,” I say.
Marlon is so into my idea in fact, that Jenna has been in a secret meeting with The Panel on the premises for the last hour and a half, which is why Kat’s so twisted off. Understandably. I didn’t know Jenna already arrived, either. The woman doesn’t waste time, and I hardly blame her.
Kat chews a thumbnail as she stares off into the valley. “Do you think The Panel will go for it?”
I let a fleeting moment of bitter jealousy come and go before I say, “If Michelle goes for it, that’s all that matters.”
Kat doesn’t argue. “The women are gonna be so pissed.”
“They’ll have to step up their game then.”
“It doesn’t feel fair,” Kat adds. “What if they walk?”
Matt speaks up finally. “It’s kind of a metaphor, right? Getting involved with someone for life means you take on their baggage. Jenna is Elliot’s baggage. It’s not like they wouldn’t have to deal with it eventually.”
“It’s not a metaphor if it’s all up in their face.” Kat waves a hand in front of Matt to demonstrate the literal equivalent.
He flicks her palm. “I was thinking of what Lavonne would say.”
“He’s exactly right.” I lean in, forced to run with this scheme. “People are either ready to move on from past relationships or they aren’t. It’s nothing everyone doesn’t deal with every day when they’re getting involved with someone new.”
Kat remains unconvinced. “I’m not sure we can spin this.”
Resigned to sell it, I say, “We have to. She’s coming back. Marlon decreed it.”
“Ugh.” Kat sags against the back of her chair and goes to town on her thumbnail. “He’s gonna pick her. It’s not like we’ve got sparks flying all over the place here.”
“Maybe this’ll bring some out.”
Kat fixes me with a flat look. “With who?”
A memory of pure heat rushes through me—remnants of the magnetic force drawing me toward Elliot in the guesthouse an hour earlier. The electric charge shooting through my fingertips when they brushed against his heated skin. Sparks for days.
All misplaced. “Who are his frontrunners?” I ask.
Kat scowls. “Aren’t you supposed to know that?”
Rather than let the conversation descend into a squabble, Matt lifts a hand from the table. “I think it’s Cassie, Hannah, maybe Maggie, and Daisy.”
“Why Daisy?” I ask. The yoga teacher hasn’t been on my radar.
“Lavonne and Irene love her.”
“Yeah, and she’s super hot for him,” Kat adds. “She’s been a total bitch to the other women.”
“That’s perfect,” I say. “See—I told you this would bring out the competition.”
“Except it’s starting to feel like a totally different show,” Kat says.
“No. We’re bringing in another element.”
“We’re bringing in a stick of dynamite,” Kat mutters.
Matt rests his elbows on the table. “Here’s how I see it. Bottom line is—Elliot ends up with Jenna no matter how we play this. That’s the story. There’s a reason he’s holding back, and Jenna’s it. We focus on that. We show why it works with Jenna and Elliot and how their interactions compare with the ones he has with the other women. We prove you can’t count out chemistry.”
“The fourth C?” Kat asks sarcastically.
“Lavonne can add it to her book.” He gives Kat a quick wink.
She rolls her eyes. “I hate it.”
“You hate chemistry?”
She gives Matt a long look. “Chemistry is temporary.”
“Not when it dovetails straight into compatibility. Two sides of the same coin.”
His thoughtful comment, while meant as instructional for Kat, lands with a thud on my side of the table. Chemistry and compatibility—connection. How many fucking Cs are there? Would I be taking a risk like this for any guy with a hot body and a great face? Of course I wouldn’t. What the hell is my problem?
I rub my eyes like I can erase the memory of him if I just press hard enough. There’s no connection. I can control myself. I have a plan. Jenna will be here tomorrow, and the ending will write itself. Happily ever afters all around.
“Chemistry’s not the point of the show,” Kat argues. “Jenna fucked up. She had him right there in the palm of her hand, and she chose someone else.”
“And now she’s back,” Matt says. “So maybe we’ve been doing a different kind of show this whole time. Look at all the other couples we’ve had come out of this. You honestly want to tell me all their marriages are platonic?”
I back up, my head spinning. This ride is going too fast. I want off. “You guys work it out. I need to get home.”
“Oh, no you don’t. We have shit to work through,” Kat says.
“What do you want me to say? I’m sorry I had this stupid idea. But he’s not doing what he’s supposed to do. We can’t bring Elliot fucking Hale back and not deliver a love story for the ages. He’s checked out. He’s barely even trying.”
Matt gives me a warning look, but Kat’s glare means business. “And why is that?”
Fortunately for all of us, I’m ready for the question. I’ve had to be since I thought Kat caught me red-handed outside the guesthouse.
“Because Jenna burned him. He’s given up. If we let him keep playing this way, we’ll have the most boring season in history, and he’ll wind up with someone no one gives a shit about. I don’t care if the other women are pissed. I don’t even care if one or four of them walks. Our job is to deliver what the audience wants. And they want him with Jenna.” The words taste like chalk in my mouth, but the show has to come first, otherwise what am I still doing here? The success of the season means more than my libido. It means more than Elliot’s reservations. Whether any of us like this or not, it’s the only thing left to do. Elliot is a problem, and we have to fix the problem.
Jenna is the only solution.
My small, bungalow-style house meets me with uncomfortable silence once the front door closes and my keys are in their usual spot on the kitchen counter. I make as much noise as possible taking a glass from the cabinet and filling it from the tap, but as I gulp, the silence roars. “Alexa, play Winter Playlist 3.”
“Playing Winter Playlist 3,” Alexa’s soothing voice announces.
Melancholy acoustic rock proceeds to blare from the speakers, appropriate for my wretched state.
Still reeling from the fact that my plan came together so quickly, I’m having a hard time logically working through why this turn of events has me in such a mood. Like Kat said, it was my idea.
The twist itself presents a challenge, sure, but we have a good team, so that isn’t what’s bothering me. Logistically, we can make it work. We can hamstring Jenna in some way, make her have to work harder, give the other women some temporary advantages. A week without an elimination would work. Some one-on-one time with Elliot to talk about Jenna’s return and air their feelings. Should be enough.
But none of those ideas make my body feel like it weighs any less than three thousand pounds.
I drag myself to the shower and let the searing pain of the hot water wash away any trace of Elliot from my skin. I follow the heat with an ice-cold blast that leaves me freezing. Once my mind is clearer, and my body’s had all it can take, I wrap myself in a towel and climb into bed where I continue to shiver beneath the sheets.
Elliot fell in love with Jenna. Whether they were sneaking around or not is still up for public debate—though everyone on the crew knows about it—but his feelings for her were never in question. They’d been written all across his beautiful face even as she broke his heart on the last day.
Now she’s back—to claim the prize she should have had. It’s not like I blame her. Everyone makes mistakes based on what they think they need or want. But not everyone gets a do-over. Jenna and Elliot will.
And he’ll forget all about me.
Once—a decade or two ago—I woke up before Anise. I had to pee. My mother was cooking breakfast. I made my usual inquiries—any milk in that? Any cheese? Sour cream? What about butter? I have a dairy allergy , I reminded her again.
It was only eggs and bacon, though. I asked how she was making the eggs. My mother offered to demonstrate. I pulled up a stool, stupidly excited for the rare opportunity to learn something from the lauded chef. And then Anise came in.
Anise wanted milk and cheese in her eggs. As quick as a line cook, my mother finished my eggs without so much as a word of instruction, then coached Anise on how to make her eggs fluffy and cheesy, step by painstaking step. I finished my plate alone in the dining room before my mother and sister were even out of the kitchen.
It isn’t that I think I’m unloved or unlovable. I’m merely less loved.
Less loveable.
And Jenna is everything I’m not.
She won’t challenge Elliot or fight with him. God knows she won’t resist him. He’ll probably be so relieved to see her, he’ll send me a thank you card.
My eyes well up, all my frustration and regret threatening to pour from them. I don’t allow myself to cry often, but when I do, it can turn into quite the tsunami. I heave a breath, bracing myself for the onslaught when my doorbell rings. It’s such an unusual sound, it takes me a moment to recognize it.
I sit up, a restrained wail choked in my throat. Instantly I know it’s him. How he got here, how he knew where to find me, I have no idea.
One night.
If he knew what I know, he wouldn’t be here. But Jenna’s return is supposed to be a surprise. All great twists are.
Tightening the towel around me, I walk to the front door, wiping my eyes as I go.
Opening the door and finding Elliot looking like a dream come true in his jeans and soft fleece hoodie, my first instinct is to fall into his arms and sob. But I guess I should probably drop my towel and let him have his way with me. It’s what he came for, right?
To make it clear, he says with a smirk, “Are you gonna seduce me, or should we get started?”
A laugh snorts through my nose. It isn’t cute. Snot is involved. I bury my face in my towel and find I’m actually crying.
“What is happening?” he asks softly. With a hand stroking my hair, he steps in close, until my forehead is against his chest.
I wipe my nose again and manage to catch a few of the fallen tears. “I’m not feeling seductive.”
“The towel says otherwise. Why are you crying?”
I sniff. “Stress, I guess.”
His thumbs strokes beneath my eyes, drying my face.
“You need to blow your nose.”
“Ugh. God.” I back away from him. Turning away as quickly as I can manage, I hurry into the hallway bathroom. Without bothering to shut the door because it’s far too late for sexy, I grab a handful of toilet paper and deal with my snotty face. To my mortal embarrassment, when I turn back to the door, he’s leaning on the frame wearing a look of amused concern.
“Still want to be seduced or are you good to go?” I ask.
“You tell me.” He looks down at his crotch, and my eyes follow.
Huh.
Men never cease to amaze. And the smirk on his face is about the hottest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. “How’d you get here?”
“I snuck down to the street and called a Lyft.”
“How’d you get my address?”
“Vanessa.”
I come unglued. “ Excuse me ?”
“Relax. I told her I wanted to send you cookies for helping me through the afternoon. She didn’t even raise an eyebrow.”
“She should have. That was a ridiculous thing to tell her, and I’ll probably have to fire her.”
“Don’t fire anybody. What are you stressed about?”
Is that a serious question? I give him a look I hope reads as Get a clue . He’s in my house for God’s sake!
“I realize you’re in a towel,” he says, “which is distracting, but I feel like we should tal?—”
“Did you see that?” I ask suddenly, startling from my spot on the floor and backing up a pace, thoughts of my useless PA forgotten in an instant. Either I’m hallucinating, which is reasonable given my fatigued and tumultuous state of mind, or some small creature just ran across the hallway floor in the direction of my living room.
He frowns, turning to look over his shoulder.
“Close the door—close the door!”
Elliot steps into the bathroom, much too slowly, and shuts us both inside. I snatch two hand towels from the rack and shoulder past him to stuff them into the crack between the door and the floor.
“Is somebody here?” he asks from right above me, his hand on the doorknob like he’s ready to do battle.
The bones in my knees evaporate. The irrational terror of a true phobia cause me to back up toward the counter. I crawl onto it, tucking my feet. I need my phone. I’m not sure who I want to call, but I need to make a call. Is this how he felt at the zip line? I should have been nicer.
“Ginger—what’d you see?”
“Mouse,” I whisper, not daring to give the word my full voice.
“Want me to check?”
“Don’t open the door!” I shout, petrified.
“Babe—I can get rid of it.”
“Don’t open it.”
He lets out a wry laugh. “You can’t stay in here forever. Let me take care of it.”
“Elliot!” I scream as he does exactly what I told him not to do and opens the door to go after it.
I squeal again, leaping down to re-stuff the displaced towels into the gap. This time when I climb on the counter, I back up to the mirror, adrenaline heating my insides as chills scatter up my spine.
Loud sounds thwack through the silence, and with each one I flinch and whimper. I squeeze my eyes shut and cover my ears with my hands.
Forever passes before the sounds stop, and silence takes over. Elliot taps lightly on the bathroom door.
“Is it gone?” I call out. “Am I going crazy?”
He pokes his head in. “You’re not crazy. I got it.”
I cringe. “Was it a mouse or something worse?”
“Just a mouse.”
“How many?”
“I only saw the one.”
How the hell am I supposed to sleep? “Fuck!” I bury my face and surrender to the fear and hopelessness. I have to move. On top of losing my job and my reputation, I’ll lose my house, too. “I’m not here enough. They probably think the house is abandoned—this place is probably crawling with vermin.”
His weight presses against my knees. His presence looms, strong and somewhat reassuring. His hands settle on either side of my hips. “Zero chill. Take a deep breath. It was one little?—”
“Oh my God, don’t say it.”
“It’s gone,” he says instead.
“Did you kill it?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He brushes his lips across my temple.
Another round of chills cover me. “What if there’s more?”
“What if there’s not?”
I lower my hands. He stares down at me with an amused twinkle in his eyes and that same soft smile, his face inches away.
“That was a pretty extreme reaction.”
“Kinda like how you acted on the zip line?”
“Falling from a height can kill you. Pretty sure a mouse won’t.”
“Shut up. Who asked you?” I tighten the towel around my chest, and he backs off.
“Or you could say thank you, but lady’s choice.”
“Thank you,” I mutter. I need to find a hotel room. But the thought of putting my feet on the floor to go into my bedroom and find my phone is paralyzing.
“The house is totally secure. Come out to the kitchen. Get back up on that horse while you still can.”
“I’m terrified.”
“I see that.”
He offers his hand to help me down, but I hesitate.
“You have to come out eventually.”
He’s right. At least with him here, I’ll have someone to climb.
I follow him into the hallway. My skin crawls as we walk into the kitchen. He turns the lights on, and I let out a quick yelp, but all looks right in my little world.
He shows me a tiny crevice near the back door that he stuffed with a steel wool scrubbing sponge from the sink. “No way in,” he assures me.
“You can’t possibly know that.”
He steps behind me to give my tight shoulders a rub. “Relax. You’re safe.”
My tension stretches like a rubber band about to snap. “Easy for you to say,” I say through a tight jaw.
His hands stop moving, but he doesn’t lift them. “What do you need?” His voice is all husky, and way too close to my face.
An exterminator, I think. Or an epic distraction.
When I don’t respond, his hands stroke down my arms.
“You’re very wound up.”
The words are a tease meant to turn me on, and I allow it. I’m already primed with adrenaline. It doesn’t take much physical contact to make my brain shift in another direction. But this isn’t me—the whole take charge, no prisoners thing? Gone. I’ve become pathetically vulnerable. What is this man doing to me?
“What about this whole situation has you turned on all of a sudden?” I ask.
His fingers dig into my rigid shoulders once again. “It’s not the situation.”
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you to make good choices?”
“ My mother? No. She said do what makes me happy.”
“And that’s what? At this particular minute?”
His voice is in my ear. “Anything you want.”
His mouth meets my bare neck, and my head lists sideways to accommodate whatever it is he plans to do to it. Flames of desire lick across my thighs. With a quick tug on my towel, it falls to the floor. His hands cover my breasts, and his lips close over my jaw. “How’s that sound?”
“It sounds fair,” I whisper.
He lowers himself to his knees, turning me around to face him.
“Your thighs are so wet,” he murmurs as he takes one of my legs out from under me to drape over his shoulder, opening me completely for him. His tongue doesn’t pay any attention to my thighs, though. It goes right for the ultra-sensitive place where they meet. I seize with shocking pleasure, reaching out to brace a hand against the refrigerator. I should resist loving it so much, but nothing can stop my other hand from taking hold of his hair. It might be the last chance I have to be with him—maybe ever.
He sucks my slick folds into his mouth, his stubbly chin grinding against my opening as my thighs relax, allowing him to do absolutely anything he wants.
My hips pulse against his mouth. Jesus Christ he’s good at this. I come easy, granted, but Elliot makes me feel like a puppet—like all he needs tot do is pull my strings, put the words in my mouth, and I’d scream “ I’m close. ”
Gripping my ass, he kisses me with more intention, glancing up at me with those impossibly dark blue eyes. His tongue works my clit in tight circles, exactly the way I would with my fingers, but this is so much better.
His gaze is molten. Worlds past sexy. My entire body shudders as the gathering tension finally drops away, rippling through my limbs like a dam bursting. I come on his face with a slutty undulation of my hips. The contractions reach my womb as I shatter. Moaning, the only word on my lips is his name. “Elliot…Elliot…”
I refuse to think beyond the moment, giving his presence to myself like a gift. He’s exactly what I need. Temporary and meaningless though it may be, it doesn’t make it any less transcendent.
He nods toward the bedroom. “Let’s get you more comfortable.”
We make it down the hall in some tangle of limbs and mouths where my feet barely touch the floor. He lowers me onto the edge of the bed and then sinks to the floor between my parted thighs. All I can think is more— and don’t go .
He picks up right where he left off, tasting and opening me with a combination of clever fingers, lips, and tongue. Unable to hold my body up anymore, I lie back and let him give it another shot, my thighs quivering around him, my hips continuing their determined circle. I move my hands over my breasts, my fingers exploring my nipples, grasping harder as the tension inside me builds toward another transcendent release. Eyes closed, I lose myself in sensation as the rising wave of my orgasm surges.
“ Elliot... ” I whisper.
No sooner have I said his name than he slides his tongue inside me. Heat bursts, taking over my body. My thighs trap his head as my hips jerk, and a long moan escapes my throat. Clutching at the sheets, I arch off the bed. He tongues me again, extending the aftershock and rocking me with another shimmering wave of pleasure.
He rubs the tops of my legs in long, delicious strokes. “Tell me what else you need.”
“Are you hard?”
“I don’t think I could get much harder.”
I flip over, exposing my ass. “You can be rough,” I tell him. “Don’t hold back. Leave as many marks as you want.” Make it unforgettable.
“I’m gonna remind you of those words later.” With that, he slaps my ass, a crack of his palm on one cheek and then the other.
I grunt at the stinging impact, tearing into the comforter with my teeth. I love it. Need it. Yes, I deserve to be punished for this.
The sound of his lowering zipper is another drug I can’t get enough of. Foil crinkles behind me followed by the slick sound of a condom sliding on. The pop of latex once it’s in place sends my anticipation to the next level, and I get a good grip on the sheets.
Notching the head of his cock at my soaked entrance, he braces his hands on either side of my face, leans over me, and shoves himself deep—far beyond the point where it’s comfortable. Far enough to where the bones of his hips meet my flesh. I cry out.
“Shh...” he whispers. “I’ve been here before. Remember?”
An exhale shudders out of me. We fucked like this at the Hilton. Remembering it all in a rush, I relax my thighs. He’s right. And I loved it then, too.
“That’s it, Ginger.” he says, his voice dangerously low. “So fucking perfect.”
I liquefy.