Chapter 9 #2
She points at me. “Good answer. Honestly, I think you’re tracking complicated but lovable. Very season six energy.”
“Season six?”
“The one where the guy fakes a breakdown but ends up married. Classic.”
Mei trips me out. She’s so busy looking at her own reflection that I’m not even sure she clocks me as a person. I’m just a prize to her, something she wins along the way on her journey to influencer fame. It’s unsettling to say the least.
The producers have saved Wren for last. I feel oddly heavy as I head over to where she is perched. What is she thinking about as she stares off into the distance?
She sits stiffly on the edge of a bench near the firepit, arms crossed like she’s trying to shield herself from more than just the cold. Her knees are pressed together, feet tucked to the side like she’s ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. Or me.
I flop down next to her.
“You’re welcome, by the way.”
She doesn’t look at me. “For what?”
“For giving the producers what they want.”
She finally turns her head, glaring. “You picked me because it makes good TV. Congratulations. We’re probably already in the preview trailer.”
She’s talking about my persona, the mask I wear. It’s a role. The cocky hockey player. The safe bet. I lean into it because it’s easier than letting anyone close enough to see what’s under it.
It shouldn’t sting. In my line of work, I’ve had worse shouted at me. But coming from her? It feels like she took a scalpel to my chest and smiled while doing it.
“You think I’d risk your brother’s wrath just for ratings?” I lean in, lowering my voice. “If I wanted easy TV, I’d be making out with JacqLyn in a hot tub right now. But here I am.”
Wren huffs, but doesn’t say a word. I push it a little further because I can’t help myself.
“You’re the one who makes good TV,” I say. “You glare like a girl with a vendetta.”
“I have several,” she replies coolly. “You’re on the receiving end of most of them.”
I nudge the edge of the blanket draped across the bench toward her. “You can’t be that mad if you’re still sitting here.”
“I’m cold,” she says.
I grin. “Then get under the blanket.”
She gives me a look that says she’d rather walk into traffic. But I lift the corner anyway. After a beat of hesitation, she sighs and slides under it. We sit shoulder to shoulder, sharing heat, the tension thick between us.
I glance at her. “You know, for someone who didn’t want to be on this date, you’re really committing to the cozy aesthetic.”
“I’m committed to not freezing to death. Don’t read into it.”
“Too late.”
She huffs. Her breath fogs slightly in the cool air. Her skin glows in the firelight. That ridiculous little choker around her neck makes me think things I should absolutely not be thinking.
I reach out and gently tip her chin toward me.
Her eyes go wide. “Ryan…”
But I’m already leaning in. I kiss her.
It’s soft at first. Just a brush of lips. But the second she sighs into my mouth, I lose whatever fragile grip on sanity I had. I deepen the kiss. Her mouth opens under mine. I taste her. Sweet. A little uncertain. Completely addictive.
My hand slides to the back of her neck. Her fingers curl into the front of my sweater. I want to devour her. Take and take until she forgets to hate me.
I shouldn’t be doing this. She’s Jay’s little sister. She’s too young. Too off-limits. But none of that matters. Not with her in my arms, melting against me like she was made for this.
My body is fully, painfully aware of her. I’m glad the blanket is still draped across my lap. I shift slightly, trying to hide the evidence of just how much I want her. Because I do want her.
There’s no doubting it because my cock awakens and salutes her. I admit it. I’ve wanted to kiss Wren like this for years. Wanted some kind of contact, even if I said the opposite.
Sometimes, I lie to myself. But right now, the way Wren’s taste bursts over my tongue, the way she leans into the embrace and makes this very tiny noise… It’s making me want to guzzle more of her rather than slaking my thirst.
If Wren didn’t eventually put her hand on my chest and push me back, I’m not sure I would’ve stopped. She pulls away, breathless. Her lips are red and kiss-swollen, her eyes wide. “Are you kidding me?”
The look in her eyes is perplexation edged with fire. I want her to kiss me again. I want her to want me to…
“Ryan.” Wren snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Say words. Let me know you’re not having a stroke.”
I blink. Then I look around.
Right. Cameras.
Fuck.
I glance up and spot not one, not two, but at least five cameras trained on us. All of them capturing every second of what just happened.
Wren follows my gaze. Her face flames. She stands abruptly.
“I need some air,” she mutters, then turns and walks away, fast.
I don’t stop her. I just sit there, heart pounding, chest tight, trying to calm myself down. I can’t walk back to the others yet. Not like this. My cock is hard. I would be telling on myself if I got up now.
I grab my cell phone, pretending to check my texts. But I can’t even make sense of the words in front of me. A minute later, when my body finally catches up with my brain, I stand and make my way back to the rest of the contestants.
No one says anything.
But they all saw.
Wren’s off-limits. Too young. Too innocent. Too everything. So why does it already feel like this whole show is just a long, slow slide into disaster with her at the center?
I’m not supposed to want her. Not like this. But I do. If I’m not careful, I’ll forget why I ever tried to stay away in the first place.