Chapter 3
It’s been a long time since Blake’s slept with another person by his side, never mind someone he wanted to be there.
It’s foreign enough that Pax’s touch, his presence wakes Blake frequently during the night.
Not that he minds — while it doesn’t do anything for his sleep, as corny as it sounds, it soothes him down to his soul.
It’s enough to know that Pax didn’t run the second casual sex was taken off the table, and that out of everyone here, he chose Blake to cuddle up with.
That he feels the strange pull between them, too.
The room is quiet and cool, the mattress is plush and comfortable, and none of Blake’s cast-mates snore like an oncoming freight train.
All that considered, he should be able to drop right back off into dreamland each time he’s awoken.
Despite the relaxing atmosphere, though, that’s not Blake’s experience.
Every time Pax’s hand grazes his thigh, his ass presses against Blake’s crotch, or his arm slings around Blake’s stomach (neither of them are subtle sleepers), Blake finds himself staring at the ceiling on a thirty to forty-minute reset.
While Pax snoozes obliviously on, Blake stares across the space between them, or at the back of Pax’s head, or down at the tanned hand on his stomach.
Pax’s dark eyelashes flutter against his cheeks in his sleep and Blake wonders what he’s dreaming about.
The whole thing is strange and discomfiting and wonderful, all at the same time.
Enough that he almost doesn’t even regret the sex-ban at all, having so severely underestimated how much he needed contact like this so much more.
Despite all of the interruptions, Blake wakes for the last time feeling weirdly refreshed when the clock at his bedside reads 06:30 in bright red numbers.
Unsurprisingly, everyone else is still passed out, most having stayed up until just a few hours prior talking and laughing (and drinking — if there’s one thing that flows freely here at the Retreat, it’s alcohol).
Pax is still unconscious too, so Blake slips out from under his arm carefully, trying not to disturb him.
He grabs his dirty clothes off of the floor and shuffles across the dark room, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
On the far side, there’s a walkway to the giant bathroom where he and Pax flirted the day before.
Adjacent to the bathroom is a dressing area with wall-to-wall armoires and vanities in the center where anyone can sit and do their makeup or whatever.
Making his way to the armoire that contains his own belongings, Blake opens it, sticks his worn crap in the bin at the bottom, and grabs fresh clothing and his toiletry bag.
He doesn’t bother to turn on any lights until he’s inside the bathroom, and only then because the sunrise rays coming through the window are still pretty dim.
Forgoing the shower (because damn it, Blake is going to get in that ocean today), he washes his face, brushes his teeth, and slips on a plain tee (no logos — production rules) and his swim trunks.
As an afterthought, Blake styles his hair, eyeing the camera in the upper right corner of the room warily.
If he’s going to be on TV making a fool of himself and getting in touch with his emotions instead of getting laid, he’s damn well also going to look good doing it.
By the time he puts his shit away and quietly escapes out the door of the bedroom to the courtyard, the sun is a bit higher in the sky, setting it alight with a soft, pink glow.
Blake heads directly for the beach, ignoring the camera guy who jumps out of his chair and shoulders his equipment to follow.
Somewhere around when Blake makes his way past the pool, he wishes he’d stopped in the kitchen for coffee.
But when he glances over his shoulder, he realizes that if he turns around now he’ll literally run smack into the camera guy and the producer lurking behind him.
After not so much deliberation, he sighs and keeps walking. Coffee will have to wait.
The sand is cool under Blake’s bare feet, and he wades into the water — just up to his calves — before stepping back from where the waves thin to nothing and settling down on the ground.
He shifts his ass against the grains until he’s comfortable and rests his elbows on his knees, staring out over the slowly brightening horizon thoughtfully.
Regardless of the conversation he and Pax had last night, Blake still isn’t one hundred percent certain of what he’s going to do.
He’d be lying if he said part of his brain wasn’t screaming at him to head for the hills.
Opening himself up to another person in any meaningful way is scary enough, but doing it on camera while the whole world waits on the other side of the screen, chomping at the bit to judge and laugh?
Whole-ass yikes.
Blake is pretty sure he’d rather eat Hayden’s rabbit food every day for the rest of his life than subject himself to that potential global humiliation and heartbreak.
Hell, he doesn’t know Paxton, not really.
The guy could be a fame whore, could be using Blake — out to do whatever it takes to grab fifteen minutes in the spotlight.
Sighing and digging his toes into the sand, Blake drops his head between his shoulders.
A warm breeze drifts across his skin and hints at the inevitably scorching day ahead.
Blake picks at his fingers. Anything is possible, he supposes, but that doesn’t mean it’s likely.
Pax just… doesn’t read like a manipulative or opportunistic kind of guy.
Maybe he doesn’t have a reason to, but Blake actually believes Paxton when he says he came here for the orgy potential, and that it’s not any deeper than that.
That he just likes that kind of stuff and has no qualms about being filmed doing it.
There’s really nothing Blake’s seen in their short time together that suggests Pax is anything less than authentic all of the time, but what does he know?
And what if he’s wrong?
That thought is worrying, and preoccupying.
With Blake’s mind a mess and the distraction of gentle waves rolling in and out over the sand in front of him, leaving foam in their wake to fizzle and pop, Blake doesn’t take notice to anyone approaching.
Not, at least, until that someone is hovering directly over his head and clearing their throat conspicuously, anyway.
“Hello, Blake,” Paxton says, when Blake doesn’t really acknowledge his presence in a meaningful way. “May I sit?”
“Hey, Pax,” Blake murmurs, patting the sand next to him.
His new friend (or whatever) slides to the ground gracefully, sinking into a sort-of cross-legged position that has his ankles overlapping near his thighs.
He does it without the use of his hands, since he’s holding a coffee in each.
Blake has to admit, that’s crazy impressive and weirdly hot, especially because Pax is basically naked; stupid bee undies notwithstanding.
All the same, it doesn’t look very comfortable, an opinion of Blake’s which must show on his face because Paxton smiles widely as he hands over one of the mugs.
“This pose opens up the hips,” he explains, punctuating his comment with a wink.
“Something you might have appreciated had we not been interrupted last night.”
Blake groans. “Flag on the play; unfair teasing before coffee. Though you did bring me some, so I won’t red-card you.”
“I don’t understand that reference,” Paxton says placidly, sipping from his own mug and staring at Blake openly.
This is why Blake feels like the guy is believably honest — you can’t fake that kind of unflinching eye contact, that lack of fear of being seen.
On anyone else it might be creepy. On Pax, Blake never wants him to look away.
“Sports, I’m assuming. The sort of physical activity I prefer is the kind that takes place in the bedroom. ”
“We’re on the same page there,” Blake agrees, before lifting the mug to his mouth and taking a long, gratifying sip. Steaming hot and black with a hint of real sugar, just the way Blake likes it, which has to be an outrageously lucky guess.
“The producers apparently have a list of each of our food and drink preferences,” Paxton offers, answering the question Blake didn’t yet ask.
“In theory, it’s for them and to keep the kitchen stocked, however, as soon as Rachel saw me preparing two coffees, she was very swift to volunteer your information. ”
Blake snorts into his cup. “Yeah?” he asks, wiping a hand across his mouth and clocking the way Paxton watches him do it.
“I’m fairly certain I was not supposed to tell you that.”
“I mean, coffee is great, but if that chick’s plan was to get me to break rules or fall in love with you, bacon would have been the superior choice. Heaping pile of bacon, extra crispy.” Blake nods at Paxton, doing his best to look incredibly sincere. “Great, now I’m hungry.”
“Note taken,” Paxton says with amusement. “Though, I’m not sure I can decide which of those outcomes I should be hoping for.”
A strangled noise makes its way unbidden from Blake’s mouth, and he buries his face in the coffee mug once again, embarrassed.
What he doesn’t expect is for Paxton’s fingers to cover the top of the cup, pushing it down as he scoots closer.
“Blake,” he says, eyes wide and genuine.
“I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable.
I apologize. I understand if you aren’t interested in…
pursuing this, any of it. The rules of the Retreat, my company — please believe me, there’s no pressure here. ”