Chapter Six
Lyla
The pool deck shimmers in the afternoon light.
Chlorine, salt water, and sunscreen hang heavy in the air.
The producers have rearranged the loungers into a circle like we’re about to hold hands and sing “Kumbaya.” Not emotionally dismantle each other or rather make idiots of ourselves on cable television.
Miranda stands at the edge of the pool in a white romper that looks like it probably costs more than my rent.
“Everyone’s here? Good.” She looks around at all of us contestants. Half are on one side of the circle, while the rest are on the other half. Scott is across from me, controlled, observant.
The moment his stare meets mine, I look away.
“Then I think we’re ready to start rolling,” Miranda informs the crew behind the camera.
“Alright, rolling,” a producer yells.
Immediately, Miranda’s seeming slow smile forms tightly on her face. “Contestants! Welcome to our second challenge. Now, this one is where we’ll get more…up close and personal.”
My stomach tightens. What does that mean?
She goes on. “Today is about testing something far more than just trust: chemistry. Instinct. Natural desires. You will all be in this very circle blindfolded. When I tap your shoulder, that will be your cue to remove said blindfold—and to kiss one person within the circle.”
My stomach drops. Not because of what the challenge entails, but because I know exactly how it will go. Because of Scott.
Heat crawls up my neck. My pulse kicks up before I even look over at him.
He looks intrigued, almost amused. He arches a brow toward me.
I tear my gaze away.
Don’t react. Don’t give him or them anything.
Miranda continues. “Everyone else will remain blindfolded while you make your decision. And you will remain anonymous to whoever you kiss. You can either choose the person you’re coupled up with or whoever has piqued your interest. The choice is up to you.”
Murmurs ripple through the group.
“Once you’ve made your choice, and given your smooches, you’ll return to your spot in the circle and put your blindfold back on.
When everyone has had a turn, you’ll be given a signal to take off your blindfolds, ending the challenge.
Sound simple?” Miranda pauses as though for dramatic effect, given the sly smirk on her face.
“But be warned. Every action…has its consequence. Especially when everyone can hear you.”
Moments later, we’re each given thick blindfolds.
A producer appears with her tablet in hand, going around to each contestant. At one point, she stops at Scott.
“You,” she points to him, “can you look more brooding? Maybe clench your fists and jaw?”
I am shocked at the woman’s words. Scott’s expression, along with his voice, turns cold. “You want me to perform my emotions for your cameras?”
“Think of it as...enhancing the narrative.” Shockingly, the sharp producer seems unfazed.
“It’s manipulation. Now fuck off.”
I can’t help but let out a small laugh.
“Yeah, that’s perfect. More of that. Thanks.” The producer then walks off.
“Everyone, please put your blindfolds on,” Miranda instructs, “and we will begin.”
I tie my blindfold behind my head. The world instantly swallows me into darkness, leaving me with my thundering heart. The fabric presses against my lashes. The scent of chlorine sharpens with my hearing. Someone laughs nervously, while another nearby shifts on their feet.
I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, trying to stay calm as footsteps move around me.
What could go wrong? I already know how this will play out. Scott will kiss me, maybe someone else, but that’s a stretch, and then it’ll be over.
My only concern currently is who I will choose to kiss.
On the one hand, Scott is familiar, but that would only further complicate how I feel about him.
Choosing someone else, however—someone I don’t have any emotional ties to—would be the easy way out but could easily backfire on me if I don’t choose the right person.
Then again, it could fire up Scott, regardless.
It’d have to be someone Scott doesn’t find threatening but who I don’t think I could form any attachment to.
The first selection must have been made because I hear tentative footsteps, then the soft, wet sounds of lips meeting.
My stomach churns. I feel like I’ve walked in on a couple’s make-out session.
We’re all standing here, forced to listen to each other kiss, well, each other. For those not affected emotionally, it’s invasive. But for those who are… I can’t imagine the humiliation they must or will be feeling or the fallout that’s taking place, and what’s to come, beyond my blindfold.
I hear more footsteps. They’re getting distant. Not knowing what’s happening, who’s finished or beginning, is driving me nuts.
Then I hear kissing close to my right. This sounds hungry. Someone moans. If I remember correctly, Valerie was standing to my right. That could be her. The question is, who’s kissing her?
I fold my arms around myself, holding tight like that might keep me from falling apart or, better yet, help me disappear.
I flinch slightly when I feel a light tap on my shoulder.
My pulse spikes.
My turn? Already?
I slide the blindfold off my face, blinking against the sudden sunlight. Eleven people stand frozen around me, eyes covered. I can’t help but look over at Scott. Solid. Still. As if anticipating what’s to come. The rigidness in his posture, the barely contained storm he holds back in his presence.
The longer I stare, the more I realize how easy it’d be to just take the short step forward, reach for him, and give in to his kiss again.
Just thinking about it makes me melt. But, choosing him would only open another can of worms I’m not ready to confront.
Would only confirm what he believes about me, about us.
That there’s still a chance after so long apart.
I’m not going to give him the upper hand.
I move carefully as my gaze slides past him and to the other male contestants. But only one of them makes the most sense to me in this situation. Sure it might piss off Kylie, but I don’t have much choice but to choose Zayne.
He is attractive in his own right as well as fun to be around, but that’s not the reason why I’m choosing him.
I’m kissing him because he’s the safe choice, an easy choice.
I have no history with him; he’s uncomplicated.
As far as I know, he hasn’t given Scott any reason to hate him.
I also have no romantic feelings for him.
On top of that, because he’s on a completely different end of the circle as Scott, Zayne will never know it was me, and Scott won’t know who I kissed instead of him.
I cross the circle on unsteady legs, acutely aware of Scott going rigid at the corner of my eyes. But I keep going.
I barely give Zayne time to react—or myself time to lose my nerve—before I lean in and kiss him with a gentle touch to his lips.
Yeah, he’s not for me.
The guy knows what he’s doing, the pressure is right, and the angle practiced. He tastes like spearmint and simplicity. But there’s no pull. No spark. Nothing in me reaches, much less craves, for more.
It’s like kissing a polite stranger. Which is exactly what I need.
When I pull back, the emptiness is immediate and cold. I leave him where he stands and walk back to my place in the circle before putting the blindfold back over my eyes.
Darkness quickly envelops me again.
The game continues as I hear soft but distant laughter to my left. That’s quickly followed by more shuffling, a sharp inhale, and then faint sounds of moans and kisses.
Sometime later, deliberate footsteps approach—slow, measured, like the owner has all night and nowhere else he’d rather be. The air warms, thickens. A big body settles right in front of me, close enough that his heat reaches out and brushes my skin before anything else does.
Whoever he is, he chose me.
My spine straightens. Is it Scott?
Large, rough hands settle on my waist—warm, solid, fingers spreading wide.
The grip is firm but patient, no rush, no shake.
He draws me in slowly until my breasts press against the hard wall of his chest. Tall.
Broad. Nothing but dense muscles under the fabric.
Solid in a way that makes my breath hitch.
He doesn’t feel like Scott.
My palms slide up thick forearms, over wide shoulders, mapping unfamiliar ridges and planes. Everything is new. Foreign. My pulse skips at the sheer strangeness of it—someone who doesn’t already know every scar and fault line.
His hands move without hesitation. They glide up my sides, trace the length of my arms, then—slow, deliberate—cup my face. Thumbs brush my cheekbones like he’s memorizing the shape of me. Like time belongs to him.
Then his mouth covers mine.
I flinch slightly at the sudden contact, but he stays. The kiss begins soft, restrained. Warm lips press with quiet certainty, not tentative, not devouring. Just… sure.
He tastes like aged whiskey and the darkest chocolate—rich, lingering, slow burning,—coating my tongue. A low rumble vibrates from his chest into mine, satisfied, almost pleased.
One hand slides into my hair, fingers threading deep at the roots, tilting me exactly where he needs me. The other hand settles at the small of my back, broad palm pressing me closer until there’s no air between us. He anchors me there, like I might float away if he lets go.
The kiss deepens—unhurried, confident. His tongue traces the seam of my lips once, patient, coaxing.
When I part for him, he slips inside slowly.
Exploring. Tasting with no frantic claim, just deliberate strokes that make heat coil low in my belly despite myself.
He knows what he’s doing. Every tilt, every gentle suck on my lower lip, every soft glide of tongue is precise, practiced.
The kind of skill that usually melts thought into nothing.