Chapter Thirteen #2
“You are all one connected sexual body,” Dr. Dora continues. “All joined by one desire, one deep yearning.” She walks over to Roland and frames his face in her hands. “For this man right here.”
Rhett clears his throat and Dr. Dora glances at him. “Even you, Mr. Auburn,” she says. “I’m sure you can agree that Roland is a model specimen.”
“He certainly is,” Rhett agrees.
Dr. Dora looks pleased with his answer, and as the cameras cut for a break, she turns back to Roland and starts talking to him, standing a little closer than is strictly necessary. Olie watches them suspiciously. “He wouldn’t,” she mumbles.
“What? Oh—you think…?” I follow her gaze across the room. Dr. Dora places a hand on Roland’s arm, throwing her head back laughing. “I mean, she’s almost twice his age for starters.”
“Yeah, but she’s an expert,” Olie says. “I mean I try to stay on top of things, trends, ya know, but I could never compete with that.” She shakes her head and walks off.
I grab a water bottle and step toward Lainey and Roland as Dr. Dora finally leaves him alone. Tipping the monogrammed Chateau Céline bottle to my lips, I focus my attention on their conversation. Through the distorted plastic, I see Roland put something in his mouth, then take a swig of water.
“Not here,” Lainey hisses. “Someone could see.”
Roland shifts his weight from side to side, bending to rub his injured knee.
“Sorry,” he says quietly. I frown. My Love Shack contract didn’t prohibit painkillers, but maybe his contract is different …
or maybe whatever he’s taking isn’t ordinary ibuprofen.
“It’s just not getting any better. These are the only thing that—”
“And we’re back!” Norbert’s booming voice echoes through the room like cannon fire, and Lainey clutches her forehead, muttering something about “indoor voices.” I refocus on the others as the PAs scuttle around, removing our body mics and arranging us back into a circle with me between Rhett and Olie.
Dr. Dora returns from the bathroom, and I swear she’s undone another button on her cardigan.
Will we all be naked by the end of this?
“I’m already picking up on a lot,” Dr. Dora says.
“Being physically close to someone is one of the best ways to judge whether you’re sexually compatible with them.
For example.” She walks over to Roland and Addison.
“You two: sexually compatible.” Then she turns and points to Addison and Philippa.
“Not sexually compatible.” Next, Philippa and Chloe: “Very sexually compatible,” she says, winking at them.
Philippa and Chloe both grin a little awkwardly and avoid each other’s gaze.
Dr. Dora continues around the circle, declaring Nina and Rhett so sexually incompatible that she’s shocked they’re able to stand in a room together. Then she points to me and Rhett. I feel him tense next to me.
She looks at us for a moment and nods thoughtfully. “There’s potential here.” Her gaze lingers on me, then flicks to Rhett, whose mouth is hanging open. “But I think you have trouble trusting a partner.”
Leaving me baffled, she moves on and declares me and Olie “sexual opposites.”
Olie chortles. “I mean, you did put ‘missionary’ on your form.”
I scowl at her, but my mind is still on Rhett. Dr. Dora may be completely wacky, but she might be right about him. He’s no Justin Bieber, but he has his fair share of fans, and knowing who to trust can’t be easy. When we met, did he think I was just another groupie?
“Now,” Dr. Dora says. “We’re going to pair up. To start, you’ll practice with each other, then everyone will have a turn with Roland. Let’s stay where we are and get into partners here.”
I try to move closer to Olie, but Dr. Dora pairs her with Monica, leaving me with Rhett.
I look pleadingly to Dr. Dora and point at Olie. “Can’t I be with her? We could take turns.”
“No, you’ll be fine,” Dr. Dora says. “Mr. Auburn doesn’t bite, do you?”
Rhett grunts in response, which isn’t particularly reassuring. He may not bite, but that doesn’t mean our history won’t bite me in the ass.
“To start,” Dr. Dora says, “you should press your bodies together. I’ll play some music. Really let it take you over. Listen to what your body is saying, what your genitals are whispering in your ears.”
“Christ,” Rhett mutters. “I did not sign up for this.” He’s not the only one looking skeptical. In her folding chair, Lainey looks like she would rather be kicked in the face by a horse than watch this.
Rhett turns around as Dr. Dora puts on some jazz music that’s far too sexy for this early in the day.
Facing Rhett, I take a deep breath, steeling myself, then step forward until we’re touching.
I may have thought we were friends at the start of last night, but I can’t let him play me like that again.
Getting distracted by him means less time with Roland, and that’s a risk I can’t take.
When I wind my arms around his middle, he makes a noise in the back of his throat that’s somewhere between strangulation and a groan of pleasure.
“Try not to have too much fun,” I mutter. I duck my head so I’m not looking straight into his eyes. When I breathe in, I nearly cough as my lungs fill with his scent. Leather and citrus and medium-fancy shampoo.
Dr. Dora cranks up the jazz, and Rhett links his arms around my waist. I catch my breath, staring fixedly at his collar. I feel his heart pounding lazily, like being pressed up against me doesn’t make him feel anything. The scowl on his face is bored, annoyed—more than a little insulting.
I press more fully against him, our bodies connected in every possible location. I feel his stomach tense, and something between his waist and thigh that’s very hard to ignore.
“What are you doing?” he growls, fingers flexing against my back.
I shrug, searching for it—that hint in his eyes that he wants me.
Something flickers, but it’s gone as soon as I find it.
His jaw tenses, eyes fixed a few inches above mine.
I press in further, but he bites his lip and pulls back by an inch.
The jazz rhythm gets even slower and sexier.
Across the circle Philippa and Chloe have started elaborately salsa dancing and Roland and Addison are full-on making out, earning them more than a few disgusted looks.
I pull Rhett by the shoulders and he bends over me, eyes forced down to mine. The tension in his body is thick, ropes of it lining every muscle.
“Can you at least try to act like you don’t want me dead?” I whisper.
The muscle in his jaw ticks once, twice, grinding my last nerves. “How do you want me to act, Georgia? Do you want them to notice?”
I open my mouth, but falter, glancing over at the others, none of whom seem particularly interested in us. “No, I just—”
“Because it’s a little hard for me,” he mutters.
My lips twist into a frown of embarrassment. There’s no reason for him to be rude about it. He’s made his point. Clearly he wants nothing to do with—
I suck in a breath as he reaches up and cups the back of my neck in his hand, his face shedding a few layers of annoyance. My stomach turns to jelly. Hot, molten jelly.
I know that look. It’s the look he gave me before his lips met mine, but the hundreds of people around us then didn’t matter.
The dozens now do, though. And that means he can’t do anything more than squeeze the nape of my neck, press his fingers into my back, and make my knees go weak.
As if he knows I need the support, he pulls me tighter to his chest, spins me away from Olie and Monica, and catches my hand like we’re ballroom dancing.
“That better?” he whispers. Mouth dry, I try to answer, but no sound comes out. Instead, I scowl and spin us back toward the others, trying to ignore how much better it was. “Gotta make sure you’re all warmed up for Roland,” Rhett adds. “I bet you’re excited for that.”
“Nope,” I mutter, barely moving my lips. “Secondhand hard-on isn’t really my thing.”
Something low rumbles through his chest but doesn’t make it to his mouth.
“All right, lovebirds!” Dr. Dora cuts the music and Rhett springs away from me like he’s been burned.
Still wrapped around Addison, Roland grins, calling over, “Trying to steal my girl, Rhett?”
“Hardly,” Rhett says, eyebrows crooked, like I’m the last thing in the world he could want.
“Up here, Miss Georgia,” Norbert calls. Addison extricates herself from Roland, and I take her place dancing with him.
“Georgia Peach,” Roland says, grinning. He lets out a low whistle as he looks over my form-fitting dark red jumpsuit, then pulls me closer, dropping a kiss on the top of my head.
“Look at him,” Lainey instructs from behind the cameras. At her direction, I drape my arms around Roland’s neck and press my temple to his chest, staring the camera down in what I hope is a seductive way.
Lainey said to act like a “tall drink of water,” but I feel more like a glass of sangria—not particularly refreshing but bound to get you fucked up.
Roland’s fingers skim lazily over my body in time to the slow jazz, stopping at the small of my back. I force myself to relax at his touch, but it’s difficult when I want the moment to be over, when his touch makes me feel nothing compared to Rhett’s.
“Head down,” Lainey instructs. She steps forward and pushes down on my neck so that my forehead presses to Roland’s shirt.
“Ow!” I snap, trying to swat her away, but she just pushes harder until I’m suitably short for Roland, then steps back, assessing the picture we make. I shouldn’t care—I don’t care—but the idea that something about me isn’t good enough for him is hard to stomach.
“You’re too tall,” Lainey mutters at the camera. “Take off your shoes.”
“Lainey—”
I’m surprised to hear Norbert’s voice, but Lainey cuts him off. “Shoes off. Now.”
Head still ducked, I step back from Roland and slip out of my wedge sandals. When I lean back into him, tears prick my eyes. Behind us, the camera clicks away.
“This is fine,” Lainey says. “All right, next!”
Grabbing my shoes, I back away from Roland, brushing away tears as Olie shuffles up to take my place.
Once Roland has been danced on by all ten of us, plus Dr. Dora, who didn’t feel Philippa was doing it right and needed to demonstrate, we gather on the couches to learn our fate.
“Now, obviously, you can be sexually compatible with multiple people at once,” Dr. Dora says.
“And I see potential in many relationships here. But I’ve been told that I need to pick one lucky lady to spend some extra time with Roland, so I’m picking the person who I think has the most sexual potential with him. ”
Just when it seems like she’s going to announce herself, she cries, “Olie!”
Addison lets out an unkind laugh. “Bullshit,” she mutters. But as I watch Olie scurry over to Roland and whisper in his ear, I wonder if Dr. Dora might be onto something.
“And before I leave,” Dr. Dora says, “I have some gifts for you all.” She hauls out a large duffel bag and unzips it.
Behind us, the producers are frantically shuffling paper. “What are the gifts?” someone whispers.
“Just in case you get lonely,” Dr. Dora says. Then she reaches into the duffel and pulls out a handful of long silicone objects.
“Holy shit,” Addison whispers.
I glance at Lainey, who looks stunned. No matter how skimpily she wants us to dress, how much she wants us to throw ourselves at Roland, I have a feeling dozens of vibrators weren’t on her radar.
“Oh my god,” Brooklyn slurs, her eyes glazing over. “She’s even better than Oprah.”
“You get a vibrator!” Dr. Dora screams, lobbing a long pink one toward us. “You get a vibrator!” A blue one goes to Monica, who looks at it like she’s holding a dead rat.
Lainey runs forward, trying to stop Dr. Dora, but soon we’re engulfed by flying vibrators.
“No!” Lainey screams. “CUT! CUT! CUT!”
Norbert and Jules run into the fray and start picking up the vibrators, shoving them into their pockets and back into the duffel bag. “Shut it down!” Norbert bellows. “Get the women out!”
As we’re herded from the room, Addison manages to steal a few vibrators from the duffel, and Philippa grabs two from Jules’s back pocket, holding them up to her face like walrus tusks.
The last thing I see is Rhett trying to calm Lainey as she shrieks at Dr. Dora, and Roland in stitches laughing, trying and failing to catch the last of the flying vibrators.