Plushie Ambush
Sloane
After the challenge, we all retreat to the hot chocolate stand. Even though… all this pink is starting to mess with our brains.
The mugs are heart-shaped.
The whipped cream is dyed fuchsia.
The napkins are printed with winking cupids.
There’s even an artificial strawberry scent bravely battling the aroma of coffee.
We’re packed around two wooden tables shoved together in what has officially become our unofficial headquarters.
Yes, at this point, you could say we’ve formed some kind of coalition.
I’m sitting next to Cohen.
Actually—
I’m practically melted into Cohen.
His arm is draped over the back of my chair, his hand absentmindedly playing with the hair at the nape of my neck.
Across from us, Lars pours an amber liquid from a silver flask into Lucy’s mug.
“It’s my grandmother’s remedy,” Lars murmurs in his deep voice. “Spiced rum. Melts the ice in your veins.”
Lucy looks at him like he’s just offered her the nectar of the gods and takes a sip, immediately blushing.
Lars passes the flask to Cohen.
“Thanks, man. I need this to survive all this pink,” Cohen says, adding a generous splash to his mug.
Then he glances at my half-full cup.
“You want some, Angel?”
“Just a little,” I say. “You know I can’t handle alcohol.”
He smiles, and I know exactly what he’s thinking about—my last drunken performance.
I drink.
Warmth explodes in my stomach and shoots straight to my head.
Wow. Lars’s grandma did not mess around.
I take another sip.
The world suddenly feels softer. The edges blur.
Damn it. Why is my alcohol tolerance so tragically low?
“This place is amazing!” Daisy exclaims, a pink whipped-cream mustache on her lip as she waves a cookie shaped like an arrow. “We should do a musical! Silas, you’d be the Beast!”
“I’m not singing, Daisy,” Silas sighs, wiping her face with a cotton-candy-pink napkin.
“But you have a baritone voice! It would be sexy!”
A giggle escapes me. I cover my mouth with my hand.
“What’s so funny?” Cohen whispers in my ear.
“Silas is sexy,” I snort. “But you’re sexier. Even though you have that… that…” I search for the word, gesturing with my mug. “…trouble face.”
Cohen laughs and pulls me closer. “Are you already tipsy, Sloane?”
“I’m… sparkly. Like champagne. Or like this radioactive pink whipped cream.”
I rest my head on his shoulder.
I feel light. Happy.
The sound of the door opening breaks the spell.
The others walk in.
Brenda and Steve scan the place with disapproval and isolate themselves in a corner, disinfecting chairs.
Behind them: Tiffany and Brent.
And right after that: Sarah and Joe.
They don’t sit down right away.
I see Sarah spot Tiffany. It’s like watching two sharks recognize each other in the ocean. Sarah approaches the Royals’ table, waving her hand to show off her fresh manicure and diamond.
“Oh my God, I love that fur!” Sarah squeals, touching Tiffany’s coat. “Is it real?”
“Obviously,” Tiffany replies, eyeing Sarah.
Absolutely disgusting.
Anger floods my chest.
How is the sale of real fur still legal?
I feel furious and helpless every time I’m confronted with something like this.
But… Cohen and I are going to win.
And I’ll donate my share to a good cause.
I’ll make sure those animals don’t go unseen.
Tiffany assesses whether Sarah is worthy of her attention—then decides an ally is always useful. “And I adore your shoes. Finally someone with taste in here. Have you seen that florist’s boots? They look like they came straight out of a barn.”
They giggle together, throwing venomous glances at our table. Sarah strikes a pose, making sure the light hits her cleavage just right, and starts speaking loudly—clearly for us to hear.
“You know, Tiff, some people really should learn when it’s time to bow out. Not everyone has the… stage presence for reality TV. Some people just look so… desperate.”
“I agree,” Tiffany says, sipping sparkling water like it’s champagne. “It’s sad, really.”
I snort a laugh against Cohen’s neck. “Of course they found each other.”
He chuckles softly, kissing the top of my head. “I was wondering how long it’d take.”
I’m about to take another sip of my corrupted hot chocolate when the door to the kiosk flies open with theatrical force.
Aunt Tina stands in the doorway.
She’s wearing a tight pink latex jumpsuit (yes—pink latex) and a pair of plush handcuffs hanging from her belt like a bargain-bin action-movie cop.
Behind her, two assistants drag in a crate full of metal objects.
“SUGAR brEAK INTERRUPTED!” Tina yells.
“Oh no,” Silas groans, covering his eyes. “This can’t be good.”
“This looks amazing!” Daisy shouts.
Tina marches to the center of the room, snapping the handcuffs.
“I hope you enjoyed your freedom, my darlings! Because from this moment on… your independence is officially suspended!”
She pulls a pair of cuffs from the crate. They’re cotton-candy pink, wrapped in faux fur—but the metal chain looks very real.
And very short.
“Welcome to the Unbreakable Bonds challenge!” she announces with a devilish grin.
“The concept is simple: for the next twenty-four hours, you will be handcuffed to your partner. Wrist to wrist.”
A chorus of protests erupts.
Sarah jumps to her feet. “What?! I have to shower! I have to do my makeup! I can’t have him in my way!” She points at Joe in disgust.
“You’ll figure it out!” Tina replies cheerfully.
“And… bathroom breaks?” Daisy asks, with disarming practicality.
Tina spreads her arms. “Love is sharing, sweetheart! One goes in, the other waits outside with their arm through the door. Or you go together. Your choice!”
I look at Cohen.
My alcohol-fogged brain takes a second to process.
Handcuffed.
To him.
For twenty-four hours.
In bed. In the bathroom. In the shower.
I turn to him, a stupid grin spreading across my face.
“Becker… I hope you can keep up,” I giggle, poking his chest.
He looks at me.
There’s no panic in his eyes.
There’s a dark, amused spark—hot as hell.
“This should be interesting,” he murmurs, lips brushing my ear. “Especially when we have to take those clothes off tonight. Or when you decide you want one of those boiling-hot showers.”
Tina moves from table to table.
The metallic clicks echo through the room.
She cuffs Silas and Daisy. The second the lock snaps shut, Daisy throws her arm up to wave at someone and yanks Silas’s arm with her, nearly flipping the table.
“Off to a great start,” he mutters.
Finally, Tina reaches us.
I offer my left wrist, giggling. Cohen offers his right.
“The Captains,” Tina says, eyes gleaming. “Let’s see if your chemistry survives forced cohabitation.”
CLICK.
Cold metal closes around my wrist, softened by pink fur.
The chain is short.
Very short.
We’re forced shoulder to shoulder.
Cohen moves his arm—and mine follows like a puppet.
We’re bound.
He looks at me, his face inches from mine.
“Well, Angel,” he whispers, lacing our cuffed fingers together. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
I swallow. The rum buzz is fading, replaced by an electric awareness.
“I wasn’t planning on running,” I reply, my eyes dropping to his lips.
“Good.”
His voice drops lower.
“Because I plan on using every inch of this chain.”