Chapter 4 #2
“I dunno, I’m having a great time,” Ariana replies, fitting the rope in between Dani’s teeth and continuing to twist.
Right, Blake thinks, suppressing a laugh. Things could be worse. He could be Ariana, and Pax could be eyeing up other people. At least that’s not on his list of things to worry about.
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Another night and another relatively uneventful morning follow. Blake’s starting to get the idea that reality TV is heavily edited to make generally boring lives look fast-paced and interesting. Duh, Ariana says, when Blake shares his theory.
“I wouldn’t know,” Pax replies — he claims he doesn’t watch TV, but Blake’s definitely not buying that.
Their… fifth? — whatever, Blake’s loosing track — day at the Retreat is filled with a solid mix of both partying and random moments of genuine communication and learning about each other, as well as (so far) the entire crew successfully sticking to Ava’s rules.
In the early afternoon, they learn there’s another workshop to be had, and Blake finds himself actually looking forward to it.
This time, the gathering place is the patio on the far side of the pool, the spot where they’d been filmed making entrances and official introductions back on day one.
Blake starts to get a sinking feeling in his stomach when he looks around and notices that there are no supplies, no instructor, no signs of a “workshop” of any kind.
What he does see are more crew members than normal, extra cameras for capturing different angles, and several producers chewing their nails while trying to blend into the shrubbery.
Fuck me, Blake thinks. This has all the warning signs of an impending “gotcha” moment — Blake just hopes it’s not for him.
He sips from the alcoholic beverage that was placed in his hand by Pax moments earlier, and tries not to worry.
After all, he’s been on his best behavior the past day or so, he’s really trying.
At the very least, he knows he’s not standing here waiting to be outed for some naughty secret. For once, he didn’t do anything.
After all that, Blake should be less surprised when an attractive guy, half-naked in tiny swim shorts and an unbuttoned gauzy shirt, comes strolling out from the courtyard.
He’s not Blake’s type; too military-ish, with gym-cut muscles, buzzed hair, and a way of holding himself that says “don’t fuck with me” in the nastiest way.
Blake likes his men a little less douchey than that, thanks, but the guy does have nice eyes.
Well, if he didn’t use them to visibly undress each person he came across, they’d be nice.
Blake’s already got his own blue-eyed angel, though.
After greeting the new guy — Colt — as warmly as he can muster before dropping his grip like it’s hot, Blake turns to Pax, prepared to see if he wants to swim or maybe ask if they can take those paddleboards out again.
Word on the street is that there are one-on-one “dates” up for grabs tonight — and Blake has his eye on the prize.
The way he figures it, he and Pax are basically a shoe-in. Sure, they’ve flirted with some rule breaks, but they’ve also put themselves out there and made that “genuine connection,” Ava keeps going on about.
The smile dies on his face, though, when he catches sight of Pax’s.
For once, Pax’s eyes aren’t on Blake, they’re glued to the portico Colt just came down through, and Blake’s gaze follows with trepidation.
His worst fears are confirmed when he sees the object of Paxton’s fascination; a busty, flowing-haired brunette with a smile on her face that positively screams, “Rules? What rules?”
Swallowing heavily, Blake tries not to panic, but it ain’t easy.
This chick is pulling out all the stops from the jump — she’s wearing a skimpy black bikini, a white see-through coverup that barely grazes her shoulders, and stilettos.
She’s busty, she’s curvy in all the right places, and her hair falls in long, soft waves down over her chest. Those tresses are held back by sunglasses that she pushes up off of her face with a knowing smirk.
Fuck. Blake can’t compete with that, he literally doesn’t have the equipment.
If that’s what Pax likes — fuck. He’s screwed.
The way Blake seethes when the demon in heels wraps seductive arms around Pax’s shoulders — well, he’s pretty sure the producers are popping champagne bottles over his reaction.
They got what they wanted with this game, that’s for sure.
The next couple of hours are interesting — if by interesting, that means Blake drinks a lot and sits as stiffly as possible while Colt and Maura flirt with anything with a pulse and Pax’s eyes track Maura everywhere she goes.
Eventually, he calls Pax on it, just to say, “Hey man, talk to her if you want,” because fuck, he doesn’t own the guy.
But Pax just shakes his head and rips his eyes away, giving Blake a small smile and a pat on his hand.
Which, Blake finds incredibly rude. What is he, Pax’s wife of fifty years that needs to be patronized? Fuck that. Blake Lawrence may be a mess, but he’s nobody’s consolation prize.
So maybe that’s why, when both Colt and Maura are awarded the coveted one-on-one dates (seriously, why didn’t Blake see this coming?), and Maura asks Paxton to come with her, Blake encourages him to go.
To his credit, Paxton looks genuinely surprised and torn, but Blake just doesn’t have the energy to play games.
After Ava relays Maura’s invite, he and Pax are left sitting on two of the cushioned lounges next to the pool, everyone else long-dispersed.
Blake leans back, covering his face with his arm.
The late afternoon sun is tempered by the leaf cover, so Blake’s warm but not sweating.
He’s got a drink by his side, the pool in front of him, and dinner is on the horizon.
In other circumstances, this would be downright heavenly.
He sighs. He seems to be doing a lot of that lately.
“Pax, this is the experience, or whatever,” he says, knowing that Pax is staring him down, even though he can’t see.
“They said ‘make meaningful connections,’ not, ‘glue yourself to the first dude you feel something for besides the urge to bone.’ You know? I ain’t mad.
” Truthfully, Blake wishes that were a lie, but it isn’t.
Pax has to make his own decisions. If he chooses someone other than Blake, then he was always going to do that eventually.
Maybe Blake would just rather know now, before he gets too damn deep into his feelings.
Of course, when he drops his arm and blinks against the light only to find Pax’s beautiful blues looking back at him softly, he knows that stupid ship has sailed. Whatever, so he’s stuck with hoping Pax comes back. He can deal with that.
“Is there someone else you might like to get to know better?” Pax asks carefully, and Blake sits up, shaking both his head and his finger vehemently.
“Oh no,” he says. “See that? That’s a trap.” He grins, reaching out to cup Pax around the side of his face with his hand before shoving him away playfully. Paxton laughs as he resurfaces.
“I’ll think about it,” Pax finally answers, while looking over at Maura laughing with Vincent in the hot tub. Inwardly, Blake resolves to not feel anything at all about that.
Luckily, they’re saved from having to continue this terrible conversation by the producers sweeping through.
Rachel and her cronies interrupt the relative peace by requesting that the entire group convene together on the loveseats and sofa set back from the pool.
Blake’s come to think of it as the “Ava Bomb” area, so either someone’s broken the rules, or there’s another “surprise” coming.
If it’s the latter, Blake just hopes it’s not as shitty as the last one.
Of small comfort, Pax drags him down into their normal seating arrangement on one of the loveseats and keeps a possessive arm around Blake’s waist while they wait. When he catches Maura staring at them, Blake successfully fights off the urge to stick out his tongue, but only barely.
From her place on the stone coffee table, Ava’s cone chimes. The LED ring around her middle lights up neon green today.
“I have observed a collective growth, and I have a gift for each of you to help you on the next step of your journey.”
“It’s like Christmas!” Ariana declares, as a murmur of hopeful excitement erupts from those gathered.
“Vincent, please open my box.” To a chorus of laughter and lewd jokes that Blake is sure will be edited out, Vincent scoots off of the big couch and picks up a wooden container sitting right next to Ava’s cone.
Blake cranes his neck to see as Vincent flips the box open on a hinge, revealing that inside, there are a bunch of smart watches displayed against red velvet.
Everyone gets one, and the producers instruct them to keep the devices on at all times.
They’re kind of clunky, not exactly Blake’s style, but he was never into that sort of technology, anyway (nor could he afford it).
Better be an upside to this, he thinks, just as Ava begins speaking again.
“When your watch is neutral, the Retreat rules apply,” she says. Some of the girls gasp, but Blake doesn’t quite follow their train of thought, so he stays quiet and waits for someone to spell it out.
“But if it changes…” Matt starts, and Leah quickly chimes in, grabbing his arm with excitement.
“You’ll probably change the color to give us a second to…
um, connect?” she volunteers, clearly addressing Ava in an expectant manner.
Everyone’s gazes dart to the white cone, as if she’s an actual person.
For all Blake knows, she is — it’s probably fucking Rachel back there, running text-to-speech from the control room.