Chapter 6
They catch hell for it. The price of their indiscretion is steep: twenty thousand dollars and the shame of knowing they’re the only ones at the Retreat who have gone “all the way” and actually had penetrative sex.
It’s a damn good thing their cast-mates don’t know that they deserve to lose at least twice what Ava ends up charging them — but Blake’s not about to volunteer that info, no way.
It’s not as if they’re the only offenders, though.
At this point, everyone’s messed up a time or two (except for Vincent, whose refusal to even test the waters lost him Amber’s attentions for good), but this is different.
While Paxton and Blake both stand steadfastly by their decision to have sex and decidedly have no regrets, they can also understand why everyone else is pissed.
They can’t take it back, though, so all they can do is focus on the positive. For Blake, he feels closer to Paxton than ever, and from everything he can see (and all the increasingly sappy shit Paxton has been saying), that feeling is mutual.
Blake’s not ready to call it “love,” whatever the fuck “love” is, but there are definitely some strong emotions brewing inside his heart, previously assumed to be a dried up walnut. Their presence both shocks and terrifies Blake, though the second thing less and less so as time goes on.
They settle into a new sort of routine, one that Blake likes so much he can hardly imagine giving it up to return to his boring life in Kansas.
In the mornings, Blake joins Paxton for yoga, most often on the beach with the sand between their toes, and frequently while watching the sunrise.
Pax always meditates for a while when they’re done, and Blake uses that time to wander up to the kitchen to grab them coffee and breakfast.
The rest of their days are a mix of whatever “workshop” or “emotional growth activity” Ava has scheduled for the day, plus napping, swimming, confessionals, and just hanging out.
Lunch is almost always a group activity, one that frequently devolves into some kind of immature pissing contest or water-based competition.
In the afternoons, Blake make it a point to fit in a weight session with Vincent and a card game with Ariana.
Most evenings, Pax and Blake eat dinner just the two of them, but not always.
Most importantly, every single night, when all is said and done, they curl up in their shared bed and fall asleep in each other’s arms.
The producers continue to push their buttons, but as time goes on it becomes easier for both Blake and Pax to recognize those moments for what they are (and to not allow themselves to be baited).
For the most part, they’re well-behaved.
Even though Ava doesn’t give them any further “green lights,” and going several days in a row without so much as kissing Pax is basically torture, Blake tries — hard.
Neither of them are perfect, though, so another week and a half after their night in the suite sees them losing the group another nine grand total.
Three (awesome, worth every penny) kisses (and a minor grope session Ava apparently let slide, since no one got off) later, Blake is starting to really feel the itch.
Secretly, he’s kind of glad Ava hasn’t deemed them worthy of a repeat performance in the suite — there’s just no chance he’s reformed himself enough to pass that test.
Just to spite him (probably), Doctor Matt and Leah do it easily, without losing the group even a single dollar during their overnight in “paradise”. Inside his own head, Blake privately decides their relationship sucks.
In any case, if the way Pax has been increasingly touchy-feeling, pushing the boundaries of the rules under their shared covers at night is any clue, Blake’s not the only one riding the struggle bus.
As a result, the final test Ava drops into their laps seems torturously fitting. These asshole producers must be working right out of the, “If you can’t beat ’em, bribe ’em,” playbook, because this particular battle of wills he and Pax are being forced into is downright cruel.
It starts out like any other Ava-announcement, with the crew herding Blake, Pax, and all of their cast-mates up under the portico next to the pool.
Tonight, they were instructed to all wear white, and the producers rile them all up with alcohol and music before getting down to business.
It’s clear they’re trying to film a party scene, and everyone is only too happy to oblige.
Blake finds himself wedged in the middle of an Ariana and Pax terrible-dancing-sandwich, and with the warm breeze and a drink in his hand, this is about as happy as he’s ever been.
Amidst all the grinding and making fools of themselves, Ava suddenly chimes and lights up. Purple today, just like their first day at the Retreat, before they even knew what they were all getting into.
“Hello, everyone,” Ava says, and there’s a reflexive chorus of reply greetings as the cast moves to relocate down onto the sofa and loveseats. They’re all so well-trained these days, the producers don’t even need to prompt them.
Knowing that he and Pax haven’t done anything even remotely approaching a rule-break within the last twenty-four hours, Blake lets his mind drift as Ava makes a few announcements.
It’s the evening before their last night at the Retreat, and they’re all expecting some sort of preemptive something in preparation for Ava announcing the winner (or winners) of whatever is left of the prize pot tomorrow during the day.
What Blake is not expecting is for Colt and Maura to be unceremoniously drop-kicked off the island for what Ava describes as “insufficient progress.” It’s not exactly surprising — neither of them gave any kind of crap about the rules from the moment they arrived, and it showed.
Neither of them made any “meaningful connections,” either — not even friends, really.
Well, save for Pax and Maura, who have some kind of weird synchronous dynamic that Blake hates but can’t say a damn word about unless he wants to paint himself as the jealous wife.
Bottom line: Blake’s not sad to see either of them go, especially when Colt punctuates his exit by giving them all double middle fingers and Maura has the audacity to try and kiss Pax on the cheek.
Friend or not, even Pax has his limits.
“Rules,” Pax says sharply, leaning dramatically away from her as she swoops in. He clings pointedly to Blake, who opts to let his face do the talking, and just glares.
“Whatever,” Maura replies with a shrug, turning on her high heel and clicking off to collect her shit, presumably. “You’re all losers.”
“Boy,” Ariana remarks, reaching out with her foot from across the way to prod at Pax’s knee. “Betcha you’re glad to have dodged that bullet, huh?”
“Very,” Paxton murmurs, squeezing Blake’s knee as he watches Maura disappear into the shared bedroom. Blake beams smugly, doesn’t try to hide it one bit.
“That’s not all,” Ava pipes up, and Blake’s heart stutters in his chest. He’s pretty confident that no matter what happens, he and Pax are going home together, but it would suck for either one of them to have to leave early.
As for the cash — on the one hand, Blake knows they’ve messed up enough times to probably be excluded outright from receiving any prize money.
But on the other, he and Pax have both made real, genuine progress together. And wasn’t that the challenge?
“What now, Ava?” he asks.
“The process is almost over. And tonight, I would like to reward your hard work by giving you the chance to win back money.”
The reaction to Ava’s offer doesn’t need to be filmed twice; everyone is genuinely ecstatic. They’re jumping out of their seats, grabbing each other’s hands and cheering, but they should have known better — Ava never makes it that simple or easy.
Vincent seems to realize that first, waving his Moscow Mule accusatorially over in Ava’s direction. “What’s the catch, Siri?”
“The fate of the group lies in the hands of just two people. Paxton, Blake. You two have broken the rules more than anybody else here. Now, you have the chance to make amends. Your challenge is to spend the night in the private suite with no physical contact at all. If you succeed, the prize fund will be returned to one hundred thousand dollars.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Vincent mutters, throwing his hands up into the air and sending the contents of his drink flying. In response, Leah shrieks and jumps out of the way of the sticky spray, rubbing what she can’t dodge off of her arm in disgust.
“We’re not allowed to touch at all?” Blake tries to clarify, but no one answers him.
“We’ll give it our best shot,” Paxton says, fully non-committal, and Blake stifles a laugh by burying his face in Pax’s shoulder.
“Great,” Amber scoffs, sinking down into the couch again. “Well, we all might as well get our rocks off tonight, since these two can’t keep their hands off of each other for more than two minutes, never mind a whole ass night in a private room.”
To be fair, they’re not setting the best example at the moment, not with the way Pax is wrapped around Blake’s arm and Blake’s face is still pressed into his neck. He sits up defensively at Amber’s words anyway. “Hey,” Blake protests, pointing an angry finger her way. “You’re just jealous.”
“Damn right,” she sighs, but it’s without malice.
“I’m gonna go home broke and horny. Hey, any tips for scoring a hookup at an airport bar?
Anyone?” There’s a rumbling of both agreement and awful suggestions, and for the first time, Blake actually feels bad about the way his and Pax’s actions have affected their new friends.