Ellie

One week into the show and I’m not…hating it.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I still think the whole thing is ridiculous, and I’ll be relieved to get home and back to real life. But lying on a towel in the warm sunshine, drink in hand?

There are worse things.

“Oh my God, taste this and tell me it’s not the best thing you’ve ever tasted,” Paisley says, flopping down on the chaise lounge next to me and handing me a fancy glass filled with alternating layers of white and pink froth.

I give the umbrella plopped on top of the drink a skeptical look but take a sip. It’s cold, fruity, and painfully sweet.

“Yum,” I lie, handing her the glass back.

She uses a coral-tipped nail to pull down her glasses and gives me a look. “A Lava Flow is more than yum. The angels made this, Ellie. Angels.”

I lift my gin and tonic and clink it across her glass. “To the angels.”

She pushes her glasses back up on her nose and scans the deck of the yacht where the contestants and Gage are to spend the day, well…drinking, apparently. I’m not complaining. As far as forced group activities go, a booze cruise is just fine by me.

“The cameras haven’t been over here,” she says with a little pout. “Not once.”

“Thank God,” I mutter, leaning back on my lounge chair and crossing my legs.

She turns toward me. “You do get that that’s the entire point of the show, right? To be on TV?”

I turn my head a little and look at her. She looks too pretty and wholesome for this nonsense we’ve gotten ourselves into. Her long red hair’s in a side braid over her shoulder, she’s wearing a green sundress over the swimsuit I know to be a hell of a lot more modest than the rest of the women’s, and a wide straw hat protects her fair skin from the sun.

“I thought the entire point of the show was to fall in love with Gage,” I say lightly. Not that I’m scolding her, but truth be told, I’m not even sure Paisley knows Gage, much less loves him.

“Yeah, well, that’ll be hard when he doesn’t even look at me,” she says with a little smile.

I do a quick scan to make sure we’re not going to get caught on camera, but Paisley’s right. There’s zero interest in us. The majority of the crew’s up on the top-level deck where I presume Gage is, and the other camera’s on the other side of our deck getting B-roll of whatever the Brittanys are talking about.

I look back at her and ask the question I’ve been dying to ask ever since I realized that she’s the one contestant I can see myself being friends with after this is all over.

“Paisley, did you really expect to fall in love on the show? Just between us.”

She gives a little smile. “Expect? No, not really. Too practical for that. Hope? Yeah, okay, I’ll admit it. I totally bought into the fantasy that the Gage Barrett would fall wildly in love with me. I mean, isn’t that why we’re all here? The fairy tale?”

As though on cue, there’s movement on the upper deck, and Gage comes into view looking ridiculously hot in nothing but black board shorts, eight-pack abs, and a tan.

He leans back against the railing, laughing at something Sidney said, seemingly completely unfazed by the camera that’s right in his face, and I have to say…

I get what Paisley’s talking about. I’m sure most of these women, on some level, know that the entire concept of the show is a little bit tawdry, the chances of real love coming out of it next to nil. I mean, I know that. I know that none of this is real, but if I’m honest?

Looking at him right now, I feel…something. A yearning that feels dangerous and all-consuming.

“Ellie.”

I look back at Paisley, who’s pulled off her sunglasses and is studying me. “Yeah?”

“What’s really going on with you and Gage?”

I blink. “What do you mean?”

I’m closer to Paisley than I am to anyone else, but I haven’t told her about the deal Gage and I made—nor about our midnight meetings.

“Well, that first day at the pool, he was different around you. And then everyone’s talking about how you guys took forever to get home after the group lunch date. The other girls are trying to act like it’s nothing, but they’re worried.”

“Why? I’m down here, he’s up there.” I gesture with my glass toward the upper deck. “And yesterday on the hike I didn’t talk to him once.”

“I know.” She bites her lip. “It’s just…I don’t know, sometimes it feels like he’s aware of you. Even when he’s laughing with the rest of us and looking at another girl, it’s like there’s some invisible string connecting you two. I swear, I’m starting to want you to win this thing more than I want to win.”

I reach over and give her arm a quick squeeze. “Gage isn’t interested in me like that. I promise.”

“But are you interested in him?”

I smile and evade. “Like you said, that’s why we’re all here, right?”

The half-truth doesn’t feel good. Just a few days ago, I was secure in the knowledge that I wanted no part of any of this—that my agreeing to participate had been a huge mistake. But now…

I find I really do worry about women taking advantage of Gage—of pulling iffy shit to “win.” And not just on principle, either.

I care because…it’s Gage. And behind all the flirting, I’m pretty sure he’s been hurt badly by someone. I feel protective, and I don’t quite get that. So protective, in fact, that I don’t even tell Paisley what’s going on, though I sense she’d keep my secret. What’s going on with me and Gage isn’t just mine to tell, it’s both of ours, and—

My thoughts scatter as Paisley mutters, “Whoa,” her eyes on the upper deck behind me.

I turn my head just in time to see Cora press her golden curves and white string bikini against Gage.

A moment later her hand slides into his dark hair as she pulls his face down to hers—and kisses him.

I hear the gasps from the other women on the boat, but I don’t really register them.

I’m too busy waiting to see how Gage will respond—if he’ll respond.

One of his hands is holding a beer, but the other lifts…to push her away?

Please push her away.

He sets his palm against Cora’s bare back, pulling her closer, and my stomach drops out for reasons I don’t look at too closely.

I whip my head back around toward Paisley and take a big gulp of my drink.

“Well, guess that answers that question,” Paisley says wryly.

“What question?”

“All the talk about who’s going to kiss him first. Everyone’s been hoping that he’ll make the first move—better bragging rights. But Cora’s way obviously works too.”

Obviously.

“I’m going to grab another drink,” I say, even though my current one’s not empty. “You want anything?”

“No, I’m good, thanks.”

I nod and move toward the bar, relieved that she didn’t try to come with me, relieved that nobody seems to be paying me any attention, because…

Damn it. Why do I feel the strangest urge to cry?