Gage

I’ve spent the entire afternoon counting the hours until I can get off that fucking boat, until the damned cameras turn off, but even when it finally docks, I get zero reprieve.

“Great show today,” Adam says, clamping a hand on my shoulder. “Really good work.”

I grind my teeth to keep from saying that this isn’t a show, it’s my goddamned life, they just happen to be filming it. And as far as the “good work,” it sure as hell doesn’t feel good.

Not ten minutes after Cora planted one on me, Hannah did the same, followed an hour later by an unexpectedly bold Aurora.

And look, it’s not my first time kissing multiple women in one day. It’s not my first time kissing women I barely like, much less want, all for the sake of the camera.

But much as I tell myself that today was just like any other day on set, it feels different, and I know exactly the reason why.

Ellie won’t look at me.

It’s not unusual for her and me to avoid each other when the cameras are rolling, but this is different. I can feel it, and I want to find her, I need to explain…

“Gage, you got a few?” Raven asks, striding over with her ever-present iPad.

“No,” I say, scanning the crowded dock, looking for Ellie.

Raven looks up. “Honey, the question was rhetorical. We need to do an on-camera postmortem of the day.”

“We can do it later,” I say, spotting Ellie standing by the door of the van, hugging her elbows. As usual, she’s got her T-shirt on, this time paired with a short blue skirt and flip-flops. But today she’s alone, with no sign of Paisley.

“Gage—”

I ignore Raven and move toward Ellie, knowing I have about thirty seconds before the other women realize my destination and move to keep me from having alone time with anyone else.

Ellie sees me coming, her eyes going slightly wide when she realizes I’m headed right toward her, then they narrow in warning. Go away.

I narrow mine right back. Like hell.

“Ellie.”

“Gage.”

I step closer to her, and she steps back, only to find that she’s pressed against the van and can’t go any further. She huffs in frustration. “What do you want?”

I open my mouth, only to realize…

I don’t know what I want. I don’t know why I’m here, or what I want to tell her.

I mean, I do. I want to tell her that the kisses with the other women meant nothing—that they kissed me, and I didn’t particularly enjoy a single second.

But I don’t know why I want to tell her that. It’s not as though Ellie’s a jealous girlfriend I need to explain myself to. She’s not even jealous at all.

And that right there…that’s why I’m in a bad mood.

I want her to be jealous. I want her to want me like I want her.

The thought rocks me back on my heels.

I want Ellie.

Shit.

I guess it’s been lingering there the whole time—disguised by flirtatious bickering and my love of a challenge, true, but it’s there. The want is fierce and unavoidable.

I want her lips against mine, her body under mine. I want her to sigh my name. I want to make her gasp. I want her to want me back, to fight for me.

But she won’t. I see it in the stubborn set of her chin, the confusion in her eyes, as though she can’t figure out why the hell I’ve singled her out.

“Midnight,” I say huskily. “Promise me—”

“What’s happening here?”

I close my eyes in frustration at the interruption, then force a strained smile as I turn toward Hannah. If she weren’t already on my shit list for making a move this afternoon, she sure as hell is now, and I see from the quick blink of her brown eyes that she realizes her mistake.

But instead of backing away, she turns her gaze toward Ellie. “Sweetie, I’ve been meaning to ask…do you want to borrow some clothes? We’re about the same size, and I’m sure you want a break from wearing the same old T-shirts all the time.”

Just a couple of days ago I would have missed the flash of vulnerability that crosses Ellie’s face before she covers it with a smile, but I know her now, so I see it—know that Hannah’s swipe stung.

And it was a swipe. I’d specifically asked Ellie about her company last night at dinner while on camera, so the rest of the women know all about High Tee. Hannah’s comment is a deliberate insult, and I dislike her for that even more than I dislike her for the interruption.

“Actually, the crew wants us all back at the villa,” I say, saving Ellie from having to endure any more.

I open the door of the van, offering a hand to Hannah and all but shoving her in. I start to extend my hand to Ellie, but she ignores it, crawling in on her own.

Her skirt slips upward as she climbs into the back, and I nearly groan at the sight of the back of her thighs.

Before I can crawl in beside her, the other contestants are crowding around me, each one’s voice shriller than the last, and before I know it, I’m sandwiched between Naomi and Kelsey, discussing our favorite Michael Jackson song.

The ride home is endless, and when we finally get there, I silently will Ellie to look at me—to tell me she’ll meet me tonight.

She doesn’t even glance my way.