Ellie

It’s only the knowledge that it’s my first and last day at the villa that lets me allow Paisley to talk me into putting on the black bikini for the kickoff pool party today. That, and the fact that I fully intend to keep my T-shirt on the entire time.

Then tonight I’ll have my ticket home, and I can put this entire mistake behind me.

Paisley hands me a bottle of SPF 50. “Is it too forward if I ask you to put this on my back? Redhead skin and Maui sun do not mix.”

Our roommate LeAnn bats my hand, knocking the bottle of sunscreen to the ground. “Are you crazy?” she asks Paisley. “Don’t have her do it, ask Gage to do it!”

“Yeah, because I’m sure nobody else will have thought of the whole ‘put sunscreen on my back’ ploy,” Eden says snidely as she arranges her small but perky boobs inside her bandeau bikini.

“I’m not,” LeAnn says, plopping down onto her bottom bunk, making her own, more generous boobs bounce within the confines of her hot-pink halter top. “I’ve got something else in mind.”

“Oh?” Eden asks. “What’s your plan?”

Paisley gives me a slight eye roll, but I notice all of her attention’s on Eden and LeAnn’s conversation, as though taking mental notes of the competition’s game plan.

I pick the sunscreen off the floor and start applying it to Paisley’s back. The girl’s skin is gorgeous, but it’s alabaster white. She can have Gage slather a second coat over all of her if she wants, but no way am I letting her out into the tropical sunshine without a base layer.

The unmistakable smell of sunscreen immediately adds to the already scent-drenched room. Four women living in a small space with two sets of bunk beds (Paisley and I are on the top bunks) and a tiny connected bathroom means that the place smells constantly like perfume, hair spray, mouthwash, shampoo, and now Coppertone.

It’s as noxious as it sounds, although most of the girls seem to think the unobstructed view of the Pacific makes the cramped quarters worth it. Me? Not so much. I realize I’m going to sound like a spoiled brat here, but I grew up in San Diego. My mom’s apartment didn’t have a waterfront view—far from it—but weekends spent at the beach are pretty much par for the course.

In other words, it’d take a hell of a lot more than a great view to make this situation more tolerable.

One more day. I can do this.

“Okay, so here’s what I’m thinking,” LeAnn says, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, even though the door to our room’s closed. “When I was in high school, I used to spend Saturdays at the pool at my parents’ country club. There was this super-hot lifeguard, and all my friends and I had like, the biggest crush, but he never noticed us—”

“Shocker,” Eden says cattily, studying her pink-tipped nails.

LeAnn, bless her, doesn’t seem to notice Eden’s bitchiness. Actually, if I’m being honest, LeAnn doesn’t seem to notice much. She’s a curvy brunette, with great curly hair and huge blue eyes, but there’s something just slightly off about her social skills. At dinner last night, her laughs usually came five seconds too late, and her jokes were a touch too off the wall. Adding insult to injury, she’s a close-talker—you know, one of those people who stands far closer than necessary when speaking to you.

“So anyway,” LeAnn is saying, “my friend Karen, she’s always been super-clumsy, and one day she slipped and fell at the pool and hit her head—”

My hand stills in the process of smearing sunscreen on Paisley’s back. What the…?

“Anyway, she totally ended up being fine, but she got all the attention, especially from the hot lifeguard,” LeAnn says, grinning as she looks around the room.

We all stare at her. “Please tell me you’re joking,” Eden says.

For once I agree with Eden. “LeAnn, you can’t be thinking of pretending to slip and fall as a way of getting attention.”

“Why, you’ve heard someone else is already planning that?” she asks, sounding crestfallen.

“Oh my God, I can’t,” Eden mutters, shimmying into a teal cover-up. Though cover-up’s a strong word. What she’s got on is more like a pile of string that does nothing to actually cover the tiny white bikini. “I’m going over to talk with the girls in Room B. See you all at the pool.”

Paisley waits until the door’s shut behind Eden before going to sit beside LeAnn. “Sweetie, promise me you won’t intentionally fall at the pool today.”

LeAnn pouts. “But it’s the only way he’ll look at me. You were there last night. I was the only one he didn’t seek out during cocktail hour.”

“Not the only one,” Paisley says soothingly. “He didn’t have any one-on-one time with Ellie either.”

Ouch.

She’s right, though. Though filming doesn’t start until today, there was a casual cocktail hour preceding dinner last night, and Gage made a point of pulling aside all of the women to chat with them privately. Except not all the women. He hadn’t sought me out once. Nor LeAnn, apparently.

LeAnn looks between me and Paisley for a moment, chewing her lip nervously, before she gets a mutinous look on her face and stands, marching to the door. “You girls are just jealous you didn’t think of my plan first. And I’m not actually going to hit my head, just pretend.”

“LeAnn—”

Paisley’s objection is met with a door slam. We look at each other for a moment before Paisley sighs, plucking a hair elastic off the dresser and pulling her long red hair into an artfully messy bun atop her head. “I’ll go try to talk some sense into her. See you down there.”

Paisley leaves to follow LeAnn, and I glance at the clock. I have ten minutes until the cameras start rolling. Not much, but it’s the first time I’ve had the room to myself since we’ve gotten here, and I take advantage, hurrying to my suitcase in the closet and pulling out my iPhone, which I’ve hidden in the inner lining of the pocket.

I turn it on and wait impatiently for it to start up. I know, I know, I totally told Gage that I’d turn it in, but I lied and—

I frown as the phone starts, my messages starting to load. There’s one from my mom, another from Marjorie, which is the reason I’m checking my phone in the first place, but the most recent is from a 323 area code…

I click on the text, my eyes narrowing as I read. Wear one of your precious T-shirts to the pool today. Bet it looks great wet.

My mouth drops open.

Only a handful of the women know about High Tee, and I’m betting none of them give one crap what it looks like wet. Gage Barrett, on the other hand, is exactly the sort of grown-up frat boy to know his way around a wet T-shirt contest.

That asshole wasn’t just snooping on my phone yesterday, he was looking up my phone number!

I shouldn’t respond. For one thing, it’ll encourage him. For another, it’ll confirm that I still have my phone, which is probably what he’s testing in the first place.

I’m about to put the phone away when I think of LeAnn. Hopefully Paisley can talk some sense into her, but in case she can’t…

I reply to Gage’s text before I can rethink it. First of all, I think you accidentally signed up for the wrong reality TV show. This isn’t Girls Gone Wild. Second of all, you need to pay attention to LeAnn at the party today.

His response is almost immediate. Either he’s snuck his cellphone in as well, or he doesn’t have to give it up like the rest of us. Probably the latter. Why? And which one’s LeAnn?

“Jerk,” I mutter as I text him back. Curly brown hair, kinda short. One of the few you ignored last night.

How do you know which ones I ignored?

They were the ones crying themselves to sleep last night. The walls in this place are thin.

Could have come to my room. I could have comforted you.

I smile a little at the cockiness. Don’t be gross. Are you going to pay attention to LeAnn or not? I think she’s going to do something dumb to get your attention.

Dumb how?

Fake fall. Maybe hurt herself, I type.

Are you kidding me?

Nope.

Fuck.

My thoughts exactly. Suddenly “I like piña coladas!” blares from every direction, and I groan. We were told on the car ride from the airport that “Escape” by Jimmy Buffett is our “summoning song,” and yes, that’s what the producers called it. Our signal that it’s showtime, the cameras are rolling, and we should be on our best behavior.

Or worst behavior. Whatever gets the ratings, I guess.

I hurriedly turn off my phone and put it back in my bag, though I guess it doesn’t matter much if I get caught with it, since I’m headed home shortly anyway.

I stand and do a quick glance in the mirror. I may not need Gage Barrett to think he’s in love with me, but I do have some feminine pride.

I wince a little at my reflection. I’ve pulled my hair into a beachy side braid, and that’s fine, but the makeup…Last night I thought I looked pretty okay with my tinted moisturizer, but that had been before a full night of almost no sleep, courtesy of LeAnn’s snoring, Eden’s gossiping, and the discomfort of sleeping in a top bunk like I was at freaking summer camp. The lack of sleep shows.

I know Paisley wouldn’t mind me borrowing her foundation, but she’s paler than me. With a quick glance at the door, I guiltily snoop through LeAnn’s and Eden’s bags, holding up both of their foundations to my skin and deciding Eden’s is a better match.

I hurriedly smooth on a quick layer of what feels like mud all over my face, then add a couple of coats of my own mascara, a swipe of dark eyeliner, and pink lip gloss. Apparently we’ll have the option of a makeup artist for the “invitation ceremonies,” but not for the day-to-day appearances. And since my first and last ceremony will be tonight…

I take a step back and check out my handiwork.

I look…well, not great. But better than before, and the big sunglasses Marjorie gave me so I’d “look the part” will cover up the worst of it.

“There you are!” one of the assistants hisses the second I come down the stairs. “You’re late!”

She drags me across the open-air foyer toward the pool, where the sounds of giggling are nearly deafening.

A towel is shoved at me, as well as a drink. “Wait until my go,” the assistant says. “Your chaise lounge is the one next to Morgan’s.”

“Yay,” I say flatly, my eyes scanning the pool scene in front of me. I see Cora already in the shallow end of the pool, wearing a yellow one-piece with a dramatic cutout along the side of her flat abs. I can’t see Gage, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he must be what Cora and a dozen other contestants are circled around in the pool.

The assistant barks something into her headset, then turns to me. “Get ready to go in thirty. The moment the cameras turn, get your ass out there, and try to look like you’ve been there all along, having the time of your life.”

“Got it,” I say solemnly. “Is there any confetti I should be throwing around when the camera lands on me? Or champagne I should pop to really sell the moment?”

“Sure,” she snaps. “We can get you some champagne.”

“No, I was just being sarcas—”

She puts a hand on my back, shoving me out onto the patio.

A handful of the girls glance my way, but mostly they’re either gossiping with whoever’s sitting next to them or staring at the group in the pool, no doubt trying to figure out how to get Gage’s attention.

I do a quick scan for LeAnn, but she’s not on any of the chairs, which means she’s probably in the pool. With all those girls crowded together like that, it’ll be hard for her to do any serious harm to herself in the name of staging her accident.

I go to my appointed chaise lounge, unfolding my towel. Morgan grins when she sees me, doing a little bounce. “Oh, good! They put me on the end, and right by an empty chair, and I was like, oh my God, who am I even supposed to talk to? I mean, I could go in the pool, but I don’t want to ruin my hair, you know, and do you think they’re going to feed us soon? I didn’t eat breakfast, just because you’re not supposed to eat before you swim, you know, and I was like, well, if I do swim…”

In my head, I mentally put a finger to my temple and pull the trigger. Morgan’s nicer than most of the girls, but she’s also hyper and never shuts up. I wonder if being put next to her is the producers’ way of punishing me for some sort of transgression. Say, paying the price for taking over my allotted two minutes during the first meet and greet.

I flop down on the chair and close my eyes.

“Aren’t you going to take off your shirt and shorts?” Morgan asks curiously.

No. No, I’m not. I want to go home.

But then a beefcake server dressed in a tight white T-shirt and even tighter white shorts comes over and hands me a glass of champagne, and it makes things a tiny bit better.

“Can I get one of those too?” Morgan asks.

He nods and disappears without a word, and all of a sudden I see Morgan change. I don’t know how to explain it. She goes from being relaxed and normal-ish, or at least comfortable, to some sort of weird swimsuit model pose, rolling to her side, back arched slightly to jut out her boobs.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

She widens her eyes and gives me a look, then giggles hysterically for someone’s benefit other than mine.

Ah. The camera is on us.

I take a sip of champagne as I turn my head slightly, and sure enough, there’s a camera right there.

It’s tempting to give the whole scene the middle finger, but the contract I signed—against every ounce of common sense I possess—specifies that we’re only allowed to address the camera and the audience during the studio shots. During the “live” sessions, we’ve got to pretend we’re in the moment, and are highly encouraged to keep our conversations limited to Gage or the other women.

“So,” Morgan says in a slightly-too-loud voice as she waggles her fingers for a sip of my champagne as though we’re besties, “like, what do you think was going on with Gage last night when he talked to pretty much everyone but you? What was that about?”

I hand her my champagne even though I’m pretty sure I’m going to need all of it to survive this moment. “Not sure,” I say carefully. “Maybe he just ran out of time.”

Morgan’s shaking her head emphatically, choppy blond hair falling out of her bun and whipping against her round cheeks. “Nope. He was definitely avoiding you. Like, everyone was talking about it. Almost like he was purposely not even looking at you.”

I frown a little. Really?

I mean, I’d definitely noticed that he didn’t seek me out, but I thought that was because he’d already marked me for elimination and decided I wasn’t worth his time. The way Morgan phrased it, though, makes it seem more intentional than indifferent.

“He didn’t talk to LeAnn either,” I say, snatching my champagne back. It comes out pettier than I meant it to, but I’d rather not talk about me and Gage. The last thing I want is for anyone to think I care about being the first one to go home.

“Yeah, but he’s more than made up for it today,” she says, somehow managing to sound smug and disappointed at the same time. “He sought her out the second she got down to the pool, and hasn’t let her leave his sight since.”

My head whips around to the pool. The group of women has shifted just enough for me to make out a muscled male shoulder, although I still can’t see LeAnn in the crowd.

I want to ask Morgan for more details, but I can’t without betraying that I got down here late.

“So, are you like, hurt? Or just mad?” she asks.

I look back at her. “About what?”

Morgan blinks in exasperation at my denseness. “About him giving you the cold shoulder.”

“Oh! Right. Yeah, I guess…I don’t know,” I say, suddenly exceedingly aware of the camera and the fact that not only will my friends and family possibly see this interaction, but Gage might watch it, curled up on the couch with the “love of his life” in a few months as they laugh about all the poor women who got eliminated.

Like hell.

I roll onto my side toward Morgan as though I’m about to confide something really juicy.

“Honestly…?” I say it in a whisper loud enough that the camera mic can pick it up, but it has Morgan leaning forward all the same.

“I’m not really surprised he avoided me,” I say. “Not after what happened.”

Her eyes go wide. “What happened?”

“Well, after that first day—you know, the interviews, where I went a little bit over?”

She nods, eyes wide.

“Well.” I lean forward. “He found me after. Told me he couldn’t stop thinking about me, and I just…I don’t know, it was so soon, you know? I told him I wasn’t sure I felt that way about him, and you could tell it just crushed him….”

I’m so into my made-up story that it takes me a second too long to realize that I don’t have Morgan’s full attention. Her gaze is locked over my shoulder, lips parted in surprise.

I already know who I’m going to see when I flip onto my back.

Gage Barrett is staring down at me, six feet two inches of dripping-wet, half-naked, angry man.

Yum.

I push the thought aside and give him a bright smile. “Hey there.”

His eyes are hidden behind aviator-style sunglasses, but it doesn’t take a genius to see that he’s glaring. I’m grateful for my own sunglasses, which I hope keep him from realizing just how much I’m enjoying myself.

I have to admit, the guy looks really good fully clothed, but even better in the navy-blue swim trunks. His torso is perfect, all sculpted muscle and bronze skin, with just the right amount of body hair to remind me that he’s all man.

Of course, I’m not the only one aware of this fact. LeAnn is plastered to his side, and he has one arm around her waist. She goes up on her toes to whisper something in his ear before giggling wildly.

He smiles, and I can tell it’s fake, but it doesn’t matter. At least by paying attention to her he’s keeping her from doing something stupid.

I’m both relieved and annoyed: relieved because the last thing I want to see is some desperate girl get a head injury in the name of fake love, annoyed because it means he’s a decent enough guy to want to prevent that.

“Ladies,” he says, directing his attention to both me and Morgan, who’s since sat up and is arching her back toward him, “it’s hot out. Care to join us in the pool?”

“Absolutely,” Morgan says, scrambling to her feet.

“Nah, I’m good,” I say at the same moment.

“Oh, are you?” Gage says flatly. “Enjoying your time here?”

I hear exactly what he’s not saying out loud: Enjoying your last day?

“Very much.” I take a sip of the champagne. I hadn’t really wanted it, but I have to admit it tastes damn good right now.

“Gage, come on,” one of the women calls from the pool. “She doesn’t want to come in.”

I’m suddenly aware that everyone’s attention is on me and Gage, and the other women look anything but happy with the way I’m monopolizing his time.

Really? Do they not see the annoyance rolling off him? Or the way I’m sooooo not interested?

Even LeAnn is glaring at me now, though his hand still rests on her waist.

“I’m actually not that hot,” I say, waving my champagne. “I’m fine here. You guys go play, though.”

“Do you, like, not know how to swim?” Morgan asks, as though that’s the only possible explanation for why I’m still on the chaise lounge and not falling all over myself to frolic with Gage in the pool.

“I can, I just—”

“Prove it,” Gage says, leaning down and plucking the champagne from my hand, dripping pool water all over me.

“Hey!” I exclaim as he downs the rest of the champagne. “What are you—”

He sets the empty glass on a side table and, before I can react, wraps strong fingers around my wrist and hauls me to my feet.

“You want to keep the shades on for this?” he asks, nodding his chin in the direction of my sunglasses.

“What? Keep them on for what?” I ask.

He ignores the question, tugging me forward. He’s also released LeAnn, resulting in yet another feminine glare directed my way. Why is he doing this? Why can’t he just ignore me altogether, and then nobody will be the least bit surprised when he sends me home at the ceremony tonight?

Too late I realize what he’s pulling me toward. I balk, but it’s useless. He’s got a hundred pounds on me and is very, very determined.

He pauses just briefly at the edge of the pool, but it’s only to pull off his sunglasses, then mine, handing them to someone beside me before grinning down at me wickedly.

“Time to prove myself right,” he says, his anger shifting toward playfulness.

“About wha—”

My question’s cut off as he wraps one arm around my waist and hauls us both into the deep end of the swimming pool.

I saw it coming, and I have just enough time to hold my breath, but the cool water’s still a bit of a shock.

He releases me as we hit the water, and I push to the surface, sputtering in outrage as I shove my hair out of my face.

“Really?” I snap when he pops up beside me, looking completely pleased with himself. “This seemed like a good idea to you?”

“Actually, yes,” he says, as we tread water, staring at each other. “Like I said, I have something to prove.”

“What, that you’re a juvenile ass?” I say as I start swimming toward the ladder.

He catches up with me just as my hand finds the side of the pool, pulling me around to face him.

Gage’s green eyes lock on mine for a long moment before dropping deliberately to my chest. His grin grows wider. “Yup, I was right. Your precious T-shirt really does look good wet.”

I return his grin with a sweet smile of my own before planting my palm on the top of his head and using all my weight to push his stupid head under the water and use him as leverage to haul myself out of the pool.