The Consequence of Revenge

I lifted my pencil in the air and momentarily imagined shoving it in Colton’s leg. Instead I wrote my name at the top of my work sheet—you know, like I was still in third grade—and sat back on the couch.

“Jason?” Colt offered a pencil. “You participating?”

“Hell, yes, I am.” His snicker was not giving me warm fuzzies. Then again, I’d probably lost all ability to feel warm fuzzies after my run-in with the doctor that morning. I would have sold my left nut for a bag of frozen peas to sit on. But that would have meant showing weakness.

I needed to get used to hiding all weakness lest any of those women see a chink in my armor and attack me with their razor-sharp nails. I’d watched the entire last season with Milo since I had nothing better to do, and now that I’d moved to the area I had exactly no friends, except for her. Those women had been crazy, straight-up crazy. Maybe it would have been better to stay in the city and be miserable there, but my parents were too close and I knew it would be only a matter of time before they came knocking. I didn’t have the strength to say no to my father’s face when he offered me the shiny nameplate and job I didn’t want. I hated letting people down and letting him down from afar seemed like a better option.

“Attention.” Colt cleared his throat. “Each person has a work sheet with twenty-five spaces. Now, as you write down the girls’ names, I want you to associate the contestant with something that will help you remember her.”

I raised my hand, not really because I had any questions but because I figured it was the fastest way to stop the roller coaster of doom that I was currently sitting on. Maybe if I told them the idea of going on a dating show hurt my self-esteem, they’d buy it? Then again, even if they did buy it—I still had a damn contract I would have to get out of.

Colt eyed everyone. “Any questions?”

I raised my hand higher.

“Anyone?” Colt’s eyes passed over me. “Okay, good. Press ‘Play,’ babe.”

Grumbling, I put my hand down and waited. The DVD started, and music that sounded suspiciously like a wedding march floated in the background. “Welcome to Love Island,” a voice said.

“Holy shit. I saw this movie! They almost died!” I pointed at the TV and cringed. Island, island—why did that sound like a trap? Did I have a way to escape? What if I got an allergic reaction and needed a hospital? I was allergic to bees! Did they realize that if I got stung I could die? And what about island fever? It’s a real thing! And rashes, and spiders, and ho-oly shit on a stick.

Goats. What the farming hell?

Did islands have goats?

I suddenly had a horrifying vision of a red-eyed monster chasing me toward sharks and pirates. What would be a worse death? Being kicked by a goat or eaten by it?

“Wait!” I raised my hand. “I have a question.”

Colton turned up the volume, the bastard.

“Twenty-one days to love!” the voice boomed as the TV showed visions of beaches and couples laughing as they ran like gazelles across the white sand and tackled each other in the water. Swear I saw a shark in the distance.

“Are you ready to meet the contestants?” The music picked up.

“No.” I shook my head. “I will never be ready. Ever. Not in a million years will I be happy to be sitting on this couch and watching crazy in the form of twenty-five single and sexually frustrated women try to sell themselves to me.”

I blinked and thought about what I had just said. Sexually frustrated . . . hmm . . .

“Meet Flora!”

A girl jumped in front of the camera and giggled.

Those green eyes be crazy.

“Hell. No.” I tried to get up from my seat but was pulled back down by Milo.

“She could be really sweet!”

I glared at Milo, then watched the TV as the blond girl frolicked. Yeah, no exaggeration, she freaking frolicked through the park and then picked up a stranger’s puppy and let it lick her lips.

I wrote down her name and then wrote “germs” next to it. Bad juju. Hmm, would the word germs actually help? I scratched it out and replaced it with bitch. You know, because she licked a dog’s face.

“I just want to fall in love,” she said to the camera. “Is that so wrong? I want a man who can take care of me, who will provide for me, who will go on adventures with me.” She sighed and giggled happily. “I know he’s out there somewhere.”

“He is,” I said under my breath. “But his name isn’t Max.”

Colton fast-forwarded the DVD.

A pretty brunette flashed across the screen. I leaned forward. Her boobs were huge. Okay, not that I was judging by her body—but damn, I could learn to love her, even if—

I shuddered as she started speaking.

Or shrieking. Was that English?

“I want a man who won’t cheat on me!” she yelled.

I flinched.

“This bastard better not kiss any other woman or I’m going to murder him!” She grabbed the camera and looked straight into it. “You hear me? You got that? You keep it in your pants!”

Mighty Max and I winced in unison.

“Yeah.” Jason chuckled. “Good luck with that one. I put crazy next to her name, what’d you put, Max?”

“Jayne.” I shrugged and put a star next to it. “It’s my red word. My trigger word. Almost like a safe word except it reminds me of extreme danger or caution. I also use Grandma as a trigger word though last time I did that Reid pissed his pants, so yeah . . .”