Cooper loses the first hand. “You even beat me without your lucky chip.”
“You’re probably one of the few people I can beat without my lucky chip.”
“You really believe in superstition that much?”
“No, you’re just that bad.”
“Maybe your brand of superstition just doesn’t work for me.”
“You prefer blowing on dice to a lucky chip?”
“Dice is definitely not what I prefer you blowing on.” Cooper’s hand drops and my eyes follow the firm stroke of his hard on.
“Stop that,” I scold.
“Fine. But we need rules then. If you’re going back to the show.”
“What kind of rules.”
“Rule one—No sex with anyone but me. That’s a given.”
“Done,” I say. Easy decision there.
“No kissing.”
“But at the ceremony … we always have to kiss him when we get picked.”
“So I can stick my tongue in Tatiana’s mouth?”
“Has it been there before?”
“That’s not the point. If you’re okay with kissing, you won’t mind if I say hello to Tatiana with my tongue.”
“Rule two—no tongue kissing,” I grumble.
“You make it through to the final four, collect the prize money, then quit. I’ll loan you the money to pay off your mother’s debt, and you can pay it back after your student loans are paid off.”
“That’s ten years.”
“I’m not worried about it.”
“Impasse.” I hold out the cards. “Can I trust you to deal this time?”
“Maybe you should deal. My hands have better things to do.” He strokes himself, then reaches out and pinches my nipple.
“It’s not going to work.” It’s totally working.
I deal quickly.
I win again. I would never have guessed I’d be happy to win paying off my own student loans.
“Miles wants to use our family home in Barbados to house the contestants the last two weeks. I’m going to let him. The contestants will stay in the guesthouse. I want you to be comfortable; there’s a room I want you to stay in there. Dickhead will stay at a hotel.”
“I’d love that.”
“There’s more.”
His face is apprehensive. I feel like I’m on a roller coaster. One minute I’m riding high, packing my imaginary bags for a week in Barbados. The next minute, I’m perched at the top, my stomach hurling to a nervous drop as I wait for the free-fall that’s about to come.
“You took your brother out of therapy.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “A light background investigation, huh?”
“The investigator might have gotten carried away.”
Sure, the investigator got carried away. “The therapy is still considered experimental. The insurance doesn’t cover it.”
“I want to pay for the therapy.”
“I can’t let you do that. But it’s sweet of you to offer. Really.”
“Impasse.”
“This doesn’t even have to do with me or the show.”
“Does it cause you stress that he’s not going to therapy?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s related. Deal.”
Not even the best players can win every hand. I try in earnest, but lose.
“Good thing I won that one.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I paid the therapist over the phone before you got out of bed this morning.”
chapter twenty-four
Cooper
I’ve never understood why people slow and stare at a bad car accident. They know they’re going to witness something horrible, something the mind won’t be able to rewind and unsee. Yet the more gore, the bigger the traffic backup. I’ve always been the guy to curse the idiots in front of me riding their brake lights as they passed the mangled pile of steel. I refuse to let unbridled curiosity get the best of me, never allowing my head to turn despite the powerful pull of the wreckage.
Yet here I am, sitting in my car, staring at the front door, knowing there’s an accident waiting to happen right on the other side. But there’s not a goddamn thing I can do to stop myself from going in. She made me promise not to watch the taped show tomorrow. Technically I’m not breaking the promise—I never said I wouldn’t come to watch the live filming tonight. Each morning I have to restrain myself from hurling the laptop across the room. I can’t imagine it won’t be a million times harder to stop myself from walking through the door and knocking Dickhead on his ass. A string of curses litters the air as I stomp from my car to the house.
“Coop! I didn’t know you were coming.” Miles actually looks happy to see me. Unfortunately, the sentiment isn’t returned, although my scowl actually has nothing to do with my little brother for a change.
“Miles.” I nod.
“You came at a good time. The ladies are sufficiently loose. We plied them with liquor, now it’s time to unleash the bachelor and watch the horns start to rise from their pretty little heads.” He rubs his hands together like a child unable to contain his excitement. “I’m going to go check in on Flynn. Have a drink—we just brought out one of the two rolling bars from the shoot.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “Your favorite scotch is in there, although it’s half gone. You and Flynn have similar tastes.”
I stroll straight to the bar, ignoring the cameraman who starts speaking to me, and pull out the Macallan single malt. The bottle is less than half full. Dickhead. Gulping back two fingers worth, I slam the tumbler down.
“Bad day?” Joel Blick, the director, reaches over the bar and grabs a glass. He pours himself a double and tips the bottle to me asking if I want a refill. I slide my glass in his direction.
“You could say that.” I nod my glass to him before drinking.
“Well, maybe a little girl-on-girl catfight will cheer you up. There’s a storm brewing amongst the contestants tonight.”
“What’s it about?”
“The bachelor.” He finishes his drink. “What else?”
“Which girls?”
“All the camera’s favorites. Jessica, Mercedes and Kate. They were going at it pretty good. Got heated. But now, after the alcohol and bringing Flynn into the game … I wouldn’t be surprised if the early rumbling leads to a big explosion.”
“You have the argument in the can?”
“I do.” I stare at him and wait. “You want a replay?”
Who can resist watching a car accident waiting to happen?
“You think you’re better than everyone here?” Jessica seethes, her normally pretty face contorted.
“I don’t even know you. You’ve had something against me since the first night and I have no idea why,” Kate replies in a dismissive tone. It only serves to anger Jessica more that she doesn’t get a sufficient rile out of her.
“You walk around thinking Flynn is wrapped around your little pinky finger.”
I know it’s irrational. But just hearing Kate in an argument that has anything to do with Dickhead brings my already heated blood to a boil.
“I think you’ve had too much to drink,” Kate says, then pivots to walk away.
But Jessica grabs her shoulder. “I know the game you’re playing,” she warns.
Kate turns and glares at her. For a long moment, the two stare off—neither of them backing down. Then a familiar look on Kate’s face appears, and she calls her opponent’s bluff. “We’re all playing a game, aren’t we?” She dusts Jessica’s hand off her shoulder and walks away.
The camera fades out. “What was that all about?” I ask.
“Got me. But something’s up and Miles is busy trying to stoke the fire.”
The live feed monitor captures everything happening on the other side of the wall, even though they’re not filming at the moment. Kate looks beautiful in a curve-hugging dark blue cocktail dress. The expansive living room is filled with women who are unquestionably knockouts. Yet Kate stands out, even though her assets aren’t on full display. The crew is setting up lighting and she laughs and smiles with them. A short young intern is struggling to set up a high camera boom and Kate, in her five-inch heels, walks over and helps her. They spend five minutes talking afterward. The other women don’t even notice the crew, they’re too busy waiting for someone more important to walk in the room.