“I feel like we’re teenagers sneaking drinks before our parents catch us.”
He laughs. “Yeah, except our parents have cameras watching and recording our every move. This guy sneaking Luna booze will be fired by morning, guaranteed.”
I nod. Not our problem, though.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says before going quiet.
I look over to see his brows furrowed, his lips slightly pursed, as if he’s trying to come up with the right words.
“We lost the challenge because we weren’t working together. We’ve been spending all our time fighting instead of getting to know each other.”
I nod in agreement. No arguments here.
“So, we need to bury it. I don’t know why you’re here, and I don’t need to know, but I have a feeling it’s for similar reasons tome. I need to be here until the end. I feel like you do too, which means we have to show up better. For the cameras and in the challenges. It would be a lot easier if we didn’t have to fake it all the time.”
Again, no arguments.
“Okay. I get it. Yes, agreed. The better a show we can put on, the better our odds are for staying in the game, right?”
“Exactly,” he agrees.
We’re quiet for a few moments, then he says, “So we’re good, then? We’re dating or whatever?”
“For the cameras? Sure,” I say and stick out my hand.
He looks down at it with a disbelieving smirk before shaking it. Then he laughs. “Now, let’s hope they either aren’t monitoring the cameras up here or they decide to cut this part out so America doesn’t know we’re trying to dupe them.”
I shrug. “They could honestly leave it. Everyone loves a good fake-dating trope.”
The next morning comes way too fucking fast. The booze Luna scored wasn’t massive in quantity, but it was tequila. The cheap kind unfortunately, which meant it went down rough and came up even rougher. Landon and I were fighting over the toilet last night like that one movie where everyone got sick at the bridal store. Not either of our best looks, but the good thing is, there’s nothing romantic going on between us.
After we passed out in bed together, he ended up wrapping me up at some point. One moment, I was on my side, facing away from him, and the next I was sprawled on top of him. His muscles were firm against me, and for a moment, my pussy forgot who was attached to the muscles and got a little excited. Don’t worry, I put a leash on her and built a little pillow wall between us forgood measure, but I haven’t been able to forget the fleeting thought.
Now, my head is throbbing, and I open my eyes to find the bed empty. God, of course I would lock in with an annoying early riser.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I call it a win when I’m able to stumble to the bathroom and pee all by myself.
After that, the next big feat is coffee, and it’s not one I’m sure I’m up for tackling, but try I shall. Looking down at the tank top and sleep shorts I barely slipped on before passing the fuck out, I decide it’s fine enough for camera. Look at me in all my glory, America.
I make my way down the hall, my eyes only half open, and find a majority of people inside. Blinking slowly, I see that it’s pouring outside. It looks like we’re in the middle of a hurricane or something. Honestly, rainy days are the best days for hangovers, so I’ll take it. As long as it’s not an actual hurricane and we all die or something. I’m from Seattle. We don’t get extreme weather.
“You look like hell,” Bella remarks.
I give her a fake-as-hell smile because I can’t be bothered to respond, then slump down on the couch across from her. I don’t see Luna or Shane, which tells me they too are probably still dying in bed, the way God intended honestly. Why did I get up again? Oh yeah, coffee.
It takes all the effort I can muster to look towards the kitchen, the coffee maker my one true goal. Before I push to stand, though, a figure appears beside me, filling the air with the smell of a dark roast and… pancakes?
I force my eyes open further and find Landon standing in front of me, shirtless, with a cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of pancakes in the other.
“What’s this?” I ask, looking up at him.
“Sustenance,” he says, handing me the coffee before setting the plate of food down beside me.
“Why?”
He laughs like I’m making a joke before leaning down to press a kiss to my cheek. Instead of kissing my cheek, though, he whispers into my ear, “Playing the part, remember?”
Shit, yeah. I forgot that we don’t hate each other’s guts now. Or maybe we do but we’re trying to not let it show.
