“The mature thing?” he asks. “Accept that we’re grown adults who’ve had consenting relationships with other people before getting matched and maintain open communication.”
Sounds logical.
“And the immature thing?” I question.
A smirk crawls over his face as he holds me tighter. “Delusionally pretend we’ve only been with each other and never mention or think about anyone else again.”
I nod. “Being mature is so overrated.”
Landon laughs, and then our lips press together. I wrap my legs around his torso and get lost in him as the night continues.
Now I can fully understand why the producers don’t give us all access to liquor. We’re like kids in a candy store. I guess the guys got set up with a whisky-and-cigar-lounge thing inside the house, but after a few rounds of darts and pool, they decided to bring the whisky and join us out here. So now, instead of having two separate relaxed nights, we’re having one big drunken pool party. Everyone is mixing drinks, doing body shots, grinding and humping to the music, and getting absolutely trashed. And you know what? It’s probably the most fun I’ve had since coming here.
My vision starts to turn hazy, and the idea of getting out of here and heading back to our room is more and more appealing. Mainly so I can lick Landon the way he wants or whatever the hell he was complaining about.
But then a sharp scream rips through the air.
I whip round to find the source. There across the pool, Bella is losing her mind as Angel jumps up from a cabana tucked away in the corner, wiping her mouth as Connor stands, quickly pulling up his shorts. His face is smeared with the same red lipstick that’s on Angel’s mouth, and even as drunk as I am, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what Bella just discovered.
“Oh fuck,” Landon and I mutter at the same time.
Bella reaches for anything and everything. A solar-powered table lamp, pillows, even a fold-up chair. Everything is flying towards Connor as she begins rapidly cursing him out.
“Baby, please. Calm down. Let’s talk about this,” Connor says.
Bella lets out a humorless laugh as she throws a bottle of sunscreen.
“Don’t call me baby when this little slut had your limp dick down her throat!”
“I was just trying to show him what a real woman’s like,” Angel snarks.
What an idiot.
Bella’s rage instantly turns from Connor to Angel, and instead of throwing things, she full-on attacks her. Angel is too stunned to react, and Bella goes for her hair, dragging her to the ground like a rag doll. Blonde chunks end up scattered by the edge of the pool as the sounds of slaps, scratches and screams ring out.
I shake myself out of my shock and wonder why the hell no one is stopping this. Then I see that Mason and Andrew are trying to get to the girls but are being held back by crew members. What the hell? Theywantthe girls to beat the hell out of each other?
I say each other, but I really mean that Bella is beating the hell out of Angel. Can’t say she doesn’t deserve it, though.
After another minute or so, the crew lets Andrew and Mason go, and they quickly pull the girls apart. Bella is like a feral animal in Andrew’s arms as she tries to reach Angel, while Angel is gnashing her teeth, but there’s only terror in her eyes. At least what you can see of her eyes. Bella kicked her fucking ass.
I assume that’s the end of it when Angel and Bella finally calm down enough to begin walking to opposite sides of the pool. That is until Mason walks away from Angel towards Connor, laying him out with one solid punch. Connor goes down hard, and by the time he hits the concrete, he’s already knocked out cold.
No one tries to intervene as Mason storms off on his own towards the beach.
My gaze slowly lifts to Landon, the adrenaline of the night sobering me up a bit as he stares down at me with an equal amount of shock.
“I think we should call it a night,” he says.
Yeah, couldn’t agree more.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Landon
The next few days we all lie low. Mainly because the day after the pool party, every single person had a hangover from hell. It took Courtney over forty-eight hours of ice water, warm showers and a fan on her face until she stopped puking. It was a rough road, but I’ve finally gotten her well enough to at least come outside and get some fresh air. Though I’m not sure how much fresh air she’s soaking up at the moment. She’s wearing a sweatshirt of mine that engulfs her, a pair of sunglasses that cover half her face and she’s currently face down on my chest as we lie by the pool. I know she’s still not feeling a hundred percent, but I’d be lying if I said I minded.
“I don’t ever want to look at alcohol again,” Cora groans as she turns over on the daybed beside us.
