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The evening air was cold, yet my body still burned.
“Here’s your jacket,” said Noah.
I shook my head. “No, thank you. The air feels good.”
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the artificial light around us. When they did, I saw my crew in a row behind me; in front of us, four tall, dark, broad-shouldered men stood side by side, each filling out their tailored suits as if they’d been poured into them then hardened in a kiln and chiseled to perfection.
One of them spoke, though I was unable to rip my eyes from the row of bulges at arm’s length from me to tell which of the four hunks it was. “Welcome,” he said. The bass of his voice rattled my bones. “Can we help you with your luggage?”
“Thank you,” said Trevor.
Fortunately, Trevor, as per usual, had taken the lead, for I had forgotten how to move my mouth. I reached to the side. My hand found Noah’s shoulder, and I leaned on him.
“Are you all right?” said Noah.
“I think you’re going to have to carry me.”
8
Noah
After six days of partying on a private yacht followed by a few hours in a dark van, when we arrived at Sasha Snow’s estate, my disorientation was complete. It was the dead of night, yet I was wide awake and full of energy. It was the dead of winter, yet there was warmth in the air.
Sasha Snow’s home was cut into the side of a hill, and its façade announced nothing extraordinary. In contrast, we were greeted by four men who looked like they’d either been ripped from the pages of a fashion magazine or genetically engineered in the lab of a sex-craving scientist.
The men tried to be cordial, but I didn’t like the way Bonita was ogling them. I could sense the rest of the team felt equally threatened. Will and Ben walked with their hands clenched in fists and their chests out as if to show our greeters that they weren’t the only muscle-bound men on the island. Maybe after we’d put our luggage away, we’d all pull our dicks out and have a measuring contest.
I could only hope. I did enjoy winning contests.
My disorientation was furthered by the contrast of the humble façade and the home’s interior. The hillside hid the home’s dimensions well.
The entryway boasted white marble flooring and a high concave adorned with intricate murals of people and gods and beasts interwoven in a vast corporal confusion. I could have stared at it and studied it for hours. But that was simply the entrance. There was much more to see. Winding staircases stretched upwards on either side in perfect symmetry. Behind them, we got a glimpse of staircases leading to chambers below.
With one man leading the way and three others trailing us, luggage in tow, we were led past the staircases down a wide corridor with seven doors on the left and one double door centered on the right.
“What are these rooms?” asked Trevor.
Our guide answered, “Those are our quarters.”
Ken and I exchanged looks of similar suspicion.
The corridor opened to a large entertainment room somewhat divided into three sections, each consisting of a collection of loveseats and sofas, tables and cabinets, and each equipped with a bar. Curtains stretched from one side to the other, though a small opening revealed glass doors where I got a glimpse of a starry sky.
Our quarters were down a farther corridor past the entertainment room. “I do hope you will find yourselves comfortable,” said our guide. “Ms. Snow is not in the habit of receiving guests, let alone eight, but we have done our best.
There were two rooms, joined by a bathroom which was bigger than most apartments I’d seen: jacuzzi bath, two separate showers, and the walls were covered in mirrors from floor to ceiling.
Each bedroom had only two beds, though they were enormous. Not king size, more like the whole royal family size.
Bonita flopped herself down on a quilted bed, arms and legs spread like making angels in the snow. “I’m never going to leave,” she said. And it took all my force not to jump onto that bed with her.
“Please do not hesitate if there is anything you should need,” said our guide, “anything at all.”
“Thank you,” said Trevor. “I’m sure we’ll be able to make do.”
Our guide nodded. “Ms. Snow would like you to join her for breakfast at seven.”
Bonita sprang up. “Of course. Where?”
“Someone will come for you.” With that, he bowed slightly and left the room. His three colleagues did likewise.
“Someone will come for you,” Landon mocked the low, overly serious tone. Bonita threw a pillow that smacked him in his face.
None of us was tired. And despite Trevor’s insistence we should try to get a few hours of sleep anyway, we didn’t even lie down. We did, however, take out our gear and arranged one of the bedrooms as a makeshift studio. After showering and changing into more photo-appropriate clothing, we took turns giving introductions and testimonials on camera.
