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“Oh! Right. Yeah, I guess…I don’t know,” I say, suddenly exceedingly aware of the camera and the fact that not only will my friends and family possibly see this interaction, but Gage might watch it, curled up on the couch with the “love of his life” in a few months as they laugh about all the poor women wh
o got eliminated.
Like hell.
I roll onto my side toward Morgan as though I’m about to confide something really juicy.
“Honestly…?” I say it in a whisper loud enough that the camera mic can pick it up, but it has Morgan leaning forward all the same.
“I’m not really surprised he avoided me,” I say. “Not after what happened.”
Her eyes go wide. “What happened?”
“Well, after that first day—you know, the interviews, where I went a little bit over?”
She nods, eyes wide.
“Well.” I lean forward. “He found me after. Told me he couldn’t stop thinking about me, and I just…I don’t know, it was so soon, you know? I told him I wasn’t sure I felt that way about him, and you could tell it just crushed him….”
I’m so into my made-up story that it takes me a second too long to realize that I don’t have Morgan’s full attention. Her gaze is locked over my shoulder, lips parted in surprise.
I already know who I’m going to see when I flip onto my back.
Gage Barrett is staring down at me, six feet two inches of dripping-wet, half-naked, angry man.
Yum.
I push the thought aside and give him a bright smile. “Hey there.”
His eyes are hidden behind aviator-style sunglasses, but it doesn’t take a genius to see that he’s glaring. I’m grateful for my own sunglasses, which I hope keep him from realizing just how much I’m enjoying myself.
I have to admit, the guy looks really good fully clothed, but even better in the navy-blue swim trunks. His torso is perfect, all sculpted muscle and bronze skin, with just the right amount of body hair to remind me that he’s all man.
Of course, I’m not the only one aware of this fact. LeAnn is plastered to his side, and he has one arm around her waist. She goes up on her toes to whisper something in his ear before giggling wildly.
He smiles, and I can tell it’s fake, but it doesn’t matter. At least by paying attention to her he’s keeping her from doing something stupid.
I’m both relieved and annoyed: relieved because the last thing I want to see is some desperate girl get a head injury in the name of fake love, annoyed because it means he’s a decent enough guy to want to prevent that.
“Ladies,” he says, directing his attention to both me and Morgan, who’s since sat up and is arching her back toward him, “it’s hot out. Care to join us in the pool?”
“Absolutely,” Morgan says, scrambling to her feet.
“Nah, I’m good,” I say at the same moment.
“Oh, are you?” Gage says flatly. “Enjoying your time here?”
I hear exactly what he’s not saying out loud: Enjoying your last day?
“Very much.” I take a sip of the champagne. I hadn’t really wanted it, but I have to admit it tastes damn good right now.
“Gage, come on,” one of the women calls from the pool. “She doesn’t want to come in.”
I’m suddenly aware that everyone’s attention is on me and Gage, and the other women look anything but happy with the way I’m monopolizing his time.
Really? Do they not see the annoyance rolling off him? Or the way I’m sooooo not interested?
Even LeAnn is glaring at me now, though his hand still rests on her waist.
