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He pushes away from the wall. “Didn’t want anyone to see the light through the crack under the door.”
I open my mouth to argue, only to realize it’s a pretty good point, so instead I irritably rap my fist against the switch to turn the light off once more.
It plunges us into darkness, which works in Gage’s favor, because now I can’t throw something at him, like I’ve been fantasizing about for hours.
I cross my arms and glare into the darkness. “What the hell, Gage? You promised.”
“I didn’t promise.”
“We shook hands! That’s a gentleman’s promise.”
“Hmm.” His voice sounds closer now. “Well, I’ve never claimed to be a gentleman. And you’re not a man at all. Perhaps that renders our handshake void.”
I hiss out a little breath, and I’m angry, I am, but I’m also…disappointed. In him. I don’t even know why. He’s got a reputation as a self-absorbed playboy, and he’s living up to it marvelously. I guess I just wanted him to be something more, and I thought I’d seen glimpses of it—in the way he actually seems to listen to women when they talk, the way he took care to make sure LeAnn didn’t do anything dumb, even the way he hadn’t turned me in for my cellphone use.
But it’s becoming increasingly clear that he’s exactly everything the media’s made him out to be. Gage Barrett does what he wants, when he wants. He doesn’t give a shit that the woman from San Diego doesn’t want to be here, or that LeAnn’s probably a hot mess right now.
“All right, then,” I say quietly as I back up. “I guess we’re done here.”
“Like hell,” he snaps, reaching out and hooking a finger into the V-neck of my hoodie. “Will you just stand still a second and let me explain?”
“You already did. You’re not a gentleman, and you lied,” I sum up succinctly.
I hear what sounds like the grinding of teeth, and it’s slightly mollifying to know that I’m not the only one who’s feeling frustrated.
We’re both breathing heavily, and slowly I become aware of the back of his knuckle against my chest. It’s up high, not like he’s fondling my boobs or anything, but it’s skin on skin, and we’re in a dark room, and he’s Gage Barrett, and—
I bat his hand away. “I’ve got to get back to my room before crazy Eden wakes up and catches me gone.”
“I couldn’t let LeAnn stay,” he says before I can move. “Even if she didn’t truly mean to hurt herself, any woman who would even chance it just to get the attention of some guy she barely knew—she was a risk.”
“To the show.”
He snarls in frustration and steps closer. “No, damn it, Ellie. No. To herself. The more I talked with her, the more it became clear she was unstable. I spoke with the producers about it, suggested that someone from CBC escort her home, ensure that she gets some counseling.”
I swallow. “Oh.”
I’m…ashamed. Not only that I assumed the worst about him, but also that I hadn’t put more thought into LeAnn’s mental stability. I mean, I knew she was sort of the resident crazy, but mostly I figured she was acting out for the sake of the show.
He’s right, though—someone who would even suggest getting hurt for the sake of attention isn’t stable enough to stay on the show.
“That was good of you,” I manage, crossing my arms.
My eyes have adjusted to the dark, and I can see the flash of white as he gives a quick smile. “How hard was that for you to say?”
“Very,” I admit.
“You still pissed at me?” he asks teasingly.
“About you sending LeAnn home before me? No. You’re right that that probably needed to be addressed. But I would like to know what the hell you were thinking pulling me into the pool earlier.”
He grins wider. “I already told you. I was thinking that the T-shirt would look really good wet. I was right.”
“You’re also a pervert,” I mutter.
“How old is your T-shirt company?” he surprises me by asking.
“Really? Small talk?”
