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Twenty
BROOKE
It was weird, flopping back onto a bed after so many straight hours awake. But even weirder than that, falling into bedalone.
That was the Race, though. Even on ‘days off’ we were constantly filmed, constantly monitored. Kept tightly under lock and key by the producers, directors, and filmmakers, so no important season details got leaked to a very hungry public.
And in this case, that meant I’d sleeping alone instead of with the rest of my team.
Damn.
I’d tried pleading my case with the lead producer, and even gone all the way to Noah himself. I explained how I’d just spent the past week sharing a villa with these guys, and by now they certainly weren’t strangers. I told them I preferred to sleep in the same suite as them. I even made up some stuff about feeling safer, and how it might be good for the overall cohesion of our Dream Team.
“The liability factor alone is out of the question,” the producer had told me. “I understand where you’re coming from, but the network lawyers would laugh if I even brought up the idea to them.”
“But—”
“Now if one of them was a boyfriend that would be different,” he’d said. “An established relationship is something that might warrant a separate room.” I watched as he’d cocked his head curiously. “That’s not the case though, is it?”
“No, no,” I’d said immediately. “Not at all.”
“Good, then it’s settled,” the man had told me. Waving me off, he dismissed me with a fatherly wink. “Best of luck out there.”
And so here I was, in a room directly across the hall from the guys. A mere ten yards away. A few quick steps from stretching out intheirbed, and being cuddled between them.
Fuck.
Closing my eyes, I could feel the warmth of their hard bodies pressed tightly against mine. I could smell them, taste them. Imagine myself falling asleep in an earthy, masculine cocoon of warmth and flesh and muscle…
Jumping up, I left my room and padded barefoot across the hall. I was in the process of knocking when lights turned on to my left and right.
Wha—
Two cameramen closed in, filming but ‘not’ filming. Maintaining enough distance to give me the illusion of being alone, if I were willing to willfully disregard that Iwasbeing recorded.
“Um… guys?”
They looked back at me, unsure at first of whom I was addressing. When I pointed to them, their expressions went awkward.
“What exactly do you want?”
“Nothing,” one of them answered simply. “Please, continue like we’re not here.”
With the back of one hand, I rapped lightly on the door. “I’m just going in there for a team meeting.”
“That’s fine,” the older cameraman said, slapping the side of his machine. “We’ll get it.”
“No, it’s not likethat,” I tried to explain. “This is impromptu. Totally casual.”
The second cameraman shifted his stance. “And?”
“And so you don’t need to film it,” I explained. “We’re gonna talk team stuff, strategies and such. It’s going to get really boring, really fast.”
“We don’t get to decide what’s boring,” the first cameraman explained. “The editors do. Our job is to make sure we get everything.”
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing,” said the other operator. “If we don’t film 99% of your every move we’re 100% getting fired.” He shrugged. “It’s not even a question.”
