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Chapter Twelve
Alice
Simon’s hands hold me steady as I settle on his thighs. I can’t feel his actual skin since there’s a layer of fabric where his fingers are clenching me, but I like the way he’s gripping me.
It makes me forget where I am and what I’m doing, that there are people around, and instead, I feel him lean in and take a deep breath. I wiggle slightly before turning my head and looking at him.
“Did you just sniff me?” I whisper.
He glances up at me, his eyes widening. “No.”
I raise one eyebrow and continue to look at Simon, my lips twitching in an effort not to smile.
“Fine, I did. Slightly.”
“You slightly sniffed me?” I laugh softly, and so does Simon.
“Sorry,” he says, sinking back a little and loosening his hands.
“Don’t be,” I say, following him backward with my back hitting his chest.
He pulls my hips back, adjusting, and my body tenses for a moment before relaxing.
“Do you want me to move?” I ask him.
“No,” he says, so I don’t.
We don’t speak after that, turning our attention to the TV as the opening credits for the show come on.
“I’m Jarod”—Simon’s friend leans over from the couch, holding his hand out—“Sara’s husband.”
He smiles widely, his jovial attitude shining through, and I marvel that he and Simon are friends.
“Alice,” I say as I shake his hand.
“I figured I should meet you in person before the show started,” he says, sitting back and hooking an arm over Sara’s shoulders, pulling her in close.
He leans in and whispers something in her ear, and she smiles, tilting her head as he presses a sweet kiss to her hair. It’s familiar, easy, and something I crave.
I focus on the man behind me, the one whose lap I’m currently occupying and who has his hands around my body, arms pressing in close and holding me still. I can feel his chest rise and fall with his breaths, and I can smell his subtle, masculine cologne. All things that are making my heart beat as if I’d run five miles at a full-out sprint.
I know he was forced into touching me, but he hasn’t pulled away, and to me, that speaks volumes.
The show passes quickly, an hour flying by. The entire time, Simon and I sit together, me on top of him, and we don’t move. I started to wonder halfway through if he needed a bathroom break, but he’s a grown man, so I let him decide if he did. Surprisingly, everyone was mostly quiet, only interjecting opinions here and there about the other couples, but no one said anything when we were on the screen.
Boris had cut different segments for shock effect, like some of the men’s conversations about the women after they met, where Simon was mostly silent—big shocker there. What did shock me was that my uttered no when I first laid eyes on Simon was played over and over before the show went to commercial break, leading up to the actual scene. Each time I heard it, I would tense up, and Simon’s hands would clench. It was surreal, watching something that we had lived through only a few days ago, broadcast for everyone to see.
“You’re a star,” Jarod says as he leans over and clenches Simon’s bicep in some manly sort of interaction.
“Ah, fuck off,” Simon says with a chuckle, the vibrations shaking my body where I lie against him.
“How does it feel to be on TV?” Sara asks as she shifts forward, eyes pinned on me.
I glance around, seeing the other people’s eyes locked in my direction as they wait for a response. It’s odd, being in a room of strangers and understanding they know more about me now than I do about them. I haven’t even met anyone besides Jarod and Sara. I shift, uncomfortable but I don’t know why. I’m usually very outgoing and cordial. I think it has something to do with the unknown. I don’t know where I stand with Simon or where we are in whatever type of relationship this is. I’m pretty confident that Simon never let Vicky sit on his lap for an hour, holding her against him.
“It’s odd,” I say and then clear my throat. I feel Simon’s hands tighten on me, and I fight the urge to squirm at the sudden pressure. I’m fully aware that my butt is situated on his crotch and that we are in a room full of people. “They definitely cut and paste the scenes they want you to see.”
“Oh, really? Was anything taken out of context?” someone else pipes up.
