How To Lose A Bachelor (14 page)

Chris coughed. Loudly. This part was definitely not making it to air.

Grant sighed in surrender. “You know, just because I’m still in love with someone doesn’t mean I haven’t slept with anyone since her.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to deny that he’d purposely induced his allergy, or if he was worried about coming off as a love-struck prude. On both counts, he sounded a little desperate. He resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t say that, did I?” she said.

“I guess I’m not exactly sure what you’re saying.”
Or what I’m saying.

She laughed. “I’m just saying that it’s okay if you don’t want to sleep with all of us—or any of us. It doesn’t make you weird. It makes you a gentleman. And anyways, I’ve used that same excuse before. The allergy, I mean. I’m allergic to latex.”

He grinned, turning on his side too. “Be serious.”
A nurse allergic to latex?

She shrugged, giggling. “I break out like you do. It’s gotten me out of work a few times, and once, out of a blind date. It was great.”

“So, do the other contestants think I purposely caused an allergic reaction, too?” Had she told anyone else her theory? Had she told Rochelle?

“Some are suspicious, I think.”

“Are you offended?”

“There’s not much to be offended about, is there? It means you’re not one to take advantage of a woman, even under tempting circumstances. You also did it in such a way that none of us felt like we were being rejected. That’s makes you a gentleman. And if you’re still caught up on a certain someone…Well, that makes you incredibly dreamy.”

Dreamy. If only she knew the sour details. If only she knew it was Rochelle he was still in love with. “So is this gameplay? You stand back and observe everyone, then confront them with brutal honesty and demand to know their secrets? Should I expect blackmail next?”

She tilted her head. “When I auditioned for the show, I told myself that I wouldn’t play the game. I would be myself, and if you liked me, you liked me, and if you didn’t, it wasn’t meant to be. But then I saw how great you are. And I wanted to make all the other girls go away, so you would only see me. So yes, I watched them. I watched what they were doing, which was essentially throwing themselves at you. Or calling attention to themselves. And I decided that the best way to stand out was to
not
stand out.” She paused. “But the thing is, if you’re still in love with someone else, you need to go after her.”

Grant swallowed. The conversation was taking a more intimate turn than he’d expected. He was now accepting love advice from a contestant he was supposed to be wooing on camera. Was Maya really that selfless? “And how do you propose I do that? I’m stuck on this show.”

She gave him a thoughtful look. “You know what I think? I think that no one is ever really stuck. You could use this show to get her back. You declared on national television that you were still in love with her, right? That’s no small thing. I think you shouldn’t give up trying if you love her that much. Convince her that she should leave the past in the past.”

“What? Like send her coded messages through the show?” Wasn’t that what he’d already been doing? But Rochelle seemed to reject every attempt, every step he took. He doubted a banner in the sky would get through to her at this point.

She raised a brow. “Try harder.” And that was that. She simply put her head back on the blanket and watched the stars, leaving Grant the space to dissect what she’d said—and if any of her advice was humanly possible.

Convince the woman he loved to leave the past in the past. It sounded simple enough. But with Rochelle, nothing was ever uncomplicated. And being in front of a camera crew all the time didn’t help. Still, she hadn’t quit
Luring Love
yet. For whatever reason, she was still there holding on to whatever Richie had bribed her with.

He’d be a fool if he didn’t use every opportunity to pursue her while he had the chance—something he already knew. But had he really done
all
he could?

Chapter Twenty-One

A
s the limo came to a stop on Main Street, Rochelle could hardly believe her eyes. Her wholesome hometown had turned into a commercial oasis. Maggie’s Diner had been replaced with a fast food restaurant. The little bookstore on the corner, where she used to buy her used university textbooks, was now a fancy-schmancy coffee shop. There was even a yoga studio where Mr. Holcomb’s watch repair shop used to be down the street, for God’s sake.

Was nothing sacred in the world anymore?
This used to be a sleepy little town that only awoke on Friday nights for those going to the high school football game. If the season was over, for those old enough to drink or spry enough to dance. And Sunday mornings, for those who were repentant enough for their Friday night shenanigans to attend church.

When the limo passed Sharon Drake’s beauty salon—still intact and unchanged, right down to the faded lettering on the windows—Rochelle breathed a sigh of relief.

If Sharon Drake had sold out, Rochelle just might have cried.

And I thought I hated this town. When what I truly hated was that Grant had shattered my dreams of being happy here.

Grant.

She was back in town to spend two full days with the man who’d destroyed her heart and hopes and fanciful dreams of taking his last name—dreams that, come to find out, hadn’t been so fanciful at all. He’d said he’d bought a ring. He’d said he was going to ask her to marry him. For about five seconds, she’d been prepared to exact revenge on Grant. Make him fall for her again, then break his heart into unrecognizable remnants that he’d never be able to put back together. But deep down, she knew she couldn’t do it.

Am I caving? And if so, to what exactly? To the fact that Grant might still have feelings for me? Do I even care?

There had been a time when she’d known the answers to these questions. A time when they would not even have been viable questions to ask. But that was before her conversation with Maya. That was when she thought with her mind, instead of with her heart. That was when her heart was no longer qualified to make decisions for her, having been splintered into fragments.

Before she auditioned for the show, she’d admitted to herself that her heart had somehow welded itself whole again, even if it was still badly scarred. That if, for some unlikely reason, she actually
liked
the bachelor and the prize money became secondary in the competition, she could handle it if he rejected her—and she could handle a relationship if he didn’t.

But she had never imagined that the bachelor would be Grant Drake. She never dreamed she would have to reexamine what had happened all those years ago—and that she just might have been able to feel something other than hatred for him. Yet, it had happened. And she had yet to deal with it.

It wasn’t even a question of what Grant deserved. It was a question of what
she
deserved. And did she deserve to be happy?

She’d already accepted that Tiffany had been Grant’s rebound. Yes, it was a mere three hours after their breakup, but how could she really fault him? She’d done virtually the same thing as soon as she left town. Maybe she would have done the same thing if she hadn’t been busy packing her stuff to get out of the state.

Rochelle gasped as she realized where they were. Somehow, someway, the limo was already pulling into the long driveway of Grant’s parents’ house. Rochelle straightened her shoulders, forcing her chin upward. It was show time.

The hedges of neatly trimmed azalea bushes were bigger than she remembered, and there were what appeared to be Christmas lights draped all over them, even though it was almost the end of July. It must be incredibly breathtaking to walk this little sparkling avenue at night—she hoped she wouldn’t be subjected to it while she visited. Being here again already had her nerves rampaging; she didn’t need any romantic walks in an enchanted driveway to confuse her further.

Every few yards, they passed full birdfeeders nailed to white fence posts—proof of Sharon’s desire to spend more time with nature than with people. The upkeep on these birdfeeders, keeping them full and clean and in repair, was a time-consuming task, one that Sharon loved doing. It was a chore she never delegated to any of her children, one that she’d always insisted on doing herself, and alone at that.

The birdfeeders and their patrons kept Sharon Drake sane.

The car stopped. The driver got out, opened the door for her, and offered a hand to exit the car. As soon as she was on her feet, she saw Grant standing on the front porch, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, as she hoped her own was. However, his mother, who stood beside him, could barely restrain her excitement.

Rochelle felt another small crack in the wall she’d put up around herself. This was going to be difficult. She hadn’t spoken to Sharon Drake since she’d left town. Sharon had been one of her closest friends, but speaking to her, hearing a voice and a Southern accent that sounded so much like Grant’s… It would have been like salting a laceration on her heart. She simply couldn’t do it.

Sharon stepped down from the porch, and Chris Legend appeared from God only knew where. “Hold on, Mrs. Drake. We’re almost set up,” he said, sounding more exasperated than usual.

She rolled her eyes. “You have to film
everything
?”

Rochelle felt a smirk coming on. She knew Chris would want to film her arrival, so she’d stayed put—and hopefully outwardly impassive. But Grant’s mother wasn’t used to having every blink documented for national television—and she wasn’t used to taking orders from Chris Schnartz, a boy she practically raised as her own. He was a constant fixture in their household all through his childhood and got punished with Grant and the rest of his siblings when he strayed from good behavior.

What’s more, Sharon was a private person. Private people sometimes lost their tactfulness. No doubt Sharon had already laid down the law, or at the very least some basic rules for Chris and his crew to follow; it would explain his annoyance now.

“As I said before, we’re working as quickly as we can,” Chris replied in a clipped tone. He disappeared to the side of the house, where Rochelle now heard the banter and exchanges of the mobile film crew.

Sharon gave her a scowl. “I don’t know how you kids have put up with such nonsense.”

“It hasn’t been easy,” Rochelle said.

“Hasn’t it?” Grant said.

He means to point out to his mother how I’ve been acting on the show.
By his lack of reaction these past weeks, she’d thought he’d barely even noticed anymore. Then again, at dinner during their one-on-one date, he had admitted he was on the lookout for her antics. Now he seemed hell-bent on exposing her to his family.

Snitches get stitches,
she told him with her eyes.

Her stomach dropped as a realization struck her: She wouldn’t have acted that way if her mind had been in charge. In fact, she’d been acting
out
of her mind the entire time. It had been her heart all along calling the shots. She’d only fooled herself into believing it was for Helping Hands. The truth was, she wanted to see how this would play out from the moment she saw Grant.

And not just because of her competitive nature. Deep down, she wanted to see
him
. Staying on the show was the only way she could do it. Richie’s offer to double the prize money was convenient, of course. And it had quieted the indecision welling up inside her as she sat next to Grant in Richie’s grand office, arguing about whether or not she’d stay on the show.

Every instinct screamed that she wasn’t ready for this, for what this home visit would do to her. She wanted to slide back into the limo and tell the driver to take her to the airport where she could book a flight back to her cozy little city apartment where Grant had never existed except when he’d occasionally haunted her dreams. To stop looking at Grant right now, stop holding his gaze, stop noticing the way his stature was rigid with tension and his eyes were more combative than she’d ever seen them.

This is a game I had no business playing
. And she was going to lose, no matter what she did. If she tried to win Grant back, and succeeded, it could only be a matter of time before he betrayed her again. If she walked away right now, she’d lose all the money for Helping Hands, and possibly the last chance she’d have with the only man who had ever been able to triple her heart rate.

Oh yes, she was going to lose. She saw that now. The only control she had at this point was what, exactly, she lost.

Sure that she wore her emotions on her face, Rochelle offered Grant a weak smile. “I did have the jitters the first few weeks. But I think I’ve adjusted now.”

This answer threw him off, she could tell. And why wouldn’t it? He was probably expecting something barbed and laced with arsenic to come out of her mouth. He cleared his throat then turned his attention to Chris, who stood at the corner of the house watching them both.

“You ready yet?” Grant said gruffly.

“Are you?” Chris countered.

They exchanged meaningful glares rife with testosterone. Rochelle couldn’t hear what Grant muttered after that, but it was interrupted with “We’re rolling!”

Sharon took the last two steps off the porch and Rochelle met her halfway for a full embrace. She wondered how America would react to this kind of intimate greeting between two people who were supposed to be perfect strangers—and she didn’t really care. This was reality TV to everyone else; to her, it was now just plain reality. An all-new reality she intended to grab and run with.

Sharon gave her a last squeeze and turned them both to face Grant. “Welcome to our home,” she said.

“Thank you,” Rochelle replied, freshly amused with this scenario.

Even Grant seemed to appreciate the irony. The corner of his mouth rose just a bit. “Yes,” he said. “Welcome to the circus.”

R
ochelle plucked the blackberry from the bush, weighing its plumpness in the palm of her hand. “I’m tempted to eat this one. Sharon, surely your cobbler can go without this one blackberry?”

Sharon puckered her lips. “I suppose it could.”

Grant poked his head around the other side of the bush, a smirk etched into his expression. Rochelle suppressed a giggle. Sharon’s reason for accompanying them to pick the blackberries was about more than just the company. She used to hate when Rochelle and Grant would return with half a basket or worse, none at all. Sure, she wanted to see Rochelle and visit with her son, but she also wanted a cobbler bursting with berries to present to the table on national television this evening. Baking was Sharon’s one vanity.

“Grant, you already ate three. If you eat another, I’ll swat you in front of all these cameras and your girlfriend here.”

A chuckle waved through the crew. Chris may not have liked Sharon commandeering his show, but the rest of them had taken to her. In the three hours they’d been here, she’d offered them all tea and lemon cake and made sure they all had sunscreen on before traipsing out in the vast backyard—even though most of it was shaded with mature pine trees.

Grant popped another one in his mouth and winked at Rochelle. She turned around before she allowed the smile to reach her lips. From beside the camera, Chris gave her an ironic look. He was still the only one on the entire crew who knew what was really happening here. Maybe he thought she was giving up. Maybe he thought she was up to something.

Maybe he should mind his business and do his job, which, last time she checked, was hosting and directing. After all, he didn’t get paid to do extra things like judge people, so why bother himself with it?

Still, she felt the blood warm her cheeks and hoped the cameras made it seem as if she was simply flushed on a hot July day. It bothered her that Chris knew why she’d been acting the way she had. And if she wasn’t acting that way anymore, what was he to assume? What was
she
to assume?

But didn’t I already make the decision that I’m going after Grant?

She looked up in time to see Grant give his mother a peck on the cheek before dumping the contents of his basket into hers. He wrapped his arm around her and she laughed. Sharon had missed her son.
That makes two of us
.

When he met her gaze, a fire settled in her stomach.

“I think I’ve got enough for a good-sized cobbler,” Sharon announced. “Why don’t you two get cleaned up and rested before supper?”

A shower. A nap. A sigh escaped her. “That sounds exquisite.”

Rochelle was first to the back door and kicked off her shoes at the entryway just as she had done countless time before. Chris cleared his throat.
Oh. I’m not supposed to know to do that.

She wondered if not following house rules—and therefore suffering the wrath of Sharon—would be a better alternative than simply doing what she liked and letting Chris worry about editing it out later. She decided the matter with a smile as she opened the cabinet in the utility room to retrieve the clean towel she knew would be there.

“Cut!” Chris yelled.

She grinned at him before running up the stairs to the guest bathroom.

T
he shower was hot, but Rochelle’s thoughts were hotter. As the water deluged her face, memories of sharing this shower with Grant barraged her senses. Particularly memories of what they did against this wall the last time she was here. The pink ceramic tile, the floral shower curtain, and the little porcelain boy in overalls holding up the toilet paper were not enough to make Rochelle view this room with any sort of innocence ever again. No, these walls had heard too many of her moans of pleasure.

After a few minutes of basking in the steam, the water started to run cold.
Crap
. She forgot that it did that. Now Grant would have to wait another half hour for the water heater to fill up again. She slid the shower curtain away and reached for her towel—only it wasn’t there.

Oh my God, I left it in my room.

In fact, she’d left everything in her room. Her clothes, her makeup, her common sense. Yep, it was all sitting there on the bed.