How To Lose A Bachelor (6 page)

Chapter Nine

R
ochelle cursed under her breath as she assessed herself in the mirror. It was the stringiest bikini she’d ever worn. It left nothing to the imagination, revealing every flaw she had. Her hips were too wide. Her legs weren’t nearly as toned as they should have been. And the top felt two sizes too small, the little triangles barely covering her nipples. She’d had to get a Brazilian just to wear the bottom properly, which dug so high up her butt cheeks, she feared she’d never get the fabric back out.

This was all Grant Drake’s fault.

Yet, it was bittersweet.

It was his turn to choose a group date, and he chose to have them all participate in a charity festival—which benefited battered women.
Why would he choose that?
He knew it hit close to home for her; her father had abused her mother for years, even before she and Grant met in college. He understood how she felt about helping battered women find their voice–find safety.
Is he purposely doing this so I’ll try to win the prize—a one-on-one session with him? And if so, why?

Have I not made it clear that I hate the entirety of his guts?

She pulled on a white T-shirt and jeans. What reason did he have to keep her here? Was he trying to peel the scab off the wound in her heart? Was he really that cruel?

She shook her head, pulling on her shoes. At least she’d raise the money for this charity in a way that would throw it all back in his face. Each of the contestants was responsible for creating her own booth—the woman who raised the most funds got the coveted prize of a one-on-one date with Grant. She had to admit to herself that the other contestants had great ideas and she was pleased that they’d been so creative.

Sonia, a makeup artist, was going to paint faces for the kids and do makeovers for the adults. Cassandra, the remaining twin—a dolphin trainer, as it turned out—was having a local aquarium set up an underwater petting zoo. Amber, the fitness instructor, was going to hold a raffle for a dozen personal training sessions. Sakiya, the official resident artist, would be drawing caricatures, and Maya chose to open a karaoke booth. Even the school teacher—Rochelle couldn’t quite remember her name—was going to make balloon animals for the kids.

Grace, the in-house Persian princess, couldn’t be bothered with a booth but had grandly announced that she would be donating a large sum for the cause and visiting booths she thought were interesting.

Since Rochelle lacked all the talents of her fellow contestants—what, was she going to open a legal consultation booth and bore people to death?—she decided to keep it simple: she’d set up a kissing booth. She wasn’t particularly good at kissing, either, but it required hardly any overhead costs and very little skill. And it wasn’t like she was offering tongue or anything. Sure, her sense of self-worth expected more of her, but no one ever choked to death by swallowing their pride. Aside from the simplicity though, she liked the idea of turning Grant off; despite his signing up for this deplorable show, he
used
to dislike easy women. And what would be easier than paying for a kiss? It was practically glorified prostitution.

Rochelle smiled to herself as she made her way down the majestic staircase. Maya was the only one standing in the foyer; she must have stayed behind to wait for her. During her time at the mansion, Rochelle had found it was the small things, such as making Grant wait for her, that brought her pleasure even in this self-created hell she found herself in. She just wished it didn’t affect the nice ones, like Maya. She even hoped that after the show, Maya would still want to be her friend.

Probably not, though, because if I have anything to do with it, this will get much, much worse.

“Oh, am I late again?” Rochelle feigned surprise.

Maya nodded. “Everyone’s in the limo.” She gave Rochelle the once-over. “Jeans? Did you change your mind about the kissing booth?”

“I’m wearing a bikini underneath.”

Maya scrunched her face. She was just the sort of decent person who would be repulsed by a kissing booth, and Rochelle liked her even more for it. “Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind? Grant might get the wrong idea about you kissing other men in front of him. He might see that as a rejection.”

Precisely
. For once, he could experience the feeling of rejection.

But Maya didn’t need to be bothered with such details, so Rochelle merely shrugged, linking her arm with Maya’s and escorting her out to the circular driveway where the SUV limo was parked and waiting for them. “Nah,” she said. “It’s my strategy to make him insane with jealousy.” She really was getting good at these lies.

Maya sighed. “Okay. Well, it’s not too late to change your mind.”

Rochelle almost blushed.
What must she think of me?
She decided Maya was too nice for her own good. This was a competition, and rather than trying to get Rochelle voted off, Maya was trying to help her strategize to stay on. Rochelle would return in kind, but the prize for winning the show was Grant.

Grant, the unfeeling bastard.

What a horrible trophy to take away from this sleazy game they were playing.

R
ochelle’s booth was elementary, consisting only of an umbrella to keep her from burning in the sun, and a lawn chair for those moments between eager customers. And eager they’d been. Men of all ages and sizes and from all walks of life had kissed her. So many that she was tempted to squirt an entire bottle of hand sanitizer in her mouth. And God, a shower would have been nice, too. But at least all the customers had followed the rules, giving her only small pecks on the lips, and taking a photo with her here and there.

Sure, she got dirty looks from women passing by. A kissing booth was a kissing booth was a kissing booth. But the cause was worthy, she admitted begrudgingly, and the payoff, so far, had been huge. Besides, she was an attorney. Dirty looks came with the job. She could outwardly handle poisonous glares and acidic whispers behind her back, even as she withered inside from the humiliation.

Worthy cause, worthy cause, worthy cause.

She hadn’t seen Grant all day, not since she announced in the limo what her booth would entail. He’d found it repugnant, she could tell.

In the distance, Grant approached with the camera crew in tow. He paused briefly at Sakiya’s booth, and from the admiring look on his face, was complimenting her on her work. Just as Rochelle was about to mutter something under her breath, she got another customer, effectively ending her break and the self-loathing session that had ensued.

“Is the kissing booth still open?” her new patron asked.

She turned her attention to him. Handsome. Really handsome, and probably right around her own age. “Of course,” she said, trying her hardest to sound enthusiastic. “But I’m expensive. It’s five dollars per kiss.”

He laughed. “That’s a bargain.” He handed her five ones, which she gave to her assigned assistant in charge of the money box. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Grant and the camera crew stop. One of the camera guys hurried over to get in on the juicy footage about to go down at the infamous kissing booth. Rochelle fought off a cringe.

Grant was watching. He would see everything, so she had to make this good. The thing was, America would be watching her, too. And judging her. Could she ever recover from the shame she felt, even as she stepped toward the man?

Worthy cause, worthy cause, worthy cause
.

“You can come closer if you want,” she said to her customer. “I don’t bite.”

“Not even if I pay extra?”

Oh dear God.

When he stepped closer, she pulled him in by his shirt collar. She could practically feel Grant watching them, and she wondered how much attention he was paying. Could he see her desperation? The indignity she felt? The hatred she directed at him for forcing her to go to extremes like this?
That’s right, Grant Drake. This is your fault.

So watch this
.

“Did you happen to notice the rules?” she asked out of habit.

“Read ‘em twice.”

“Good.” She slowly pressed her lips against his, and instead of a peck, she let them linger a bit. But when he opened his mouth for more, she stopped, pulling away. Lingering was one thing. Making out with a stranger on camera was quite another.

Her handsome customer stepped back in slight awe. “I could do that all day,” he said, reaching for his wallet again.

“You’ll have to get back in line,” a voice called from beside them.

They turned to Grant, who strode toward them like a predator stalking its next meal. Rochelle’s stomach somersaulted. She’d seen that look in his eye before.

She was in loads of trouble now.

Rochelle’s dapper customer stepped away, allowing Grant room between them. Grant smiled at the man. “Rules are rules,” he said, tilting his head toward the board in front of them. “Number three says you get one kiss, then have to go back to the end of the line.”

The man nodded good-naturedly. “I’d wait in line all day for another kiss like that.”

Grant’s smile faltered, something Rochelle relished for the second it lasted. Recovering, Grant nodded toward the back of the line, which kept growing and growing, probably because of the camera crew now parked beside them. “If you don’t hurry, it just might be all day.”

To the older man in overalls next up in line, Grant extended his hand for a friendly shake. His one moment of resentment seemed to have dissipated in the summer breeze, and Rochelle couldn’t help but feel disappointed at how short lived her victory had been. She did notice though, that Grant’s eyes were still sharp, still steely. Was he jealous? And—did she care?

“Hi, my name is Grant Drake. These guys here are filming a show called
Luring Love
. Have you heard of it?”

The man scratched his white beard, a grimace puckering his expression. “I’m Magnus. Yeah, heard of it. My wife makes me watch it. Too political, if you ask me.”

“Well, I can see why you’d think that. Listen, I’m this year’s bachelor. Rochelle here is one of the contestants on the show. She chose to run a kissing booth to raise money for battered women. What do you think about that, Magnus?”

Her patron looked pointedly at her. “Well now, on the one hand, she seems to be raking in some dough for the charity. On the other…Well, you ought to open your eyes, son. My wife would call this strategizing. This young lady is trying to make you jealous by kissing a bunch of other fellas.”

Grant laughed. Rochelle felt if her eyes got any wider, her eyeballs would fall out and bounce on the asphalt beneath them.
What is he doing?

“You think so?” Grant was saying.

“It’s plain as high noon, boy.”

“Hmmm,” Grant said thoughtfully. He studied Rochelle, his eyes locking with hers. “What do you think I should do about it, Magnus? Should I act jealous or pretend it doesn’t bother me?”

Magnus shoved his hands in his overalls and rocked back on his heels. “I can’t rightly say.”

Grant nodded. “It’s a tough call, isn’t it?” He sighed. “Well, we’ve got to film me visiting Rochelle’s booth, so if you don’t mind, could I possibly cut in front of you? I hate to ask, but the crew’s tired and ready for their break and this is the last shoot of the day.”

“Aw heck, go ahead,” says Magnus, waving his hand.

“Thanks, Magnus. You’re a good sport.” Grant turned to Rochelle then, his eyes flinty. He pulled out his wallet slowly, deliberately. “Who takes the money here?” he said without looking away from her.

Rochelle’s assistant perked up behind them. “Um. I do, sir.”

He offered her the briefest of smiles. “Good.” From his wallet he retrieved some bills and handed it to her. “For my turn,” he explained.

Without further warning, he grabbed Rochelle and jerked her to him, using his hand to press her lower back into him. There was no space between them at all—except at their lips. Instantly, she regretted wearing the tiniest bikini on the planet. She might as well have been naked.

“I’ve paid for this fair and square,” he told her softly.

“There are rules—” she choked out. Oh dear God, she was going to have to kiss Grant Drake. She wanted to fight, she did. She brought her hands to his chest, intending to push him away, but they stayed there, reveling in the feel of him beneath his shirt, in the new contours and the old. Her body seemed to melt into his, the way it always used to. She gritted her teeth against the reality of the situation. She was in Grant’s arms again. And she was going to have to bear it.

Seeming to sense her urge to fight, he shook his head. “I’ve paid for this moment with more than money.” And his mouth crushed down on hers. She tried to pull away, the rules and the money and the show be damned, but his prying tongue distracted her, flitting across her lips, asking for—then demanding—permission to enter. All she could think was to keep her mouth shut, to not allow him access, but he persevered, opening her wide. It was the kind of possessive kiss she used to love. It set every part of her on fire. One of his hands found the nape of her neck and pressed her closer still, the other cupped her hip, toying with the string holding everything together there, threatening to drive her mad. With his mouth, he opened her again and again with a kind of need she felt herself. With a kind of need she had never wanted to feel again.

At least, not with Grant Drake.

He lifted her from the ground to get better leverage, and all at once, a surge of applause resounded from around them. The crowd was cheering them on, clapping and whistling as if they were at a rodeo instead of a kissing booth. No, they were cheering
him
on. Grant was in complete control of this situation. And she wasn’t about to let that continue. If he wanted a kiss, she would give him one. Wrapping one of her legs around his thigh, she clutched him, clinging to him in a way that might not have been suitable for the viewers at home. This was, supposedly, a family show after all. She allowed herself an ample handful of his taut rear. They could edit that out if they wanted, as long as they captured his reaction to it.