Walk of Shame (21 page)

"Who's the victim
today?" Jared asked with a wink as I forked a bite of breakfast into my
mouth.

I smiled up at him.
"You."

"Awesome." He left the
room to go change.

I looked around at the six
remaining guys in the room and noticed there was a suitor missing.
"Where's Trevor?"

Looks were exchanged around the room
and my eyes followed them all.

"All right, someone talk.
Now," I said.

Even the camera and sound guys in
the corner of the room shifted on their feet.

Phillip sighed. "He woke up
in a mood, let some words fly, and then decided to separate himself from the
group."

"Where is he?"

"He's in his room,"
Ardent answered.

I put my fork down and headed for
the stairs. No one else moved. I could hear their silence follow me up the
steps and down the hall.

Everyone's names were on the
doors, for benefit of the camera crews. I didn't see his name on any of the
second floor rooms, so I went up to the third and found it. I gave a warning
knock and stepped inside the room.

Trevor was sitting in a chair,
staring out the window. I quietly moved to go lean against the windowsill, deliberately
putting myself in his line of sight. He blinked a few times and shook his head
as his mind came back into the present and he focused on me.

"Hey," he said.   

"Hey. I hear you woke up on
the wrong side of the bed this morning."

"Yeah, you could say
that."

"Yeah, I get moody sometimes
too.  Mine's PMS, you got PMS?"

He grinned. "I really don't
think so."

"So what makes you such a
yeller sometimes?"

"I come from a loud family.
And they curse, a lot. I don't even realize when I'm getting loud and the
language has surpassed politically correct boundaries. It's when they start
looking at each other with odd looks on their faces that I realize and pull
myself away."

"Why pull away instead of
just going silent?"

"Because once I get started,
it's hard to stop. So I walk away."

It'd sounded like a rehearsed
answer to me. I took a step closer to him. "But you're okay now?"

He let his gaze travel my body
and he reached out for my hand. "Yeah."

I let him pull me down onto his
lap. Our mouths collided in a quick but thorough kiss. "I've got to
go," I whispered against his neck, after I'd pulled away.

He sighed. "Yeah. Go."

I gave him a quick hug, and left
the room to find the bathroom. I took one step into the bathroom and walked
right back out. I went down the back set of steps and snuck into the ground
floor bathroom that production staff was responsible for cleaning. I touched up
my makeup, smoothed down my hair, and set back out into the kitchen.

"Did all go well?"
Jared asked.

"Yep. You ready to go?"

"Absolutely."

I made my goodbyes with the other
guys and Jared and I headed out to the waiting car.

"Where are we going?"
Jared asked after we'd buckled ourselves in and the driver pulled away from the
curb.

I smiled, gave him my best sultry
look, and leaned over the center seat. He matched my grin and met me halfway.
His fingers threaded into my hair, cupping the back of my head...

"Water balling," I said
when we came up for air, the restrictions of the seatbelts cutting us short.

"What?"

"That's what we're
doing."

"Yeah, but what is it?"

I smiled. "Human hamster
balls. They're inflated and you run them out over the water."

"Wait, so we're literally
going to be walking on water?"

"In a manner of
speaking."

"Truly awesome."

The water balling had to have been
the most fun activity I'd done yet, since arriving. The only problem with it
was that while we played with each other and our balls, we were in separate
balls. We couldn't really speak to each other, and therefore couldn't really
form any more of a bond with one another. So, after our time in the balls was
done, I let him take me fishing in a little, secluded, shaded section of the
same lake we'd been on.

He rented the equipment and hauled
it over. Then he baited my hook for me. All stuff I could have done for myself,
but I was letting him do his whole southern gentleman thing.

"Are you going to get the
flopping fish off my hook when I catch them, too?" I asked.

He smiled and said, "Yes,
Ma'am," in his southern drawl.

"What about skinning and filleting?
Are you going to do that for me, too?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

I leaned over and nudged his
shoulder with mine. "Shouldn't you be using this as an opportunity to see
if I already possess those skills, as well as an immunity to the yuck factor
involved?"

He leaned down and pressed his
lips to my ear. "I'll skin them. I'll gut them. All I care is that you're
by my side while I'm doing it."

Oh. My. God.
I melted
against him. I couldn't have cared less what he'd said. It was the accent said
in a husky whisper against my ear. It's like he'd hit a raw nerve ending with
his voice, but in a very, very good way. I held the pole with one hand and
reached for him with the other.

He let out a chuckle and wedged
the handle of his pole under his thigh so he could reach for me with both
hands. We spent a chunk of our rental time lip-locked with one another.

He did skin and filet the one
fish we'd managed to catch. And when we'd walked the equipment back up to the
office, we found charcoal, a lighter, and a fish cooking kit with a small vial
of oil and a small vial of spice blend.

We went to one of the charcoal fire
pits by the picnic pavilion and cooked our catch. We talked, laughed, and
flirted shamelessly. He shared more with me about how the swamp really played a
part in the livelihoods of all his family members. Not only did his sister make
those pieces with a swamp flower preserved in resin, but his family also owned
a portion of swampland. They gave educational tours, wildlife demonstrations,
and lectures about the area.

He kept himself tethered from
there, returning between ecology gigs, to come back and share what he'd
learned.

"I was thinking," he
said when we sat down to eat, "you asked me where we'd put the kids."

"Yeah?"

"Let's keep two fifth wheels.
One of them we'll work in. I'll be in the kitchen area, you work in the living
room, the bedroom can be extra storage in general, or even a laundry room. The
other we can get one of those two-bedroom deals, and we'll live in that
one."

I think my eyes lit up a little.
"You know, that could really work."

I couldn't freaking keep my hands
off him on the way back to the property. My hand was constantly on a shoulder,
a hand, a thigh. I had enjoyed every moment of my time with him, and I was
sorely tempted to invite him back to the cottage. But I'd had to stop myself
from extending the offer, because I knew exactly what I'd end up wanting to do
with him once I got him there.

I was becoming
convinced that I was slowly losing my mind along the way to total insanity.

I heard the splash before I saw
the man responsible for it. My eyes started searching in the dark as I came
through the last of the overgrowth on the path. I saw the silhouette, but
couldn't quite make out who it was. "Hiding out over here?" I asked,
figuring it would be a valid, slightly flirtatious, question no matter which
one it was.

"No," Trevor said,
swimming closer. "Just waiting to see you."

I gave him a tentative smile. It
bothered me that he was the one that had the mood swings and verbally lashed
out at the other guys. I'd dropped the subject with the others, once I realized
that they all had to hold the offender in some sort of respect in order to put
up with it. There was also the idea that they had all stopped commenting on it,
which I took to mean that whoever it was, was managing the problem.

But, to find out that it was
Trevor. The one that liked to hide in shadows and wait for me... I couldn't
tell if he was just trying to steal time, or if he was in the habit of hanging
around to see if I made it back to the cottage alone. Was he bending the rules
to his advantage, or was he outright stalking? And if he was spying, was that
his natural inclination - because that wasn't going to fly with me - or was it
just old Army habits dying hard.

The few times Mike had done it,
had felt like old habits. But with Trevor, I just didn't know. On one hand, it almost
felt stalker-ish. On the other hand, if he had been a part of special ops, like
he'd hinted at, and if he didn't want me to know he was there, then I wouldn't.
But that particular thought didn't make me feel any better. I mean, were there
times he stalked and he didn't want me to know it?

"You feeling better?" I
asked.

"Yeah, I just needed a break
from it all. There're a lot of people to contend with in that house."

"Yeah," I agreed.
"It's a lot of different personalities trying to get along over
there."

"You up for a swim?"
Trevor asked.

"Yeah. Just give me a few
minutes to change," I answered and went towards the door.

I went upstairs in search of my
swimsuit. I was completely thrown off by today's revelation. I didn't know if I
could really be comfortable around Trevor now, or not.

Maybe he was having a hard time
transitioning from employee to cast member, which made it hard for me just to
dismiss him. Completely changing your identity within an established group
couldn't be easy. I had to wonder what his friends outside of the show would
have to say about him and his actions. I guessed, if he kept easing his way
into my heart, I'd spend a little extra time with his family and friends and
get some answers from them about how he is away from all the cameras and
competitors.

I slipped into my suit and went
back out to play in the pool for a while.

He kept it light between us that
night. He joked and carried on to the point that I was afraid my laughter would
carry over to the main house and draw an audience.

Maybe he was compensating for my
finding out that he was the one having the mood swings. But maybe he was just
continuing to try to show me another side to him. He'd been so conscious of
showing me his work, telling me about his family, treating me well, and looking
out for me. It was nice to see him relax and play a little. Maybe he was
settling in and the stress of it was lessening for him.

When he left
that night, after a lingering goodbye, I decided that while I wouldn't be
tossing him an article of white clothing over being in a bad mood from time to
time, I would be keeping my eye on him.

Liam was working full force in
the kitchen making eggs, bacon, home fries, and cutting fresh melon.

"Damn," I said after
I'd tasted the wonderful concoction of spices and veggies cooked into the
scrambled eggs. "I need to start awarding bonus points for those who can
cook."

Mike's head perked up. "How
many points?"

I shrugged. "I might start
ranking it right under how well I'm treated and how well your lifestyle melds
with mine."

"Well, shit, I'm
screwed," Stephen muttered over his plate. "I can't cook. I keep two
portable freezers filled with premade stuff."

Phillip bounded down the stairs.
"I'm ready when you are, Princess Emmaline."

My smile turned full wattage.
Phillip had started this bit a few days ago where he was holding my eyes longer
with his, winking at me when the others weren't looking, and now the princess
comment. Little flirtations made in the presence of the others. And damn, I
thought it was hot. I liked his growing confidence. Others had their own way of
staking their claim, whether it was by Trevor stealing nighttime conversations
and a date, Mike and his morning runs, or Liam and his hot tub make out
session. I'd figured cooking was Phillip's, but now he was upping his game.

"It's a little early to be
leaving," I answered. "But, I could send production scrambling to
find us a round of mini-golf somewhere," I offered.

"Sounds like a plan,"
he said with a smile.

I pulled out
my cell phone and sent a text.

I tried to feel bad about my
returning his flirting in front of the others by offering him an extra
activity. But, as I hit the ball into the third hole of the course, I just
couldn't find it in myself.

While I'd wanted to be careful,
to be respectful of everyone and not show favoritism  at any other time than at
the Walk of Shame, I also thought it only fair for them to see that they
weren't the only ones getting flirted with. I didn't want any of them to think
that they were the only ones I was stealing time with, or was letting time be
stolen by.

At some point here soon, I was
going to be forced to let go of guys that I'd flirted with, kissed, and enjoyed
stolen moments with. I didn't want them all shocked and shaken by it because
they thought they were the only one, and therefore the favorite.

"Damn," Phillip said as
he swung towards the eighth hole.

"What?"

"This almost feels like a
normal date."

I smiled. "I know. That was
the point. You've been domesticated before. I wanted to get a taste of normal,
everyday downtime with you."

He put the club down and stepped back.
"You want to see how well wife number one trained me."

"Of course. If she did a
good job with you, she'll have saved me a ton of work."

He shrugged, but there was a
sparkle in his eyes. "I handled the kitchen. She cleaned the rest of the
house."

"Did she not know how to
cook?"

"She could cook, but she
didn't like doing it. She said it was too much work for something that would be
chewed up and flushed down the toilet, making it impossible to enjoy the
accomplishment long-term."

A soft quiet fell between us as
we finished putting the hole.

"Dishes, trash, and
laundry," I declared as he took his first stroke towards the next hole.

"What's that?"

"The three banes of my adult
existence. Dishes, trash, and laundry."

"Why?"

"Because, as soon as you're
done with all three, they all start accumulating again. You eat a meal, change
your clothes, or throw something away. It drives me crazy."

"I'll do the dishes and take
out the trash. You handle the laundry."

I laughed. "That gets rid of
two out of three. Sounds like a deal to me."

We'd made it back to the car and
were heading to our true date destination when he came out with, "You can
thank my mother for the cooking."

"How's that?" I asked.

"She was a head chef back
home. She had to fight tooth and nail for it, too. She spent all her time in
the kitchen, working on different recipes. I used to go in and chop onions and
babysit simmering pots for her all the time."

"You two bonded in the
kitchen."

His face turned soft.
"Yes."

I burst out laughing.

"What's funny?"

"That's what I was hoping
for tonight."

He raised an eyebrow and smirked.
"You want to bond with me?"

I matched his naughty smile.
"In the kitchen."

His eyes swept over me.
"I'll bond with you in any room you want."

I maybe blushed a little before I
realized the car had pulled into a parking spot.

"Where are we?" he
asked.

"Grand Central Market. There
are all kinds of food stalls and vendors here. We can sample some things for
lunch, and buy ingredients for dinner."

"And where are we going to
be cooking this dinner?"

"Back in my cottage."

"Ah, I've cooked there
before."

"Yes, but this time I'll be
cooking with you."

Lunch was a delicious combination
of items from three different vendors. We also decided to cook Mexican for
dinner and spent the afternoon browsing for supplies.

We carried our bags into the
cottage while a cameraman walked through the doorway backwards in front of us.
The sound guy opened the door for him, but the cameraman's feet tripped on the
edge of the entryway carpet and he went down on his rear end.

Our eyes widened, our mouths
dropped open, and Phillip and I glanced at each other just before we busted out
laughing.

"Are you okay?" Phillip
asked him between chuckles.

"Yeah," the guy groaned
as he stood and tried to straighten. "Oh... no... not fine," he said
and grabbed at his lower back with his free hand and tried to maintain the
balance of the camera on his shoulder.

We quit laughing and Phillip
lifted the camera from the guy's shoulder.

The camera guy hit the floor
again.

Phillip turned towards the second
camera crew that had been filming us from the side and called for a medic,
knowing that other production members were watching from one of the trailers.

My pocket buzzed with a text from
Troy, 'OMW'.

It took twenty minutes for the
medics to get up to the cottage and decide that while nothing blatant appeared
to be wrong with the cameraman, who was now up and gingerly walking around, he
should probably go into the ER and get a couple x-rays taken. They got him
cleared out and a replacement camera guy brought in. And once he was briefed on
the general plan of the evening, we were allowed to continue with our date.

The actual cooking portion of the
evening breezed on by, with the two of us working quite well together. We made
enough for the two camera crews and left it in the kitchen as we made our way
to the dining table. We thought it only fair to feed them after them having to
smell the wondrous food fumes that had been coming from the kitchen for the
last hour and a half.

"So," Phillip said,
pouring the margaritas we'd made to go with our Mexican dishes, "I told
you how I'd gotten my name."

"Right. You're named for
your Daddy's homeland."

"Yes. So now you tell me
where the name Emmaline came from."

"Dad wanted to name me
Emily. Mom wanted to name me Caroline. Emmaline was the compromise they came up
with."

"And we've all been calling
you Emma for short, because Troy does. Is that what you generally go by?"

"Em, Emmy, Emma, and
Emmaline. My family has used them all and I just answer to it all. What about
you? Does anybody call you Phil?"

"Some people I've worked
with have. But everyone in my family calls me Phillip. I don't really know
why."

And back and forth, we talked.
Siblings, parents, best friends, and childhood antics. We were getting past the
superficial, introductory stuff about our lives and finally digging deeper. We
were learning about what actually made the other one tick, so to speak. It felt
good.

In many ways, I'd felt like a CD
stuck on repeat. Sharing the same information and details about my life, over
and over again. Now, I was getting to the point with the guys that I was
sharing stories that directly pertained to the individual conversations, so
each conversation went in its own direction and each set of stories I shared was
different.

The only problem was, as each guy
pulled at different aspects of my life, my heart was pulled in just as many
directions. And Phillip was pulling hard for his very own piece of it.

We carried the dishes back into
the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher. We packed up the leftovers and wiped
down the counters. And then, he backed me against the cabinets and lifted me up
to set me on the counter, to bring my mouth level with his. Then he drew
forward, but dodged my mouth in favor of my earlobe and neck.

Good Lord
, there was
something about him and his approach that made me feel all warm and
disgustingly gooey inside. Maybe this was why so many younger women fell for
older men. Because, I have to tell you, if I fell for him, it was going to be a
hard and fast happening.

By the time his lips finally
landed on mine, I was humming with slow moans.

No kidding, this was turning into
a sexually frustrating week.

There was no
way I would ever have sex with everyone that had put me on the verge of a
frenzy this week. But the constant state of self-denial, because I was standing
firm in my clothes-on policy, was wearing on me. And I couldn't tell if I was
just hot to trot because I wasn't crossing the line with anybody, or because
the producers had done such a good job in matching me up.