Matched (17 page)

“Guess that means me.” His head sags, but he’s quick to recover; a smile forms on his face, albeit a weak and far different smile than his usual one. “Let me get your plate, my gorgeous lil’ cook.”

He kisses my cheek and starts to clear the table. Callie obviously wanted to give us time alone, but honestly, I’m not sure what to say, so I remain mute.

When I finally look around me, everyone is back to doing their own thing—except one person. Cruz is still staring my way, a haunted look embedded in his features. I offer him a crooked smile that he doesn’t return. Instead, he asks, “You really all right?”

“Never better,” I reply quickly, needing a distraction now. “Hey, Em.” I glance over to Emma as Court hands her one of the fake wine coolers he asked me to grab. Jasmine notices too, and shoots me a nervous, quizzical look.

I got nothing on this interesting development.
Dare I gauge Cruz’s reaction?

I dare—and the night’s just getting weirder. He sees, but simply says to me, “Saw the label. She’ll get a stomachache before she manages to get drunk off a non-alcoholic cooler. Nice of ya.”

And I’m totally gonna let him think it was my idea.

“How about a drinkin’ game?” Wyatt suggests. “We’re all here, playin’ nice. Even Emma’s finally got a drink in her hand!”

Cruz opens his mouth, but I grab the salt shaker and hurl it at him. His hand flies up to catch it and he looks at me, his left eyebrow cocked. I gesture toward Emma and shake my head.
Let her have this.

Did he just stick his tongue out at me?

He sits back down, finishing his plate while everyone whoops and agrees a game is in order. Soon, the guys are lining the counters with bottles and cups.

“Let’s play seven minutes in heaven!” Emma squeals, clapping. “I’ve always wanted to play that!”

Before I can find something else to throw, Cruz is out of his chair and bent over Emma’s shoulder, his mouth at her ear.

Usually by this time, her head would be dropped, shoulders hunched in disappointment. Maybe it’s the placebo alcohol or some radical mutiny, but the storm on its way is tangible.

“Cruz!” It’s a shrill protest, accompanied by her hands on her hips and a continuously tapping foot. “Thirteen-year-olds play this game. Not
me
at that age, of course, but I
am
twenty-one years old now, and of sound mind! I’m gonna play. So are you, and you’re gonna like it, or so help me God, the minute you sleep, shower, or go off on an excursion, I’m gonna rip off my clothes and let every guy in this house pummel me!”

He just stands there. His head is ready to explode, I’m sure of it—and so is the rest of the room, judging by the captivated silence.

“Three minutes, not a whole seven,” he says finally. “And some are a fuck no. Come up with a rule to cover that.” He speaks calmly, but his fists are clenched at his sides, betraying his efforts.

“How about…if you refuse to go in with someone, everyone has to do a shot?” Peyton, resident diplomat and brains behind the madness, suggests.

A collective agreement is made, and the herd moves to the Great Room, armed with shot glasses, several bottles of liquor, and bad intentions.

Confessional: Wyatt Callahan

“You hear that shit? Seven—well, three—minutes in heaven. Now we’re talkin’! And in case you’re wonderin’, I plan to get a few of those good girls in there with me. Emma is pure sweetness, and Callie…a fuckin’ gymnast! But first, I need a taste of Jasmine. Girl’s been dodgin’ me since we met, but it’s only a matter of time before she gets tired of that punk ass Jensen. I mean, dude is plowin’ half the house, and she still has fuckin’ googly eyes for him.

“It’s her business—I want to fuck her, not marry her. She’s a goddamn porn star, and a helluva hot one at that. She did a scene one time with her and two other girls, in a barn…hay flyin’ everywhere. Damn, I can still remember every last orgasm in that one. Learned a few of my own techniques from it. Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t fooled around with any of her new friends. Might help loosen Harlow up a bit.

“And we all know Nadia’s down for threesomes. She and Ivy are a good time, but that fuckin’ comedian ain’t half as funny as she likes to think. I mean, who the hell cracks jokes when they’re ridin’ a guy’s face? Just shut up and enjoy it. No need to keep tryin’.

“Okay, let’s get serious for a second. I know I screw around a lot, but that doesn’t mean if the right girl presented herself I wouldn’t be interested in takin’ things further. Who knows? Court’s up my ass nonstop about gettin’ a girlfriend—some shit about me dampenin’ his pretty lil’ reputation. I call bullshit—I ain’t seein’ him lockin’ no chick down. But because it’s a free vacation and good for charity, which I’m all for, testin’ out this soulmate theory doesn’t sound so bad.

“I guess if I have one in the house, it’d probably be Jasmine. She really is a sweetheart. Jensen doesn’t deserve her, but someone does, so why can’t that be me? And just imagine all her girlfriends back home…and the parties. Oh yeah, it’s settled. That girl’s my soulmate.

“Now my brother, Court…he’s more discreet. He’s still gettin’ play here, no doubt, but he’s not one to brag. And honestly, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t gotten much more than his dick sucked. He’s not about fuckin’ a girl unless he’s interested, and there’s only one girl in this house he’d really give the time of day to. Let’s just say…Court has a thing for the sweet ones.

“Shit, they’re gonna start the game. Gotta go. Later!”

Chapter 11

As we get seated in something resembling a circle, Emma plops an empty beer bottle in the middle.

“Um, Emma? That’s Spin the Bottle,” Rachel taunts. “I thought you wanted to play seven minutes in heaven.”

“Um, Rachel, you still spin it to see who you go in the closet with. If the stupid could be kept to a minimum? Thanks,” Emma snips back, and I laugh like I’ll die if I don’t. Sassy lil’ thing has come out to play.

“I’ll go first.” Her eyes twinkle, the tip of her tongue poking out as she spins with all the gusto that could possibly come from her little body.

It lands on her brother, sitting bow-legged on the arm of the couch. We all do a shot, since they obviously both decline an incestuous visit to the closet. Cruz passes on his turn to spin, muttering something about needing a few more drinks first, so we all take a shot again. This game should be renamed How Many Shots Can You Take in Seven Minutes?

Not one to be upstaged, Nadia barges in the middle and spins. Of course, it lands on Oakley.

“No way! I saw you kick the bottle, Rachel,” Callie barks. “Spin it again, Nadia. And play fair, you desperate bitches!” She leaves no room for argument, but Rachel still tries.

“I didn’t kick anything. Did anyone else see me kick it?”

Slowly, everyone but Rachel’s, Nadia’s, and Ivy’s hands sneak into the air.

“Fine, but I didn’t mean to,” Rachel huffs. “Spin again, Nadia,” she hisses, making a production of tucking her legs under herself.

This time, the bottle lands on Ivy. My drink’s halfway to my mouth when they both stand and walk to the closet hand in hand, much to the delight of the men—well, some of the men, anyway. Peyton is barely able to contain his aggravation.
So much for his classy costar.

While we wait for their three minutes to pass, Oakley pours shots and starts handing them out.

“What is this?” My nose burns from the smell.

“Jägermeister. Good stuff. Slam it, baby.” And he does exactly that.

“I, uh…think I’ll stick to the flavored vodka. Mixing will make me sick.”
If the smell doesn’t first.

Ivy prances out and goes straight for the bottle, pointing at Cruz when it stops. We don’t have to drink, because he’s up and already headed to the closet behind her.

Guess he’s had enough to drink.

“Oakley, honey, you only have to drink if someone declines.” I place a hand on his arm, halting his next shot.

“Who cares about the game? I’m drinking to drink!” He holds his glass in the air, high fives Wyatt, and downs it. The fact that our dining-room chat may be to blame for his blatant obstinacy isn’t lost on me.

Emma teases Cruz as he reappears with Ivy close behind, touching her lips with two fingers. Peyton disapproves audibly this time, which I giggle at, while Emma reminds Cruz it’s his turn.

More often than not crazy and up to chance, life sometimes turns out as predictable as death and taxes. Which is why I’m not even remotely surprised when a pair of dancing blue eyes and the neck of a bottle are both aimed right at me.

Oakley’s hot, liquored-up breath is in my ear. “Go on, baby—be a good sport and help our cause. Just don’t kiss him.” He helps me up and slaps my butt.

“After you.” Cruz extends his arm.

“I’m not kissing you,” I bite under my breath as we walk, out of earshot.

“Of course you’re not. You’re fucking engaged. If you did, I’d be scandalized.” He opens the closet door, letting me go first. “And disappointed in you.”

It’s really dark in the closet with the door shut, and fidgeting’s obviously a bad idea, because I step on his foot. “Sorry.”

“Not a problem.”

“So what do we do?”

“Kissing’s out, so…you could tell me more about what kinds of weddings you hope to plan.”

Is he serious? I can’t see his face to know for sure. If he’s making fun of me, I swear to God!

But what if he’s not?

“I’m really asking, Harlow.” It’s not a whisper, but it’s hushed and throaty.

“Um…it’s not about what I want to plan, but more about making a bride’s dreams come true. Cheesy, I know.” Thankfully, he can’t see the blush I feel creeping up my face. Even though I’m shrouded in darkness, I’ve never felt more exposed.

“Nah, I think it’s sweet,” he says, and I feel his hand on my arm, his thumb slowly caressing it.
A friendly touch, that’s it
, I tell myself. “From what I hear, a wedding should be special, and you want to make that happen. Nothing cheesy about that.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, chewing on my bottom lip.

“So you’re a romantic, huh?”

“I guess,” I breathe, my pulse hurried.

His hand travels up until it reaches my cheek, reverent and tender. “Yeah, you are.”

“Time!” Screams find their way in and I clear my throat, fumbling for the doorknob.

His breath hits my neck as the door opens. “I got it.”

I squint against the light and dig out a shy “Thank you” from somewhere. What the hell was that? It was deeper and more intense than any kiss could’ve been.

I need a shot ASAP.

I rush back to my seat, but am quickly berated with reminders it’s my turn to spin before I can sit or find a glass. I take my turn begrudgingly and land on Peyton.

With a smile, I stand and head back to the cramped space. Never once do I look to Cruz, but I feel his stare hard against my back.

Peyton is the most sensible guy in the house—not a bit scary.

Until he kisses you.

“Peyton, what the hell?” I push him away and hear him bump into the closet wall.

“Had to find out. Knew you wouldn’t,” he explains rapidly, tugging on the cord dangling from the light above us.
Huh, there’s a light. Who knew?
“Listen, we know you’re not Oakley’s soulmate. I want to win, and according to my calculations, my possible matches are down to three—one of which is you. So I was checking for a spark.”

“And?” I snap.

“You tell me.”

“Nothing. Sorry.” It’s not like I gave him much of a chance; his lips were on mine for a total of zero point two seconds, max. But still, there was nothing there, and I don’t feel guilty for being honest.

“Me either!” he says with too much excitement.
Rude
. “Sorry. I just meant I can narrow it down to two now. I’ve about got this whole thing wrapped up. Oh, and please don’t tell Oakley.”

“Time!” I dart out the door the second I hear it, avoiding Oakley’s eyes.

Peyton spins and lands on Cruz. Everyone laughs.
Man, he picked the hot seat.
“Keep fucking spinning,” he rumbles, taking a shot.

Peyton spins a second time and lands on Wyatt. “I’m done. This game’s for kids,” he gripes, walking out.

“Dumbass!” Wyatt yells, snaring the bottle. He sends it twirling, and we all watch it come to a stop on Jasmine. “Finally! Damn, thought I’d never get my hands on you, sweetness.”

“Shit,” Jasmine mutters.

“Go on, it’s all good.” Jensen pushes her up.

“You don’t have to,” I murmur.

Slowly, her smile emerges. “It’s just a game. Besides, maybe this is the best way to find out who we connect with.”

“Maybe,” is all I say, watching her take Wyatt’s hand and lead the way to the closet.

“Have fun!” Jensen cackles.

Wyatt glances back, smug and misogynistic, with an extra bounce in his step. “Bet your ass we will.” He then adds in a shout, “Fuckin’ porn queen, hell yeah!”

And thus begins the tortuous three minutes. That’s what I’m expecting, at least, until we hear noises seeping through the closed door. Callie and I exchange wary glances, undecided on what exactly we’re hearing.

“Is she…giggling?” Oakley finally asks, nearly doubling over with laughter himself. “Shit, Court, what the hell’s your brother doing to make her laugh?”

“Hell if I know,” Court answers detachedly, sitting back and relaxing.

The door flies open and all our heads turn simultaneously. We watch Jasmine stroll out, licking her lips and wearing a devious smirk. Wyatt trails behind, noticeably flustered, his eyes to the ground.

“Do we
want
to know?” Emma asks bravely.

Jasmine shrugs. “Just proved some boys don’t know how to handle a real woman.” She looks to Wyatt, who’s still staring at the floor. “FYI, I prefer a man.”

It’s the oddest sound from across the room—almost a snort—and when I look over, I’m stunned to learn Adam actually has the capability to form a full, entire-face-inclusive smile. It looks good on him.