“That was before yousavedme tonight.”
“Shhh, slow down, listen,” I urged, prickling with panic at his rising voice. “I’m trying to say that if we… get intimate, then we should both be sure. And probably sober.”
“Sober, right,” he repeated, volume mercifully dropping.
“Plus, hiding from the cameras… I can’t do that again.”
He rubbed his eyes, the implications finally settling in, rum be damned. “I’m an idiot. I didn’t even think…”
He dutifully moved to rise, but I couldn’t let him go like that, not so humiliated. “You’re not an idiot. It’s just a tricky situation. Like, if we had privacy and weren’t being recorded in a room of bunk beds?” I smiled half-heartedly. “I swear I’m saying nobecauseI think you’re really special.”
“I’m nothing special,” he muttered. “Big old train wreck…”
“Shawn, that’s not true.”
He bit his lip, searching for words that didn’t come, and our sweaty chests grazed as he crawled over me. Soon only his scent lingered, my sheets bathed in a cocktail of sweat, liquor, and (inexplicably) citrus. I lay there after he’d left, convincing myself I’d made the right choice, even though my dick was harder in his wake than when he’d just been beside me.
We’d lasted a whopping four days as “friends,” but time moves so differently when you’re imprisoned with twenty people. I never imagined when I left for Italy that some guy would kiss me a week later, and I didn’t know whether to be proud or ashamed. Or was I just nudging Shawn into a vacant slot in my mind (to say nothing of my bed) because I didn’t know how to be alone?
One restless hour later, I sought refuge from the infinite heat in the kitchen. At least there I wouldn’t be caught spooning a drunken twentysomething. I opened the refrigerator for relief, just like when the AC broke every summer of my childhood. “Momentary reprieve?”
I peered through the doorway to find Erika in the dim lamplight of the living room, legs crossed and spine straight, defying the leather couch’s sunken cushions.
“I… I didn’t know anyone else was up,” I stuttered. “I’ll leave you alone.”
“No, come practice with me.” She waved me over, a jigsaw puzzle of Hieronymus Bosch’s paintingThe Garden of Earthly Delightssprawled across the table.
I willed myself not to see Arjun’s face in the warm light caressing her profile. The refined cheekbones, the arched nose, the vivid eyes… “Practice?”
“Why would production plant this if it didn’t eventually affect the game? They needsomeoneto figure it out. Besides, you can’t dispute the theme.”
I eyed the contorted bodies and perverse monsters twisting through the pastel hellscape. “That one looks like Greta,” I said, tapping a blond woman who writhed nude on an amphibious blue cat. “Watch out for her, by the way. She encouraged the Devil girls to vote you in.”
Erika shrugged, unbothered. “She just wants the money divided amongst the fewest people. It’s strange anyone thinks I’ll make it that far though. I’ve never won a season.”
“What? You’re in amazing shape.”
“Rarely feels like it,” she chuckled. “I wasn’t a gym rat until a few years ago. Once the networkfinallygave me a shot, I knew getting shredded was the only way I’d stay in the casting pool. I’m hardly a drama queen, after all, and nobody ever has my back except Imogen. Still, I’ve been training especially hard for this one. Season 20 feels like a good one to win. Shawn and I have that in common, I guess, wanting to proveourselves,” she said tentatively. “You gave him a lot of confidence tonight. It was sweet.”
I stared at the puzzle, unable to respond.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she murmured. “Sorry.”
“No,I’msorry, Erika… I’ve spent days trying to find words to apologize for everything, for Barnes—”
“You don’t owe anyone an apology for him,” she interjected. “Yes, it’s complicated, but you’re not eternally responsible for every single thing he’s done. Not in my opinion anyway.”
“That’s much more generous than I deserve.”
“Luke, I saw yourAdvocateinterview two years ago. When you said you’d love your kids whether they were trans or not? And wasn’t individual choice the foundation of the Republican Party? Other people might not have cared about that, but I did.”
I shook my head, even more ashamed now. “Erika, you should hate me.”
“Why?”
I wondered how she could ask that question as his name punched from my gut. “Arjun.”
“How could I possibly hate you for Arjun?” Her grimace of sympathy hurt more than if she’d screamed at me.
