He recoiled, shaking his head. “Just remember I haven’t steered anybody here wrong once. Unlike the rest of you, I know my role.”
He stormed out with Troy’s team following, and I whipped to the others. “We’re not jeopardizing Erika.”
“Of course not,” Melange agreed. “And she needs to know PB’s off his leash.”
“Okay, you and Shawn do that,” I said. “Imogen, you’re still the only one who might convince Camdon to vote for Jiamin or at least burn his vote. Make him see this is how he gets out from under Aspen’s thumb.” I dropped my voice. “You know, with thepancakes…”
“You seriously believed that?” Imogen asked. “I once saw Aspen get his own age wrong. I don’t quite buy him as a secret kingpin.”
“She’s right. Homeboy’s a walking piece of candy corn,” added Melange.
I breathed deep. “Then it’s time to cross the Iron Curtain and find out for sure.”
After thirty minutes, Aspen was still kicking away, furiously swimming laps in the hotel’s indoor pool. He’d been middle of the pack every competition, but in the water he was a different athlete. I languished with abarely cracked copy of Marco Polo’s in-house magazine in a deck chair, zoning out as the creamsicle dolphin did laps and dreading this whole reconnaissance mission. At last, he hauled himself from the pool, glistening in his comically tiny white Speedo. My moment had come. “Wow, Aspen, look at you go!”
He halted, hackles rising in suspicion. “Where you want me to go?”
Just when I thought I’d hit rock bottom, I found the sub-basement. “I just meant you’re great in the water. Did you train in swimming as a kid—”
“I will not fuck you,” he stated. “No matter how much you watch me.”
I winced, humiliated my lurking had yielded that conclusion. “I… don’t want you to. Actually, I wanted to talk about the game. We may have some things in common—”
“Nothing in common. I play quiet, you play loud. I show no cards, you show all cards. I like pussy, you are cocksucker,” he said, matter-of-fact as could be. “All different.”
“That’s hard to dispute, but have you talked to your partner? She’s volunteering—”
“For Trial, yes. It is what is. I will fight whether she does or not.” He shrugged.
I genuinely couldn’t tell which of us was worse at this. Hail Mary time. “I know what you did with Camdon and Royce.”
He frowned. “You know nothing.”
“I do, and you might be in big trouble if that info gets out.”
“No,” he spat, agitated now. “There is no footage.”
Finally an admission. “It could still get you banned from the show.”
“Nobody bans you and the porno boy!”
“Wait—what?”
He charged close, his voice a furious hiss. “We three were drunk in bathroom once, two years ago! No kissing, just the jackoff!”
“… I see.” A clandestine circle jerk hadn’t been what I expected to uncover here.
“Fuck your gray letter!” he snarled.
“My gray letter?”
“Your gray lettering.”
Ah. “I wasn’t trying to blackmail you—”
But he was gone, the glass door swinging behind him as I dug my fingers into my hair. If there even was a bribery ring, Imogen was correct to doubt Aspen had initiated it. Had PB cooked up this fiction just to keep us in line? And if so, how many other lies had he told me?
“You areverynot smooth.” A throaty voice simmered behind the potted palm several chairs down. Tati emerged in one of her troll kaftans, hair pulled back and a sketchpad in hand.
