And then Alexis’s body did something strange. It seized up all at once. Her breath caught in her throat, and a cry broke out before she could stop it. Her hands fisted in the sheets, her thighs clamped around Birdie’s face, and she arched her back.
It felt like a crash, like she was jumping out of a plane with a parachute tied to her back, feeling blissfully adventurous, only to realize halfway down that she’d imagined the parachute. The panic was immediate, hot, crawling up her spine until it completely replaced the delicious feeling from earlier.
What the hell had she been thinking? How could she let Birdie touch her like that? How could she have loved every minute of what just happened, and not simply loved in the way you loved ice cream, but the kind of love that made you want to claw at your own skin because it wasn’t enough? It would never be enough. And how could she have thought it was a good idea to sleep with one of the contestants when she was back here for redemption? The entire point of her being here was to rebuild her image, not torch it in a single night.
“You should go,” Alexis said, her breath ragged, her body still trembling. She rolled away from Birdie toward the end of the bed.
“Are you serious?” Birdie asked, frowning hard. She was still kneeling at the foot of the bed, her breasts brushing against the soft cotton duvet.
“Yes,” Alexis said, nodding. She didn’t get up. She simply shielded her body away from Birdie as if turning her back could turn back time. “Before anyone finds out you’re here.”
“You can’t seriously kick me out already?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Alexis said. “I need you to go.”
Birdie’s jaw dropped and then closed. But she didn’t say anything; she only shook her head before she stood up and gathered her pajamas from the floor.
“See you tomorrow,” Birdie muttered, raking her fingers through her hair. And then she shot Alexis one last look before she opened the door and slipped out of the room.
Alexis held her breath and waited. When she was sure the footsteps had died down completely, she pulled the sheet over her body, which was still fizzing like she’d been struck by lightning and hadn’t quite recovered. She muttered to the ceiling, “Fantastic. Congratulations, Alexis, you’ve officially fucked up again.”
She dragged the sheet higher over her chest and squeezed her eyes shut. Birdie had smelled like Dolce & Gabbana again. Delicious and decadent. Which made Alexis furious. Infuriated, in fact, because that smell was so familiar, a smell that had technically never left her nose since Portland.
“Ugh!” she groaned and flopped over onto her stomach. “You’re out of your damn mind.” Her voice was muffled in the pillow, but the words were wholly correct. She was out of her mind. Birdie wasn’t supposed to be here. She was supposed to remain in Portland, and Alexis was never supposed to think of her again, let alone see her… let alone sleep with her.
And yet, she wanted her again. She wanted her mouth against hers, her teeth on her shoulder, her body flush against her. Which was dangerous. Treasonous even. Alexis should be thinking about the next lavender ceremony, about strategy,about her redemption arc, and about how the world was watching her every move. And instead, she was lying here, stark naked, imagining how quickly she could get Birdie back in this bed, maybe even tonight.
“No.” She rolled onto her back again and shook her head so hard the pillow slipped sideways.Absolutely not. Birdie goes home. Next ceremony, she’s gone.
Usually, she didn’t talk out loud to herself. But sometimes exceptions had to be made. She needed some sort of sounding board that gave her the illusion of clarity, and Birdie going home was the only option. The smart option. Alexis was not going to impede her second chance for redemption because of one Dolce & Gabbana-scented woman. Nope. She dragged the sheet higher and covered her flushed face, hoping the Egyptian cotton would save her from herself.
Unfortunately, the universe wasn’t so merciful.
Chapter Twelve
Birdie sat on the edge of a velvet armchair, knees pulled in just enough to make herself small, but not so small that she became entirely invisible. Not that some invisibility was a bad thing considering all the girls were going a little crazy. They’d been rounded up in the living room and told to wait until the next date was announced.
The producers probably found it amusing to have nine women crammed together like Mentos dropped into a can of cola, ready to explode.
Birdie, however, did not find it one bit amusing.
She considered picking out a book from the bookcase, maybe one she’d already read likePride and Prejudice.At least Mr. Darcy was predictable. Instead, she settled on being in the moment and taking in the room. The overstuffed throw pillows were mustard yellow and deep teal. The hand-painted ceramic vases held sprigs of lavender, pale pink peonies, and wild chamomile that bobbed in the breeze from the open balcony doors. The sunlight glinted off the gold-edged frames of the watercolor paintings on the walls. The artist’s signature was barely recognizable at the bottom of the canvas.
She would’ve appreciated the details more if her thoughts hadn’t kept drifting back to Alexis. To the way her skin had felt under Birdie’s fingers. The way her lips tasted. The way Alexis had recoiled from her and promptly told her to get the hell out of her bedroom. Unfortunately, that part of the memory made her heart kick against her ribs.
“You know,” Louise said, sinking into the tufted chaise beside Birdie. “Isabelle put a hundred-dollar bet that the nextdate is a wine tasting. She reckons we stomped the grapes yesterday, so why not drink the wine today? Want to join in on the bet? Maybe up the stakes?”
Birdie shook her head.
Louise seemed unbothered by Birdie’s mood and crossed one leg over the other. “Were you in the kitchen last night?” she asked, her eyes fixed on Lyra and Nina, who were huddled over a hand-carved chess set in the corner.
Birdie felt her stomach squeeze tight. Yes, she’d been in the kitchen. But she’d also snuck out of it with Alexis. She didn’t answer. She simply stared ahead at Nina and Lyra, who didn’t seem to know what they were doing. Nina flicked pawns forward like checkers, and Lyra had just sent a rook sailing diagonally across half the board. Birdie didn’t play chess, but even she knew rooks weren’t supposed to move like that.
“I thought I heard your voice,” Lyra added.
Birdie swallowed hard. “My voice?” Even a deaf man could hear the wobble in her voice. Louise noticed it too. She arched her brows, and Birdie knew she’d fucked up.
But then Louise shrugged and said, “Could’ve been anyone,” and stretched her hand into the sunlight, turning it this way and that as if she were inspecting a diamond rather than her French manicure. “There was no one in the kitchen when I got there. Thought I was imagining things. But someone left a bowl of half-eaten Cocoa Puffs, so I guess not. Wonder which of these girls is a midnight snacker.”
