“Yeah, that’s perfect. More of that. Thanks.” The producer then walks off.
“Everyone, please put your blindfolds on,” Miranda instructs, “and we will begin.”
I tie my blindfold behind my head. The world instantly swallows me into darkness, leaving me with my thundering heart. The fabric presses against my lashes. The scent of chlorine sharpens with my hearing. Someone laughs nervously, while another nearby shifts on their feet.
I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, trying to stay calm as footsteps move around me.
What could go wrong? I already know how this will play out. Scott will kiss me, maybe someone else, but that’s a stretch, and then it’ll be over.
My only concern currently is who I will choose to kiss. On the one hand, Scott is familiar, but that would only further complicate how I feel about him. Choosing someone else, however—someone I don’t have any emotional ties to—would be the easy way out but could easily backfire on me if I don’t choose the right person. Then again, it could fire up Scott, regardless. It’d have to be someone Scott doesn’t find threatening but who I don’t think I could form any attachment to.
The first selection must have been made because I hear tentative footsteps, then the soft, wet sounds of lips meeting.
My stomach churns. I feel like I’ve walked in on a couple’s make-out session.
We’re all standing here, forced to listen to each other kiss, well, each other. For those not affected emotionally, it’s invasive. But for those who are… I can’t imagine the humiliation they must or will be feeling or the fallout that’s taking place, and what’s to come, beyond my blindfold.
I hear more footsteps. They’re getting distant. Not knowing what’s happening, who’s finished or beginning, is driving me nuts.
Then I hear kissing close to my right. This sounds hungry. Someone moans. If I remember correctly, Valerie was standing to my right. That could be her. The question is, who’s kissing her?
I fold my arms around myself, holding tight like that might keep me from falling apart or, better yet, help me disappear.
I flinch slightly when I feel a light tap on my shoulder.
My pulse spikes.
My turn? Already?
I slide the blindfold off my face, blinking against the sudden sunlight. Eleven people stand frozen around me, eyes covered. I can’t help but look over at Scott. Solid. Still. As if anticipating what’s to come. The rigidness in his posture, the barely contained storm he holds back in his presence.
The longer I stare, the more I realize how easy it’d be to just take the short step forward, reach for him, and give in to his kiss again. Just thinking about it makes me melt. But, choosing him would only open another can of worms I’m not ready to confront. Would only confirm what he believes about me, about us. That there’s still a chance after so long apart.
I’m not going to give him the upper hand.
I move carefully as my gaze slides past him and to the other male contestants. But only one of them makes the most sense to me in this situation. Sure it might piss off Kylie, but I don’t have much choice but to choose Zayne.
He is attractive in his own right as well as fun to be around, but that’s not the reason why I’m choosing him. I’m kissing him because he’s the safe choice, an easy choice. I have no history with him; he’s uncomplicated. As far as I know, he hasn’t given Scott any reason to hate him. I also have no romantic feelings for him. On top of that, because he’s on a completely different end of the circle as Scott, Zayne will never know it was me, and Scott won’t know who I kissed instead of him.
I cross the circle on unsteady legs, acutely aware of Scott going rigid at the corner of my eyes. But I keep going.
I barely give Zayne time to react—or myself time to lose my nerve—before I lean in and kiss him with a gentle touch to his lips.
Yeah, he’s not for me.
The guy knows what he’s doing, the pressure is right, and the angle practiced. He tastes like spearmint and simplicity. But there’s no pull. No spark. Nothing in me reaches, much less craves, for more.
It’s like kissing a polite stranger. Which is exactly what I need.
When I pull back, the emptiness is immediate and cold. I leave him where he stands and walk back to my place in the circle before putting the blindfold back over my eyes.
Darkness quickly envelops me again.
The game continues as I hear soft but distant laughter to my left. That’s quickly followed by more shuffling, a sharp inhale, and then faint sounds of moans and kisses.
Sometime later, deliberate footsteps approach—slow, measured, like the owner has all night and nowhere else he’d rather be. The air warms, thickens. A big body settles right in front of me, close enough that his heat reaches out and brushes my skin before anything else does.
Whoever he is, he chose me.
