Runaway Groom (I Do, I Don't 2)

Ellie

“So, you’re really not going to tell us what you and Gage talked about on the ride home from the restaurant the other day?” Eden’s voice whines from the bottom bunk.

I roll my eyes in the darkness. She’s been asking for two straight days, trying to wear me down, and I’m not going to lie—I’m close to cracking.

Not that I’d tell her the actual truth, which was that I’d told him about Maria’s devious plan and that he’d nearly kissed me.

But I’d make up a damn good story. Like maybe how I peed on his leg to neutralize a jellyfish sting, or we saved a beached whale, or we just screwed right there on the public beach.

“Shut up, Eden,” Paisley says on a groan. She’s backed up my silence on the issue, but she’s just about the only one. Everyone else has been either quietly resentful or outright confrontational.

Some of the women are decent, they really are. But the majority, quite honestly, are petty, conniving, and downright mean.

It’s why I only feel a tiny bit guilty about my role in getting LeAnn, Maria, and Morgan eliminated. If I was doing it because I wanted him for myself, I’d feel worse. But the truth is, Gage Barrett, for all his playboy charm, deserves better than someone who’s trying to fake serious injury to get his attention, shackle him with someone else’s kid, or collect his hair.

However, my role as resident spy/tattletale ends now. I tell myself it’s the only reason I’m going to see him tonight—to inform him that he’s on his own when it comes to seeing these women as they really are. That it’s time for me to go home for real.

What I can’t seem to figure out, though, is why I’m so excited to see him. Or why I’m so panicked at the fact that Paisley and Eden are still awake at 11:15 p.m., threatening my midnight rendezvous with Gage.

I throw both arms over my face. Rendezvous? Really. I need to get it together. Our meetings aren’t romantic. They’re not sexy.

And yet my stupid body doesn’t remember that, because immediately I recall what it was like to have him touching me, his hand against my neck, his green eyes warm and compelling, demanding I acquiesce to his charm.

I was close. I was so damn close to kissing him on that beach.

All the more reason to put my foot down once and for all and get home. I have no business wondering if Gage Barrett is as good a kisser in real life as he seems to be in his movies.

“I don’t get why one of you doesn’t just take the bottom bunk now that LeAnn’s gone,” Eden whines.

“Already told you. Closer to the cockroaches,” Paisley says sleepily.

I smile, pretty sure she’s referring to Eden herself as much as to the actual cockroaches. We were warned this evening that a few of the nasty bugs have been spotted on the far side of the villa on the second floor…exactly where Gage’s and my closet is located. As the producer was making that announcement, Gage caught my eye across the room and gave me a wink that was so fast I nearly missed it.

I’d bet my left tit there are no cockroaches—just Gage trying to protect our hiding spot.

Is it lame if I think that’s romantic?

Yes. Lame. So lame.

I don’t reply to Eden’s question or Paisley’s response. The last thing I want to do is keep anyone awake any longer than necessary.

My phone’s under my pillow in case I need to text Gage that I can’t make it, but tonight I’m in luck. In a matter of minutes I hear Paisley’s soft snores, and a few minutes later the unmistakable sound of Eden’s teeth grinding together, which I’ve realized is a nightly occurrence for her.

I lean over the side of the bunk to check the clock on the nightstand: 11:42.

I don’t have to leave for a few minutes yet, but I decide to head to the closet early, just in case Eden or Paisley wakes up again.

The night’s warmer than it’s been, so I don’t bother with the hoodie, just the flip-flops. My tank top and short shorts are skimpy, but the guy’s seen me in a bathing suit, so the cat’s out of the bag on my not-so-impressive curves.

I make my way quietly down the hallway, the path now familiar. Except this time there’s a strand of yellow caution tape across the hallway where the closet is.

“Really?” I mutter, ducking under it.

A few steps later I realize why Gage took the extra precaution. The closet is…not our closet. For a moment I think I’m in the wrong place, but the smirk of the man waiting for me assures me that I’m not.

“What the hell?” I whisper, stepping into the closet and quickly shutting the door behind me. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. I sweet-talked one of the assistants into transforming our hideout.”