I narrow mine right back. Like hell.
“Ellie.”
“Gage.”
I step closer to her, and she steps back, only to find that she’s pressed against the van and can’t go any further. She huffs in frustration. “What do you want?”
I open my mouth, only to realize…
I don’t know what I want. I don’t know why I’m here, or what I want to tell her.
I mean, I do. I want to tell her that the kisses with the other women meant nothing—that they kissed me, and I didn’t particularly enjoy a single second.
But I don’t know why I want to tell her that. It’s not as though Ellie’s a jealous girlfriend I need to explain myself to. She’s not even jealous at all.
And that right there…that’s why I’m in a bad mood.
I want her to be jealous. I want her to want me like I want her.
The thought rocks me back on my heels.
I want Ellie.
Shit.
I guess it’s been lingering there the whole time—disguised by flirtatious bickering and my love of a challenge, true, but it’s there. The want is fierce and unavoidable.
I want her lips against mine, her body under mine. I want her to sigh my name. I want to make her gasp. I want her to want me back, to fight for me.
But she won’t. I see it in the stubborn set of her chin, the confusion in her eyes, as though she can’t figure out why the hell I’ve singled her out.
“Midnight,” I say huskily. “Promise me—”
“What’s happening here?”
I close my eyes in frustration at the interruption, then force a strained smile as I turn toward Hannah. If she weren’t already on my shit list for making a move this afternoon, she sure as hell is now, and I see from the quick blink of her brown eyes that she realizes her mistake.
But instead of backing away, she turns her gaze toward Ellie. “Sweetie, I’ve been meaning to ask…do you want to borrow some clothes? We’re about the same size, and I’m sure you want a break from wearing the same old T-shirts all the time.”
Just a couple of days ago I would have missed the flash of vulnerability that crosses Ellie’s face before she covers it with a smile, but I know her now, so I see it—know that Hannah’s swipe stung.
And it was a swipe. I’d specifically asked Ellie about her company last night at dinner while on camera, so the rest of the women know all about High Tee. Hannah’s comment is a deliberate insult, and I dislike her for that even more than I dislike her for the interruption.
“Actually, the crew wants us all back at the villa,” I say, saving Ellie from having to endure any more.
I open the door of the van, offering a hand to Hannah and all but shoving her in. I start to extend my hand to Ellie, but she ignores it, crawling in on her own.
Her skirt slips upward as she climbs into the back, and I nearly groan at the sight of the back of her thighs.
Before I can crawl in beside her, the other contestants are crowding around me, each one’s voice shriller than the last, and before I know it, I’m sandwiched between Naomi and Kelsey, discussing our favorite Michael Jackson song.
The ride home is endless, and when we finally get there, I silently will Ellie to look at me—to tell me she’ll meet me tonight.
She doesn’t even glance my way.
Invitation Ceremony #6
Dear Hannah—