He blinks. “Huh?”
I sip my champagne—it’s good, really good. “Don’t be mad. She won’t tell anyone.”
“Do I look mad?”
“No, but…just don’t eliminate her, ’kay? Not yet. She’s the only person who keeps me sane around here.”
“What about me?”
I study him over the glass. “I’d say it’s a bit the opposite. You’re the one making me insane.”
“And yet here you are.” He clinks his glass to mine. “So, Paisley’s the one who texted me the invitation?”
“Yeah, but—”
He lifts his eyebrows. “But?”
“How are you?” I blurt out.
I’m expecting some smart-ass answer, but he surprises me by holding my gaze, his expression serious. “Tired. Exhausted, really.”
“Not sleeping?”
“No, not that kind of tired. More just…this whole thing. I want it to be over with.”
“I know,” I say, shifting so that I can pull my legs up beneath me, smoothing the dress over my knees. “Who’d have thought that hanging out in Hawaii for days on end would be so exhausting?”
“Yes, and you’ve added to my stress by ignoring me. That must be tiring.”
“You know, it sort of is,” I say. “My eyes get very tired trying to avoid yours…oh, wait. No, they don’t, because you’ve been ignoring me.”
“Had to. My man pride made me do it.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s not often I kiss a woman and have her tell me it’s not real.”
My heart pounds, because though his tone is light and teasing, his eyes are intense.
“What?” he says with a smile when I don’t reply. “You thought we weren’t going to talk about it?”
I purse my lips. “Honestly? I thought we’d agreed that it was just…a thing.”
“A thing,” he repeats.
“You know.” I wave my hand a little desperately. “Like, we were arguing, and you wanted to shut me up, so you kissed me, and that was it.”
“If I kissed every woman I wanted to shut up, I’d have kissed almost every single one of the contestants on this show. Especially the ones I’ve already sent home.”
“You should start a checklist,” I say, trying to keep us in light territory so he won’t know how badly I want him to kiss me again—me, and just me. “Then you could rate us all, and read the list in the final episode. So far we’ve got me, Cora, Hannah, Aurora, Brooklyn—”
His stupid avocado eyes twinkle enticingly. “Someone’s keeping track.”
“If I’m going to be your spy, I have to have all the facts.”
“All right, then,” he murmurs, leaning toward me.
For a wonderfully awful moment I think he’s going to kiss me, but he merely sets his glass on the table beside the bottle.