Throb (Life on Stage 1)

Leaning palm trees are bedecked with sporadically placed candles ensconced in hanging glass lanterns. A blanket is spread in the corner, an oversized picnic basket illuminated by a few candles surrounding it.

“Wow. It’s beautiful.”

Flynn looks at me pensively. “It is. Are you okay with this?”

The ice protecting my heart for the last week melts just a little. I look at him and smile. “I think I am.”

We spend the next three hours eating, talking and laughing. With only the candlelight around us, it’s easy to forget there are probably cameras set up all over. It’s romantic and beautiful, and Flynn is a complete gentleman. I learn things about him I never would have guessed—things we have in common. We both were science majors in college, although his focus was astronomy and mine was biology. We both love Johnny Cash, but don’t get the Beatles phenomenon. And our dads never met a casino they could walk past.

“What makes the stars twinkle, Copernicus?”

“Ahh. That is a common mistake of the layperson,” Flynn says with some sort of accent. I assume it’s an attempt at the dialect of the famous astronomer, but I know little about Copernicus other than he is the granddaddy of astronomy. “Stars actually don’t twinkle.”

“They don’t? I’m not sure I want to hear this.”

Flynn chuckles. We’re both lying on our backs, gazing up at the sky filled with stars—some of them twinkling. He rolls from his back to his side and props up his head on his elbow with one hand. His other hand brushes a stray hair behind my ear. “It’s just the angle we view them at. A ray of light bends slightly when it passes through the atmosphere, it deflects and we see it as a twinkle. If we were on the moon, we wouldn’t see a twinkle at all.”

I smile, captivated by the splendor of the twinkles above, even if they aren’t really what they seem. “Well, then I’m glad we’re here and not on the moon.”

“Me too,” he says quietly. My heart skips a beat meeting his direct gaze. We hold a long stare, his eyes filled with longing and intrigue, the candle illuminating the blue in his eyes. And his mouth … full and soft, perfectly kissable. He smiles staring down at me, revealing luscious dimples and a confidence that makes me think he absolutely knows what to do with a woman. His eyes drop to my lips and then return to mine with even more heat in his gaze.

The last thought I have as his lips meet mine is that this may be more than a game, and I’m either all in or all out.

Chapter thirty-eight

Cooper—

2 weeks later

Walking from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around my waist, I jerk to a halt when I hear the sound. My gaze is riveted to the TV I’d left playing, where her face knocks the air from my lungs. I stopped watching the DVDs after the day the camera zoomed in on them sleeping snuggled in a bed. In the yellow room, of all rooms.

I know I left her with no reason to think I was worthy of a second chance. But I guess I’d secretly hung on to hope that maybe, just maybe, we could be together after the show ended.

Dickhead comes on the screen. This must be the finale. My asshole brother must be in his glory. Ratings have been through the roof. I’ve caught glimpses of the advertisements in the moments before the remote could change the channel. He got what he wanted. America is dying to know if the longhaired, hippy-looking cocky bastard choses the temptress or his torch.

As much as I despise my brother, I have to hand it to him. He’s turned the last week of the show into an advertising phenomenon. Women of all ages are on edge waiting to find out which of the two final contestants he picks. Jessica—the pinup girl who seduced him from the minute he met her—or Kate—the woman he set his sights on seducing from her first smile. I’ve even overheard Helen gossiping about who she thinks he’ll pick.

Against my better judgment, I don’t change the channel. Instead I stand and glare at the scene that plays out before my eyes. It’s a recap of last week, Dickhead’s in a tuxedo and Kate in a gown. She looks gorgeous, but nervous, as they enter an elevator. The doors slide closed and my heart aches as the camera pans to their hands. They’re standing next to each other, but Dickhead’s pinky reaches out and locks with hers and then they briefly turn and look at each other smiling.

The doors glide open again and the sign on the suite in front of them makes my blood boil. Honeymoon Suite. I can’t bear to watch it, yet my eyes won’t leave the screen.

He slips a keycard from his pocket and holds it up to her. Their gaze catches for a moment and she takes a deep breath.

Don’t go in, Kate.

Slowly, she reaches down and takes the key out of his hand. The slow, wordlessness anticipation is killing me.

Shake your head no, Kate. Don’t go in.

Key in hand, control of both of our destinies hanging in the wind, her eyes meet his once more. I hold my breath as she slips the key into the door. Dickhead hangs the Do Not Disturb sign and sound finally returns with the click of the door shutting behind them.

I feel hollow inside. Wounds that had only begun to heal are ripped open again. But seeing her move on, watching the door close behind them, is what I needed. It’s symbolic of what I need to do. It’s time. Forcing my balled fists open, one finger at a time, I stretch my palms wide. The door closing. Them walking inside. The end of the show. Finally, I let go. Closure.

Chapter thirty-nine

Kate—

1 month later

“No trucks outside today,” Sadie says as she walks in, a shopping bag in each hand.