And yet I felt my heart go, how could she not want me? Weakass bitch heart of mine needed to sit the hell down and take a time out. No, I changed my mind; he’s out of the game.
No. More.
“I think it’s a camera.” She ignored my meltdown and pointed again. “They’ve been watching us. No chance in hell we can sleep on the couch and—”
The knock on the door had both of us jumping.
“Should have called that,” I grumbled, already on my way to the door. As I opened it, I did a slow clap for whatever idiot had to scurry away while we solved our mystery and flipped everyone off behind their backs or, I guess, very much in front of their backs now.
I mean, what the hell?
How much had they seen?
Did the cameras ever turn off?
Had I signed something about no sexual contact with Olivia?
I was already sweating when I was back in the living room, door closed, envelope tossed onto the table.
Olivia stared me down, then wisely picked it up and pulled out a handwritten note, which she showed me then read aloud. “It’s the loser room or no room at all, no living quarters, food, or internship. You’ll be fired, quickly, seamlessly, as if you never existed, oh and using the pillows? Horrible idea, the security cameras, also a great thing to rate the penthouse on, will be turned off in three, two, one.”
We both looked up, and the red lights were off on the only camera we could see.
I exhaled a sigh of relief, only to inhale a sigh of real fear when I realized it was just us again.
Alone.
In near darkness.
And soon to be alone in a small room, spooning, touching, licking— Wait a second, no, no Mark.
She’s leaving. No matter what I do.
She’s leaving.
I let that sink in, then sadly realized I had suddenly thought this was real, that she’d somehow stay, that what we shared was something other than this hatred turned to lust based on this insane competition that was spurring us on toward our end goal.
To be apart.
So why did it make my chest hurt? I rubbed the stupid spot where my heart was pumping hard like, hey, wait, I have an opinion here.
Nope. Only the brain.
Logic wins.
So I cleared my throat, schooled my features, and said, “Hey, we should probably get to bed. It’s late, and we have to report at noon tomorrow, remember?”
“How could I forget? He was so clear and concise about why…” She groaned. “All right, well, all my things are,” It was like it just occurred to her she’d either have to sleep in spartan clothes or naked. “In…there.”
“Same.” I groaned. “I’m tired, though. I’m actually tired. Can I just— Are you okay with…” I held up my finger. “We have the hall bathroom. What if we wash our clothes in the sink using bar soap that we know we have in there? Might I add we’re testing an emergency strategy?”
“Hmm…” She actually smiled.
Damn it, stop being so pretty! Aghhhhhhhhhhhhhh,
“Um…” I regained my control. “We wrap ourselves in dry towels, let our clothes dry, don’t touch each other, use the humidity of the room to somehow help us not mold and wake up, and pray we can get back into the laundry room?”
“Sounds like torture.”
“Well, not to beat a dead horse, but it is the loser room, so…” I shrugged. “Got any better ideas?”
She flinched, even though I didn’t blame her. “N-no, not really. But you should go first.”
I snorted. “Right because you haven’t seen me naked, you little prude ass—”
She kicked me in the shin then marched toward the bathroom, peeling her bra off in the process.
Note. To. Self. Does well with aggression.
I smirked despite my heart telling me to shut it down and started to do the same, turning on the shower and very quickly soaping myself down only to find her stepping in like a challenge. “Turn around.”
“What?” She balked.
I shrugged. “I’ll get your back; you have some mud there. Just turn.”
Her eyes narrowed, and then she did, turn that was, and I washed her back, down her legs, washed her off, and then handed her the soap.
She repeated the same motions for me, and while it was torture having her nipples join in on the rubbing, I kept it together, I mean, I was hard as stone, but I wasn’t going to give in.
Once we were both washed, I shut off the water and turned around, much to her shocked expression, as if I was a sex addict. Then I wrapped her in a towel. I waited until she was covered, then picked up one for myself, completely dried off, and grabbed new ones for her and myself, and did the same.
By the time we had our clothes washed and hanging, it was getting late, so late I was yawning each time I tried to ask if she was okay, and she was yawning back.