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“Oh! You’re on your period?”

I hesitate. “… Yes.”

Jordy looks much more cheerful when I reemerge from the bathroom. “That explains a lot.” He grins. Because I regularly got a kissing aversion when I was on my period the last time we dated? “You could’ve just told me. I’m an adult.”

I throw my hand to the side. “You caught me. I’m shy about that stuff.”

“You don’t have to be shy with me. Gross shit and all.”

I smile tightly. “I actually don’t consider periods gross, but good to know,thank you.”

“And if you’re worried about it getting messy if we… you know,do stuff,don’t. We’ll just put a towel down, babe. That’s why we have cleaners. It’s their problem, not ours.”

“Oh, thanks. Thanks. But, um. I don’t… like, cramps, and… you know?”

He graces me with an understanding nod. “I do. But there’s plenty of stuff we can do that you don’t need to take your pants off for, too. I’m flexible.”

Somehow, I refrain from launching at him with my fingernails bared. “Oh, I’m sure you are. I’ll keep it in mind.”

I’m almost out the door when he calls out, “I thought we’d try a documentary this afternoon, maybe? Mix things up a bit?”

“Uh, sure, whatever,” I say rapidly. “Nothing else to do.”

I dash out the door before he can say anything else, then jump up and down, shaking my hands like I can get theickfactor out if I wriggle hard enough. Jesus Christ. If the universe thinks it’s necessary to punish me in advance for what I’m about to do to Jordy to balance the scales, it’s doing a damn good job by trapping me in a hotel suite with him.

Isaac’s room is at the end of the floor. It’s a relatively small, boutique hotel, and Bushman and Siegal Productions have rented out the whole top floor for us to—well, they say “unwind.” I’d say “endure imprisonment while keeping the identity of the winner under wraps,” but poe-tay-toe, poe-tah-toe.

Isaac’s already rolling his eyes when he answers the door. His curly hair, usually in a ponytail, is loose around his shoulders, and he’s swapped out his on-the-job jeans for hanging-around-the-hotel sweatpants. “No, she hasn’t left a message for you,” he says, stepping aside to let me in. “No, you can’t call her.”

“Are yousureshe got my message?” I ask, even though I’ve asked every day since we got here. I figure it can’t hurt to be thorough.

“Maya, Wai said she gave her the message. What do you think’s going on here, Wai’slyingto me? She’s playing with your sanity for her own amusement?”

I flop into the chair of his single-seater dining table and lay my head on the table. “I don’t know. Maybe she just… meant to do it and forgot?”

Isaac gives me alook,and I transition from a sigh into a sulk. If Skye got my message and isn’t replying, what does that mean? That she doesn’t understand it? Or misinterpreted it? That she’s annoyed with me for dragging things out? That she thinks it’s such an obvious no-big-deal she doesn’t think a reply is needed?

The not-knowing is driving me almost as crazy as my standing sentence with Jordy.

“Could I at least send her another one?” I ask, again, like it’s not the eighth time I’m asking in half as many days.

Instead of answering that question negatively yet again—we’re notsupposedto talk to the other contestants right now—Isaac pulls out his phone. “I’m heading to the store this afternoon. Do you need anything?”

“Can I come?”

Isaac ignores that. “Gonna put you down as a ‘no.’”

“Could you put me down as a Flamin’ Hot Cheetos?”

He grins now. “I’ll see what I can do. You know if Jordy needs anything?”

“I dunno. Who cares? Maybe a salmon steak to fuel his in-room workouts?”

His endless,endlessin-room workouts.

“Feisty,” Isaac says. “Sounds like the honeymoon suite is going well.”

I force a smile. “I’m not sure how many couples would enjoy being trapped together like this.”