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eleven

Alice

“Hey, wake up. It’s seven forty. Are you sick or something?”

I push the covers aside, sitting up and giving Farrah a puzzled look. What’s she doing in my room?

“I told you in the text I haven’t been sleeping well and I was too tired for sunrise yoga. It’s better for you to be alone with Dalton and JP anyway.”

She uses the light on her phone to find the way from the doorway to the end of my bed, where she sits down.

“This room is tragic. Why does it smell like fish?”

“Because they store food in here sometimes.”

“It’s disgusting. There’s not even a window.”

I shake my head and run a hand over my wild hair, still groggy. “It’s fine. I sleep great in here. That’s all that matters.”

“I’m worried about you, Al. It’s the fourth morning in a row you’ve skipped yoga.”

I switch on the bedside lamp, illuminating the room in a dim glow. Then I slide out of bed and get my robe from the hook on the back of the door.

“You have a video conference call with Mateo, Jim and Madison at nine. I bumped your production meeting with Alex to ten twenty in case the conference call runs late. Filming starts at one today. The producers are going to randomly assign one-on-one dates for everyone.”

She groans. “That’s pointless. I have no chemistry with anyone but Dalton and JP.”

All my worries about my parents come rushing back at once. That’s what’s been keeping me up at night, tossing and turning as I try not to think about my dad suffering. Have I done the right thing, taking care of them financially even though it means I hardly ever get to see them? Will my dad pass away before I get to see him again?

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I tell Farrah, glad I have an excuse to escape our endless ongoing conversation about Dalton and JP.

I wouldn’t have even considered thinking about Dalton before. He’s out of my league, and I’m too overwhelmed by my family situation to seek anything with a man.

But the way he held me on the beach that day...the way my heart leaped when he told me he’d choose me to take on a date...that flip in my stomach when he said I looked sexy in my shorts...

It feels good when he looks at me. At Alice Morrow, the woman, instead of “Farrah’s assistant,” which is what I am to everyone outside of my family. But it also makes me long for something I can’t have.

Watching him and Farrah in the hot tub gutted me. I tried to avoid looking at them, but my eyes kept dragging themselves back. They kissed. And who knows? Maybe he did go up to her room that night. She probably would have told me if he did, but I still can’t help wondering.

I’ve managed to avoid Dalton like a pro. He’s a big part of why I’ve skipped morning yoga, even though I do really need the extra sleep. And when I see him coming my way at the house, I strike up a conversation with whoever is close by.

I’m just too fragile right now for the conversation I know he thinks we need to have. About how he has to show interest in the contestants. How he wishes I could be a contestant on the show, too. His high-pressure job and the demands on him to have a partner who’s also famous.

Crying in front of him once--over my family--was enough. I’m not letting him see me crumble over him not being able to date me. Logically, I get it. Agree with it, even. But I’m also a person, and I get lonely.

I use the bathroom, brushing my teeth with the toothbrush and toothpaste I keep in my robe pocket, and when I get back to my room, Farrah’s still sitting on my bed.

“How far is the bathroom?” she asks me.

“It’s at the other end of the hallway.”

“And you have to shower in there, too? In a bathroom a bunch of other people use?”

“The showers are in the other staff quarters, where the chef’s room is.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Do you think the maids here have to clean everything else plus the bathrooms they use? That would suck.”

“I’m sure they do. Just like the kitchen staff eats some of the food they cook.”

“I’d gag if I had to clean a toilet.”

My toiletry bag is stacked on top of a tall pile of Farrah’s luggage. I pick it up and say, “Speaking of showers, I need to take one. Did you finish your workout?”

She gets up. “I did a forty-five-minute one since I have that meeting at nine. I guess I should go get ready, too.”

“Do you want breakfast before the meeting?”

“I’ll take a protein shake and two egg whites.”

“Okay, I’ll have it ready fifteen minutes before the meeting.”

I wait for her to walk out of the room, but she stays beside the bed, crossing her arms and scrunching her face in thought. “What do you think about last night?”

“Last night? You mean the keratin treatment I did on your hair? I think it looks good.”

I have an hour to take a shower, dry my hair and get ready, make Farrah’s breakfast and hopefully squeeze in a call to my parents. But she’s not in any hurry to go.

“No, Dalton . The hot tub. Am I making the right choice? JP is taller than him. And a quarterback boyfriend is the ultimate, you know?”

“I think a good person you love being with is the ultimate.”

She rolls her eyes. “They both seem like good guys. You know what I’m saying. Pulling JP Covington would get me a lot more visibility.”

“You already have tons of visibility on your own.”

Why am I making the case for her to not choose JP? I’m just being honest because that’s my default. But if she ends up with Dalton and I have to scout out the restaurants they go to for dates and take the sheets off her bed after he stays the night with her, that will be really hard.

“I want tall kids, though.”

Farrah and I have had some great times together. She’s a weird mixture of inconsiderate and generous. But sometimes I want to scream at her. This is one of those times.

“I guess, go with JP then,” I say, exasperated.

“Dalton smells better, though. And I can tell he’s amazing in bed.”

I furrow my brow. “How can you tell that?”

“Just by the way he moves. And his confidence. And his body, obviously. I pay attention during yoga. He could do me in any position imaginable.”

A white-hot bolt of jealousy shoots through me. The thought of them in bed together is too much. I have no right to be this jealous, but I am.

“We need to get moving,” I say, swallowing my feelings.

“Okay, you’re right.”

I open the door, my gaze going straight to the wood tray on the floor. Shit. I forgot.

Every day that I’ve skipped sunrise yoga, Dalton has left me a breakfast tray. Yesterday’s had a note from him that said, Miss seeing you flip off the sky. Feel better soon.

It made me smile.

“At least they bring you breakfast,” Farrah says breezily, stepping around the tray. “Since this room is basically a prison cell, it’s the least they can do.”

My heart rate slows as she walks down the hallway. I dodged a bullet. If she had asked me who brought the tray, I probably would have panicked.

I take the tray into my room and set it on the bed. There’s a red rose in a little vase, a note tucked beneath it. When I peek beneath the silver dome over the plate, I see a decadent cheese omelet, just like the ones he brought the first three days. There’s also a bowl of berries and two pieces of bacon.

I’m going to devour this. It’s so much better than what I usually get for breakfast here, which is whatever’s left after the contestants and crew have ransacked the buffet. I’m too busy making Farrah’s food and prepping her waters in the morning to get to breakfast when it’s served.

I take out the note, carefully unfolding it.

We’re talking today.

My stomach does a nervous flip. I want to talk to him, but I also don’t. It doesn’t sound like I’m going to have a choice, though.