Page 8 of Room 710 (The Scarlet Hotel #15)

Elijah

At my coaxing for more, the contestants gave it their all, ranging through jumping and clapping and screaming in apparent excitement, but my attention remained firmly on Ziggy.

His reaction was understated compared to all the overactors.

He simply huffed a small laugh, shaking his head as though to an inside joke.

I wished I could ask what he was thinking about. The curiosity was itching at me.

Marc poked my shoulder, gesturing for me to keep going. Clearing my throat, I leaned into the mic and pressed the button to speak. “Could one of you please step into the vault to retrieve your instructions.”

The vault was a little vestibule that was intended to be a mudroom, when the house was just a house and not a set, with a door leading outside. The inside door would usually remain locked to the house, unless otherwise instructed.

One of the men—the bland one, name started with a D—ran to collect the surprise.

He appeared briefly on the vault camera, picking up a box, before he jogged back into the room.

“Hey, check it out.” He knelt on the floor and set it on the coffee table, before prying back the lid and peering inside, while everyone else jockeyed for position to take a look.

With a light touch of a joystick, I angled the camera and zoomed in a little, trying to give the viewers a sense of being a part of the excitement.

“It’s… a football,” Rune said with no small amount of confusion as he held the ball aloft.

Devon fished an envelope out of the box and read the note aloud.

“‘Dating is a lot like football: half the fun is in the chase, plenty of tackles, and the ultimate goal is to get the ball through the goalposts. And while every omega here might want to get caught, let’s see if you can make your alpha work for it. The chase is on.’” He laughed.

“We’re supposed to change into something we can get dirty and play a game of keep-away, me against all of you. ”

There was genuine excitement as the men all ran to their rooms to get changed into more appropriate attire. “Are you ready for it?” I said, turning to Marc. “What’s your bet?” This was something we did every season.

He chuckled, rubbing his hands together as he considered his options. “I’m gonna go with… mesh crop top. Hot pink.”

“Solid choice. I’ll go with booty shorts and knee-high socks. Blue-and-yellow ‘sports jersey.’” I put air quotes around that because there would be no way someone would play actual sports in whatever these men were about to come out wearing.

We often got accused of playing up to omega stereotypes, but starring on reality TV did not attract all types.

The men who auditioned for Lonely Alpha wanted to be seen.

They were not modest, looking to blend into the background.

They were usually flashy and loud, with a flair for the dramatic.

So it was to no one’s surprise when the omegas flounced out of their rooms in their finest, like this was some kind of fashion show.

Didn’t they know they were about to sweat through that silk and chiffon?

I shook my head. On second thought, no, they weren’t planning on working up a sweat.

There would be no grass stains on those knees.

“Nooo!” Marc yelled as Darnelle strutted out of the room wearing blue booty shorts, striped knee socks, and yep! A blue-and-yellow cropped sports jersey with the number 69 on it.

“Pay up,” I said, leaning back in my chair with a smug grin.

“You get it every time! You’ve been at this too long. I never have a chance.” He pulled out his wallet and grabbed a $20 bill, which he slapped down on my chest. “I’ll win it back in the swimsuit edition.”

“Sure you will.” The shit-eating grin on my mouth evaporated, though, when Ziggy walked out of the bedroom.

“Is he wearing…” Marc began, jaw dropping.

“Yeah. He is.” Track pants, and they weren’t even tight. This had never happened on the show before. His tank top was not mesh, either. Not tight or cropped or covered in rhinestones. It was just a tank top with the Comets logo on it.

Marc and I both leaned forward in our seats, following him across the screens until we found him surrounded by the others in the back yard.

He stood out here even more than he had on his audition tape, and not just because of his wardrobe choices.

The others towered over him by at least several inches, closer to a foot in Devon’s case.

I had no idea Ziggy was so small. What would he look like beside me, I wondered. How would he fit against me…

“I told him he could borrow one of my outfits, but he said pink wasn’t his color,” Darnell said. “Personally, I think it would go well with this blush.” He reached out and grazed his finger along Ziggy’s cheek.

Prairie joined them and slung an arm over Ziggy’s shoulders. “I offered too, but he said he was allergic to sexy.”

Ziggy laughed along. “What can I say, I like breathing. Your clothes are so tight, you might faint as soon as your heart rate goes over a hundred.”

The good-natured teasing continued—some comments with a bit more bite—but Ziggy didn’t seem to mind it one bit. Finally he said, “Okay, okay! I’ll play along. I hope all you people at home appreciate this,” he said, pointing at the camera.

When he pointed like that, it felt like he was addressing me personally, and sure enough, when he bunched his tank up and tied it in a knot, I very much appreciated it.

It exposed a swath of bare skin around his waist, pale and lightly toned, and my eyes zeroed in on his belly button.

Damn, why was that so adorable? I always thought I was an ass man, but at the rate my heart was skipping in my chest, my cock twitching to life in my pants, I was starting to second-guess myself.

Was I a belly-button man? Or just a Ziggy man… ?

He struck a pin-up pose, and everyone gave a round of whistles and catcalls, Cy going so far as to give him a playful pat on the ass. Spirits were high, and I had no doubt it would carry over to our audience.

Devon headed across to the other side of the yard, facing off against the others. Rune had the ball, and he hinged at the waist, ass in the air, to touch the football to the ground. “Hut-hut,” he said huskily with a wink, somehow making the word sound dirty.

The omegas split off, waving their arms around in the air. “Pass it to me! I’m open!”

Rune didn’t pass it, though. He didn’t make much of an effort to run, either, as Devon crossed the yard at a slow jog.

All it took was one clumsy feint before Devon caught him, and while the alpha only had him by the elbow, Rune threw himself into Devon’s chest, forcing him to bring his arms around him or risk them both falling.

“Oh no! You caught me!” Rune said while dipping back in a dramatic swoon.

“Gimme a break,” Marc muttered at my side, clearly unimpressed. “The game’s called keep-away for a reason. Please tell me this isn’t a glimpse of how the next hour is going to go.”

“Buckle up, buttercup,” I sassed back, leaning back in my chair with a sigh. “This is exactly how it’ll go.”

Sure enough, as each omega had possession of the ball, they put zero effort into escaping Devon, no matter how slow he went.

I could see how hard it was for him to keep smiling and laughing, even with his last Oscar win under his belt.

Acting could only take him so far. Turned out, I didn’t need to worry about sweat staining their nice outfits, because not one of them had squeezed out a single drop of sweat.

I covered a yawn with my hand. “This is going to be the worst montage in Lonely Alpha history,” I complained.

“No shit. We’ll have to cut the full hour down to one minute, two tops. What else can we pad the episode with?”

“I guess we could extend the contestant bios.” I tapped my pencil on the desk a few times. “You never know. Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone will start a cat fight.” Although it was still early in the season for them to get possessive yet.

Doodling on my notepad, my eyes had slipped from the screen, so I wasn’t watching when I heard Ziggy’s voice say, “That’s it.

It’s my turn.” My gaze flicked back in time to see an annoyed-looking Ziggy take the ball.

He narrowed his eyes at Devon across the yard.

“Let’s see what you got, Blake. You’ll find I’m not so easy to catch. ”

Devon’s smile slid into something a little more genuine as he squared off his shoulders and crouched down. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

The round kicked off as Costas put his fingers between his lips and gave a shrill whistle, and everyone scattered.

Devon prowled closer, but he still seemed skeptical of how serious Ziggy was about being chased.

When he darted forward, arm extended, though, he came up empty.

Ziggy had jumped back a few steps, ball cradled under one arm.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he purred.

The gauntlet was thrown down, and the next time Devon made a move toward Ziggy, he deked to the left before darting around him on the right, moving quick and light.

Devon’s laugh was genuine this time, and I could sense a change coming over all of them.

What had started as a flirt fest had now turned into a real game, and I saw the way eyes lit up at the prospect of true competition.

By the time Devon managed to hook his fingers in Ziggy’s shirt, he’d tossed the ball to Darnell. Darnell stared down at the ball in confusion, almost surprised that he’d caught it in the first place. “Run!” Ziggy yelled at him, and Darnell squeaked but did as instructed.

“Now we’re talking!” Marc cheered, perching his elbows on the desk to watch.

I opened my mouth to say something in return, but in the end, said nothing. I was enthralled by the game. My eyes followed Ziggy, whether he had the ball or not, and I found myself laughing when he laughed.

The game went on for a while, with lots of laughing and screaming. When Ross found himself cornered against the fence, he squeaked and lobbed the ball over Devon’s head. Ziggy tipped his head back and yelled, “I got it!”

Devon didn’t bother wasting time trying to catch the ball. He focused on Ziggy instead, and right as Ziggy closed his hands around the football, Devon had him around the waist. He twisted, putting himself underneath to catch Ziggy’s weight, but I swore I heard an oof as the air left his lungs.

I gasped, lunging forward as if I could snatch him up and cradle him in my arms. “Is he okay?” I blurted, and I could feel Marc’s eyes on me, assessing my intention.

“Yeah, he’s fine. See?” Marc pointed at where Ziggy was lying half sprawled on Devon’s chest, laughing breathlessly.

“Right. Good. I mean, this is why we have them sign waivers,” I said with a tight chuckle. Meanwhile, my attention was laser-focused on where Devon’s hand was resting at the crest of Ziggy’s ass.

It shouldn’t have felt so illicit watching the contestants. It certainly never had before. It was my job, and I wasn’t doing anything wrong. But if that were true… then why was I hard as a rock? I cleared my throat and tried to adjust myself discreetly. “So… what’s next on the schedule?”

This was the longest week of my life, and it wasn’t even over yet.

I couldn’t decide if this was good or bad.

My entire team had been working their asses off—making sure the goings-on in the house went smoothly, updating the website and teasing social media content to keep our fans hyped for the first episode, and then editing a week’s worth of content and reducing it to a one-hour recap of highlights on Saturday, before we went live for Sunday’s challenge and first house eviction.

We didn’t know for sure how tomorrow would go, so we had to make educated guesses and get ready to paint the narrative that seemed most likely.

This was where my experience at reading people came into play.

It didn’t really matter too much in the first week, because the viewers hadn’t had a chance to pick favorites yet, but as we moved forward, I would have to rely on an insider’s perspective to see what everyone was thinking.

My trailer felt empty, allowing me to breathe for the first time in days.

I’d sent everyone home for the night, with a pat on the back and a “great job.” Everyone in the LA house had settled in, reading or watching TV, so one by one, I flicked off the various screens, all except the one showing the kitchen, where Ziggy seemed to be baking cookies in his plaid flannel PJs.

I couldn’t smell them, and I obviously wouldn’t get to taste them either, but I found it strangely comforting to listen to him humming under his breath.

There was a certain intimacy in watching him. To feel close, even with the screen between us. Did this make me a stalker? Maybe, but then he would look up at the camera, and I swore he was looking right back at me.

I sighed, forcing myself to turn off the final screen.

We’d had a decent viewership of tonight’s recap, so I rolled my chair down to where I had my laptop set up.

Clicking on the fan forum, I logged in as my alter ego, BananaSunday, so named because the show was live on Sundays, and banana because…

well, duh. It was a euphemism. I had to portray a certain amount of juvenile humor because of the forum vibe. I started up a new topic.

THOUGHTS?

BananaSunday: So, who watched the episode tonight?

Dripdrip69: Nah fam I’m out

BottomsUp: Last season was such a trainwreck. Hard to regain that trust, but Devon Blake has to be better than Schuster, right? RIGHT????

RimJobbins: Anybody would be better than that twatwaffle. Your standards are too high.

MuffinTop: Creamy and I watched, and I thought it was decent. Although I’m not sure where they find some of these guys. Ziggy’s our fav, though.

BJz4dayz: the whole show is sexist trash but someone please tell me… will there be sex?

CreamyJoe: To no one’s surprise, I’m with muffin. I have hope for this season.

RainbowRob: And can I just say, smart decision bringing back Clark and Marty as hosts. I lurv them so much!