Page 150 of Say Yes to the Nemesis

The driver tries to make small talk about the weather, but neither of us responds.

When we pull up to the mansion, Ryan gets out first and walks inside without waiting for me. I sit in the car for an extra moment, trying to pull myself together before facing the other contestants.

“You okay, miss?” the driver asks.

“Tired of everything,” I lie.

I drag my bag up to my room, grateful that my roommates are nowhere to be found. The space feels too small and too big all at once. Too small because I can still smell Ryan on my clothes. Too big because he’s not here.

I need a shower. Need to wash off the salt air and the memory of his hands on my skin.

The water is scalding hot, exactly how I like it when I’m trying to punish myself. I stand under the spray and try not to think about the shower at the villa. About Ryan’s hands sliding soap across my skin. About the way he looked at me, like I was something precious.

But my body has other ideas. My hands drift down, tracing the same paths his fingers took just hours ago. I close my eyes and imagine he’s here with me. Imagine what would have happened if I hadn’t stopped him in that airplane bathroom. If I’d let him push my skirt up and take me right there, the crew just outside the door.

The thought makes me gasp, my fingers moving faster. I imagine him lifting me onto the tiny counter, imagine the desperate way he’d touch me, the way he’d murmur my name against my ear. His mouth on my throat, his hands everywhere, his voice telling me how much he wants me.

I come hard, Ryan’s name on my lips, my legs shaking so badly I have to brace myself against the shower wall.

Afterward, I slide down to sit on the shower floor, letting the hot water run over me while I cry. Because this is what I’ve done to myself. This is what pushing him away has gotten me.

I’m alone, aching for a man I can’t have, masturbating in a shower while he’s probably downstairs charming the other contestants like nothing happened between us.

I was right to protect myself. Right to push him away before he remembered I was never the kind of girl men keep. But why does being right feel exactly like being invisible again?

I won’t go back to that life. I can’t.

forty-two

RYAN

The mansion feels like a mausoleum.Same furniture, same cameras. But now it smells like her shampoo and regret.

I dump my bag in my room and stare at the bed that suddenly feels too big, too empty. Forty-eight hours ago, I was sharing a king-sized bed with Wren in paradise. Now I’m back to this sterile box where everything smells like industrial cleaning products and broken dreams.

My phone buzzes. A text from Coach T:

How’s it going, kid?

I stare at the message for a long time before typing back:

It’s going.

Not exactly the truth, but not exactly a lie, either. Because it is going. Going straight to hell, but going, nonetheless.

I can hear voices downstairs. The other contestants welcoming Wren back, probably fishing for details about our romantic getaway. The thought of facing them, of pretending everything’s fine, makes my stomach turn.

But I’m Ryan Haart. I’ve been pretending things are fine my whole life.

Seven weeks in and I’m one bad move from losing Wren completely.

I change into clean clothes and head downstairs, plastering on the same cocky grin that’s gotten me through every uncomfortable situation since I was thirteen years old. The one that says I don’t have a care in the world.

“Look who’s back,” Heidi calls out when I walk into the living room. She’s curled up on the couch in tiny shorts and a tank top that leaves nothing to the imagination. Her smile suggests she knows something I don’t. “How was your romantic getaway?”

The other girls look up expectantly. JacqLyn, Divya, Nikki. All waiting for details, for some hint about whether their chances just got better or worse.

“It was great,” I say, settling into the chair across from them. “Beautiful location. Good food. Can’t complain.”