I tilt my head back and stare up at the ceiling for a minute. “I don’t like it. I don’t want them fighting like this. I don’t want anyone getting hurt,” I repeat, though this time I’m not sure if I mean physically, or something else. “What do you think about all this? And don’t tell me it’s good TV. That’s what your boss thinks. I want to know what you think.”
She meets my eyes, and hers look regretful. “I think this whole show was a bad idea from the start. I mean, it’s bound to end badly, right? The last season didn’t end how the producers thought it would. I think that’s why the studio is so determined to make this one go the way they want. ‘Fucking and fighting’ and all that.” She rolls her eyes. “Not my words,” she clarifies.
Her words make me nervous, though. “What do you mean, ‘it will end badly?’ How?”
Maya leans against the bathroom counter, watching me as she speaks. “I just don’t think there are going to be any winners. Not any real winners, anyway. Someone is going to get hurt—maybe everyone.”
There it is again. Someone getting hurt. Now she’s saying it, and I definitely don’t think she’s talking about the fight now.
She pushes off the counter and gives me a hug. “Be careful, Megan. Remember why you’re here.” She hesitates, like she has something else to say.
“What else?”
Another sigh. “Tristan cares about you, Megan. I know he does. Like truly cares. It’s possible that Madden does too. I’m not positive, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”
I take a minute to process that statement, not sure how I feel about it. Because I feel like I’m starting to care for them too. Both of them. And I have to choose.
My heart squeezes in my chest. So this is the real problem. If they truly care about me, someone will get hurt in the end. I don’t want to hurt either of them. But how can I not? I have to pick one of them.
Maya turns to leave, but looks back at me before she opens the door. “Just remember one thing.”
“What?”
“There are no guarantees when the camera stops. What I know—or think I know—about how they feel might not be real after all. That’s why I’m telling you, Megan, watch out for yourself. I don’t want you to be the one leaving here with a broken heart.”
She leaves the room, and I think
about what she said. Are their feelings real? Are mine? It’s so hard to know because we’re caught up in such a crazy situation. But one thing is certain. The way they both made me feel when we went on our dates was incredible. Something more exciting than I’ve ever felt in my whole life. And I want more of that. More of them. I’ll have to be careful, that much is clear. It’s a fine line to walk if I still want to win this game.
But maybe, if I’m careful, I can have my cake and eat it too. I smile and head toward the door, ready to make an appearance downstairs for the first time since we got back. First thing on the agenda—I need to set these boys straight.
Megan
Standing in the kitchen with Tristan and Madden, I try to balance my conflicting feelings. I need to make it clear how I feel about this ridiculous fighting. But I also can’t help feeling all kinds of turned on by the hungry way they’re both looking at me.
Okay, so maybe I should have put on something that wasn’t quite as revealing as my tiny tight lil dress, but so what?
Tristan sits at the island, watching me silently as he alternates icing his knuckles. Madden leans up against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest, also watching me as I walk around the kitchen, trying to make it clear how upsetting their fight was.
But they’re really fucking distracting, both of them still without their shirts. How’s a girl supposed to think straight when two insanely sexy men are half naked in front of her? And both of them clearly want me as much as I want them. The tension in this room is out of control.
Some of it from the obvious irritation I’m feeling. But the sexual energy is just as evident. I’m sure they feel it as much as I do.
Madden breaks the silence first. “Megan, don’t be mad, baby.” He gives me one of his trademark charming grins, the one with the dimples that always gets me. It’s hard to stay mad at him when he does that, but I put forth the effort. It’s important that they know I won’t stand for their shit.
I shake my head and hold up my hand. “Don’t, Madden. Don’t even try.”
“Hey,” he says, “I’m sorry. But I can’t help it. What do you want me to say? That I don’t care that Tristan had his hands all over you? That I’m cool with it? Because if you want me to be honest, I don’t know if I can say that.”
I just stare at him for a minute. Normally he’s all laughs and jokes, all tease and flirtation. But he seems to mean what he’s saying right now. Could Maya be right? Does he actually care? Like, for real?
“And you think I am?” Tristan says, his voice low and controlled, but his anger just below the surface.
I look at him, and I see the jealousy written all over his face. Maya said she knew he cared about me. And I’m pretty sure she’s right. But what’s real and what’s not? How much of this is because they just want to win the game?
“I don’t know what to tell you guys,” I say, frustration rising up again, and I begin to pace.
“How about you tell us which one of us you want?” Madden suggests.