Page 104 of Ex Marks the Spot

I didn’t know what to expect, but even if I had a hundred guesses, what I see in the mirror wouldn’t be one of them.

“I did the lines randomly so you wouldn’t guess the shape,” she says beside me.

It worked. At no point did I realize she was drawing three boxes across my chest. The one on my right pec is blank. The one in the middle is a compass. The one on my left pec is a heart that’s been stitched back together with...

I lean in closer.

. . . Stars.

Tiny yellow stars zigzagging across a mended heart.

I swallow past the knot of emotion in my throat and find Hartley’s eyes in the mirror. “The Evolution of a Lie, but in reverse.”

CHAPTER 21

HARTLEY

All I have to say is thank god for online dating, because it’s the only thing that’s making this NDA possible.

Before Court and I left New York City three weeks ago, Wendell pulled us aside and made sure we were crystal clear on the rules for the next four months until the season finale airs:

Don’t disclose anything about the race.

Don’t share any information about our relationship.

When in doubt, refer to rules 1 and 2.

He specifically advised us not to contact any contestants until after the finale, but there was no way Court and I were not going to talk for four months. This meant we needed a way to call and text each other without raising suspicion, particularly after the cast is announced next week. Enter “Thomas” and “Jessica,” who we each met on a dating site a few weeks before we left for the race. Right now, Thomas is sending encouraging texts because I’m about to have The Talk with my parents.

Thomas: You got this.

Me: I hope so.

Thomas: I know so because of New Zealand and Greece. You’re a badass.

Me: This is true. I’ll keep you posted.

With a one last deep breath, I set my phone on my dresser and head for the living room. Mom’s on the couch and Dad’s in his chair beside the couch while they watch an old season of Xtreme Quest. It looks like a universe moment given the topic of discussion, but this is just a regular Saturday in the Billings house.

Before I lose my nerve, I claim an empty couch cushion and blurt out, “Can I talk to you?”

They exchange a glance and Mom mutes the TV. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’ve just been thinking about a few things.”

“Like what?” Dad asks, leaning forward in his chair.

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