Page 22 of My Irresistible Enemy

Everyone looked at Mal, who winced. “I plead the fifth.”

“See?” I said.

“So what gives?” Deacon asked, leaning forward. “What’s the deal with Aiden?”

I shrugged. I didn’t want my friends to know how much time I’d spent asking myself the same question. And I definitely didn’t want them to find out what had happened between us. The more we talked about Aiden, the more danger I was in of slipping up.

I opened my mouth to tell Deacon I barely knew Aiden, and instead said, “He’s an ass.”

Whoops.

“I was an ass once too.” Tate grinned. “And we ended up friends. Maybe you and Aiden are destined to be best friends by the time this is over.”

I picked the pillow up and threw it at him. “You stillarean ass. Just a different kind of one.”

“How so?” Deacon asked. “What’s so bad about him? Aiden, I mean.”

I didnotwant to talk about this. I needed to change the subject, to shift focus to literally anything else. Once again, I opened my mouth to do so, and once again, I failed completely.

“He’s not even taking it seriously,” I grumbled. “It’s clear he has no idea how to bake, and that he’s just here for—honestly, I don’t even know what he’s here for. And I know it’s not anyone’s responsibility to represent the whole LGBT community or anything, but I swear, it’s like he’stryingto set gay rights back by twenty years. He’s shallow and artificial and unapologetically incompetent, and he’s playing it for laughs. Like,Hey, world, please make queer men the butt of all your jokes, it’s totally cool and funny to make fun of us.You know he actually said that he didn’t care about winning, if he found a boyfriend instead? How fucked up is that? It doesn’t matter how cute you are, if you’re going to—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mal said, interrupting my rant. “You think he’s cute?”

I growled, mad at myself, not Mal. I hadn’t meant to say that. I hadn’t meant to sayanyof that.

“I didn’t mean that Ipersonallythought he was cute.”

“Ipersonally think he’s cute,” Em volunteered.

“Me too,” Tate said with a grin. “At least, based on the pictures in this article. No one’s judging you, Nolan.”

I’m judging me.

“He looks fine, okay? I honestly haven’t given it that much thought.” That wasn’t true, but maybe if I said it enough times, I could convince myself. “The point is that it doesn’t matter what you look like if all you’re going to do is make a fool of yourself.”

Mal frowned.

“What?” I said. “You’re not going to pipe up and say that you think he’s cute too?”

Mal rolled his eyes. “I think we’ve covered Aiden’s potential cuteness pretty thoroughly. No, I was just thinking that it sucks that people don’t see what we see. You’re not an asshole. We know that, but if nobody else does…” He gave me a tentative look. “You don’t think you couldtryto be a little nicer. Or like, goofier, on camera? Just so people know you have a sense of humor?”

“I wasn’t trying to come across badly in the first place,” I griped.

“I know, I know. But just, think about it, okay? We’ve only had you here for a few days. It would suck if you went back to DC tomorrow.”

He had a point. And not just because it would be nice to spend more time with my friends. If I got sent home tomorrow, I’d have lost my chance to win that money.

That was my priority—and I’d do whatever it took to make that happen.

* * *

“Welcome back, bakers,” Tanner said on Friday morning, his teeth blindingly white.

It was seven o’clock, and they’d already filmed the group of us walking into the tent four times. Hard to capture the right mix of excitement and nerves on camera, I guess. For my part, it wasn’t so much nerves as it was pure terror. By the time we sat down, ready to learn the results of the voting, I was ready to pass out.

“We want to begin by saying congratulations to all of you,” Vivian said, clasping her wooden spoon in front of her like a microphone. “It’s only been a few days, but I know that we already feel like a family here. America has watched the first episode, and I have to say—”

She kept talking, but I was too keyed up to listen. My body was thrumming with energy—fear, really—and only the fact that the tent was lined with cameras, focusing on each of us in turn, kept me from bolting out of my seat and hurling myself into the ocean.

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