Page 73 of Bargain with the Bachelor
The area between my legs flooded with heat, reminding me, as if I could ever forget, exactly how good our chemistry was.
“Come on,” Hap cajoled. “All you have to do is flirt a little bit—some witty banter here and there. I’ll write it for you if you want. Maybe let us catchone little‘forbidden’ kiss on camera.”
He held up his hands at my obvious bristling. “It’s all pretend. We’re really close with the network, and I know this will put us over the top. It would be a huge favor. I’ll owe you. Please Kristal… I’m literally begging.”
My gaze slid from one pleading expression to the next, landing on Hunter’s unreadable one.
“Fine,” I deadpanned. “I guess I can force myself to seem interested in him—ifhe can do the same.”
He smirked at my insult. “That should be no problem. I’m good at pretending.”
Getting a job out of state was starting to sound more appealing all the time.
“When do we start?” I asked.
Hap checked his phone planner app.
“The crew will be back tomorrow at one. You’ll go on your first ‘date’ then. We want it to be unique and picturesque for the cameras—one of our selling points is the beauty of Eastport Bay. Thankfully the Winter Festival is going on, so we’re sending you guys to First Beach.”
I balked. “The beach? I’m not one of those Polar Plunge people, so if your idea of picturesque was my pale winter legs shivering in a swimsuit and my lips turning blue, you’re out of luck. This girl is keeping her clotheson.”
This time.
As it turned out, Hap hadn’t planned for us to swim but to attend a beach polo match.
Normally Eastport Bay Polo matches took place on the grassy playing fields of the nearby equestrian center and polo club —and in much warmer weather.
But as a special exhibition for the Winter Festival, it was being played today on the sand at low tide.
Hunter and I stood side-by-side with about a thousand other spectators lining the playing field, which had been carved out of the intertidal area of one of Newport’s most picturesque beaches.
The sandy stretch was cradled in a cove between the famous Bluff Walk and the mansions on one side and, on the other, a public pavilion complete with a snack bar and a 1950’s carousel.
As opposed to how it had been on our real first—and only—date, the conversation between us was stilted.
We both wore microphones tucked into the necklines of our clothing. The wiring of mine snaked down through my bra and around my waist to a battery pack at my lower back.
Every time I moved, I felt it, and it made me extra-conscious of the fact I was being listened to—and watched. Which made it difficult to even think of things to say.
I should have let Hap write that dialogue for me after all.
Hunter was apparently handling it better. He leaned down to me, his breath fogging the cold marine air as he spoke close to my ear.
“I read that the thoroughbreds are accustomed to the sandy footing—it’s like their natural habitats. They play on similar footing materials in arena polo. But you probably already knew that. I’ll bet you’ve been to lots of polo matches, huh?”
“Actually no,” I replied, feeling contrary. His nearness was as unsettling as ever. “My family never went. I always wanted to go myself but never made the time.”
He gave me a charming smile, just perfect for the camera trained on us.
“I’m glad you made the time today. It’s nice to be with you—just the two of us.”
I had to refrain from rolling my eyes. If I did, Hunter would have to repeat the cheesy line for take two, and I was eager to get this whole ridiculous experience over with.
It didn’t help that he was, as he’d said, “really good at pretending.” My heart was apparently too stupid to know the difference.
When he smiled over at me, took my cold hand inside his impossibly warm one, murmured comments on the match and the view in my ear, it tripped all over itself, stumbling and rolling in my chest.
It all felt soreal.
