Page 45 of House of Deceit

“That is”—Keith takes a pause. Safe from elimination, he’s eating up our anxiety—“correct! Congratulations, Charlie! Please take the remaining seat.”

Everyone claps as I turn around and head toward the throne behind me. Whooping with excitement and giddy with relief, I go to sit and look upon my subjects.

Parker moves to kneel before me.“My queen, I will be loyal to your rule for all days. Long live the queen!” he says.

I stand and move toward him, preparing to knight him with my imaginary sword. I don’t care it’s silly. I’m so happy about the fact I just guaranteed my place into week five and a sip of coffee, I’m all in the acting. As I get close, he lunges forward, throwing me over his shoulder. Bouncing against his back, I notice Cain scowling through the others that are following us.

“Pool party!” Parker calls out, his previous sadness vanished, and cheers go up.

He launches me high into the air and I laugh with glee as I splash into the water. I am soaked.

But I won. And that is all that matters.

My shoes squelch as I sprint to the interview room. Alec hasn’t called me, but I don’t care. I know he’ll be there. I burst through the door and am greeted with his smiling face. Without missing a beat, I launch myself into Alec’s arms, wrapping my legs around his waist.

I don’t care if I’m dripping wet.

I don’t care if he’s clean as a whistle.

And in this moment, I don’t think he does either. He catches me, his arms wrapping tightly around me.

“You did it,” he whispers in my ear.

“I did.”

We stand there, holding each other, exuberant happiness leaking from both of us before, slowly, the energy changes. I pull back and look at him as he lets me go. I slide down his body and become heated, feeling every ridge of him. His gray eyes hold mine. His hands are heavy on my hips.

“You owe me coffee,” I say, trying to defuse the tension but my voice betrays what our closeness is doing to me.

“I do, yes.”

Clearing his throat, he moves away from me toward a to-go coffee cup sitting on the table next to his chair. He holds the cup out to me and I take it, careful not to touch him. Not to push him any more than I already have.

“Thanks,” I say.

Taking a moment, I pop the lid off the cup, taking a deep inhale of its contents. With the reverence of an archaeologist with an artifact, I cherish the cup in my hands.

I take one deep sip.

It explodes over my taste buds and I swear to any deity listening to not take coffee for granted ever again. As I put the lid back on, I pause.

“This is my order.”

“No, it’s not.” He rocks back on his heels.

“Yes, it is. Unless you also drink a piccolo.”

I watch him, and for the first time he fidgets.

“I didn’t want to get you something you didn’t like, considering you were only going to get one drink of it.”

“Are you going to finish it? I don’t want it to go to waste. I would have taken whatever your usual is. That was the deal.”

“I, uh, I don’t actually,” he stutters. “I don’t drink coffee. I only drink tea.”

“Oh. Then why did you offer—”

“I was just trying to be nice.”

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