Page 57 of House of Deceit

“You can’t shoot me,” I tell him.

“And why not?”

“Because I’ll cry every day if I have to take a cold shower. And Jayden won’t shower at all.”

As he thinks, I see a small movement out of the corner of my eye, but I’m determined to keep his attention.

“If you let me shoot you, I’ll kiss you,” I offer, thinking about how the audience would love that. Courtney, specifically. Not that it would be a burden to me.

“You think your kiss is worth me having to freeze my balls off every day? I’ll get frostbite on my dick.”

“I’m sure you can come up with a way to keep it warm,” I smirk.

The paintball smacks into my chest, a sharp sting. My jaw drops.

“You shot me!” I exclaim.

“I hate cold showers,” he says with a wide grin.

But Keith pops up behind him and shoots him in the back, ending the game. The red team is ecstatic. The celebration is like that of a team that just won a championship game. Parker smiles at me with his mask on his head.

Putting my hand on his shoulder, I stand on my tiptoes, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“A consolation prize,” I tell him.

“You’re never a consolation prize,” he says, winking at me and I know the audience is going to eat this up.

Our plates are empty but we all sit around chatting until Molly stands at the head of the dinner table and clinks her wine glass with her knife, cutting through the din of family dinner. Every night, the house has taken to eating together. If any team is on a food restriction, one member of that team will fix their food while someone cooks a meal for everyone else. There have been a few big misses like when Lucas made his normal training meal for the house. While an Olympic volleyball player may need to eat grilled chicken and enough veggies to feed three, not everyone was as thrilled about the meal. Mary Ella, on the other hand, made the best fried chicken I have ever had. The outside was crispy and flavorful, with a hint of spice.

“I would like to take a moment to tell you all how much this experience has been one of a kind. The support and love in this house, in the midst of a competition, has been nourishing. And while I love you all, it’s time for,” she pauses dramatically, “Girls’ Night!”

We hoot and holler, stomping our feet as we toast to spending a night having fun together.

“Ladies, meet me in the winner’s room in five minutes!”

Chairs scrape as we all clamor to put our dishes away, the guys watching us with indulgent smiles on most of their faces, as we head off to get changed. Molly announced the dress code is pajamas only, taking a page from my book. Anyone not meeting these criteria would not be let in. This rule was put into place for one person specifically.

Penelope has had the hardest time relaxing in the house. Always aware of being recorded, she dresses to the nines no matter what we are doing. While I fully support people doing what makes them comfortable, little comments have let us all know she does it because her family demands perfection in everything, including her looks, at all times. Her mother would stand her in front of the mirror and circle the fat on her body, she told us all one night when she was deep in a bottle of wine. Because of her family’s status, having regular employment was hard for her so she turned to social media, which further exacerbated the drive for perfection.

Molly has left a hole in our room this week being in the winner’s room. I’m happy for her, but I miss our time whispering together in the night. The pajamas Alec gave me have become a favorite. Not only do they keep me warm, but that he thought of me enough to get them makes hummingbirds flutter in my stomach. I slip on the golden pajamas and make my way to the winner’s room.

Bottles of champagne lie around the floor. We relax with green hydrating masks on our faces as we wait for our nails to dry, music playing from the karaoke machine as Penelope sings along, finally relaxed. The intricate designs she painted on her nails astound me as I blow on mine.

Black is always my favorite nail color. To spice up my boring fingers, Molly’s words, not mine, she added some swirling designs with a glossy black on top of the matte black I had painted.

I lie on the ground, my feet on the bed, listening to everyone talk and have fun when Mary Ella decides to shock the room.

“I kissed Jayden,” she admits, and we all erupt.

“When?” Rebel asks, excitedly.

“Where?” Penelope demands.

“In the kitchen,” she says, blushing.

“That’s not what I meant.” Pen snickers as Rebel smacks her arm.

“How was it?” I throw into the fray.

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