though.”
Claire gathered her guilt-strewn wits and stood. “Let’s go. I need to make a quick stop by the confession booth before we go to dinner.”
Ally scooted off the bed. “Thanks for reminding me. I have a confession or two of my own to make.”
Mitch peered into the camera that sat behind the confession-booth curtain. Eden’s creative team had decided contestants might speak more freely if they couldn’t see the person filming them. It worked. Over the past couple of weeks, he’d heard intimate details explicit enough to make Hugh Hefner blush.
The contestant who’d just entered the booth sat in the chair facing the camera, then cleared his throat. “Damien Dimeola from Jersey,” he said for the record, as all the contestants had been instructed to do.
Damien leaned back. Balancing on only two chair legs, he crossed his arms over his sculpted pecs, which were apparent despite the silky black dress shirt he wore. “Ally,” he said, as if tasting the name. “Ally, Ally, Ally.” His mouth curled up at one corner. “She wants me. She ”—hisbrows bobbed—“ wants ”—they lifted and fell again—“ me .”On the final bob, the chair legs hit the floor with a thunk .
Mitch lifted a brow of his own. It’s really a shame you don’t have more confidence, buddy.
Damien uncrossed his arms. “The woman hung on every word I said. She was eating me up, you know what I’m sayin’?” He leaned in toward the camera. “Eating me up, I’m telling you. She couldn’t even speak. The lady was speechless, she was so into me.”
Ally wasn’t the only one speechless. Mitch zoomed in for a closeup of Damien’s smug face. And what do you think of her? he wanted to ask.
Damien saved him the trouble. “I think she thinks I’m the one for her. The. One. We’re not in the same group for dinner tonight, so I’m gonna make her suffer some. Catch her eye while I’m giving the other chicks their chance. Make her work for it, you know what I’m sayin’?”
Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know what you’re saying. Over the past two weeks, he’d waded through different versions of the same bullshit more times than he could count.
Tuning Damien out, Mitch let his thoughts meander to the modest green suit in the canvas bag at his feet. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he thought he could smell her perfume. Poison, the bartender had said. A more fitting brand name would’ve been Aphrodisiac.
He became so caught up in his thoughts of Aphrodite O’Malley that he didn’t realize Damien had left until the door to the confession booth opened and a woman with shoulder- length curly brown hair stepped inside.
“Ally Kendall. Dallas, Texas,” she said, taking her place in the chair.
Mitch snapped to attention. Ally Kendall. The woman who was “so into” Damien. He grinned. This ought to be good.
The woman nibbled on a cuticle a second, then examined her nails before lowering her hand to her lap. “How can I possibly express to you my deep feelings for Damien Dimeola?” she asked, staring directly into the camera. After a dreamy sigh, she opened her mouth wide and stuck a finger inside of it, gagging herself. “The only thing I found even remotely interesting about Damien was the crustacean hanging from his left nostril. Tenacious little ol’ thing. I kept waiting for it to drop off, but it held tight all the way through dessert. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. Good Lord, the thing struck me mute.”
Mitch didn’t even try to muffle his laugh.
Ally scowled. “Why is it all my dates have been duds? Are there any men playing this game who won’t bore me to tears? I’m starting to have my doubts.” She tilted her head to one side. “Hmmm. Maybe I should just follow the lead of one so-called committed female contestant and look to the crew for a little fun on the side.”
Startled by that last comment, Mitch waited to hear more, but Ally Kendall stood.
“Anyway, that’s all I have to
Claire gathered her guilt-strewn wits and stood. “Let’s go. I need to make a quick stop by the confession booth before we go to dinner.”
Ally scooted off the bed. “Thanks for reminding me. I have a confession or two of my own to make.”
Mitch peered into the camera that sat behind the confession-booth curtain. Eden’s creative team had decided contestants might speak more freely if they couldn’t see the person filming them. It worked. Over the past couple of weeks, he’d heard intimate details explicit enough to make Hugh Hefner blush.
The contestant who’d just entered the booth sat in the chair facing the camera, then cleared his throat. “Damien Dimeola from Jersey,” he said for the record, as all the contestants had been instructed to do.
Damien leaned back. Balancing on only two chair legs, he crossed his arms over his sculpted pecs, which were apparent despite the silky black dress shirt he wore. “Ally,” he said, as if tasting the name. “Ally, Ally, Ally.” His mouth curled up at one corner. “She wants me. She ”—hisbrows bobbed—“ wants ”—they lifted and fell again—“ me .”On the final bob, the chair legs hit the floor with a thunk .
Mitch lifted a brow of his own. It’s really a shame you don’t have more confidence, buddy.
Damien uncrossed his arms. “The woman hung on every word I said. She was eating me up, you know what I’m sayin’?” He leaned in toward the camera. “Eating me up, I’m telling you. She couldn’t even speak. The lady was speechless, she was so into me.”
Ally wasn’t the only one speechless. Mitch zoomed in for a closeup of Damien’s smug face. And what do you think of her? he wanted to ask.
Damien saved him the trouble. “I think she thinks I’m the one for her. The. One. We’re not in the same group for dinner tonight, so I’m gonna make her suffer some. Catch her eye while I’m giving the other chicks their chance. Make her work for it, you know what I’m sayin’?”
Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know what you’re saying. Over the past two weeks, he’d waded through different versions of the same bullshit more times than he could count.
Tuning Damien out, Mitch let his thoughts meander to the modest green suit in the canvas bag at his feet. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he thought he could smell her perfume. Poison, the bartender had said. A more fitting brand name would’ve been Aphrodisiac.
He became so caught up in his thoughts of Aphrodite O’Malley that he didn’t realize Damien had left until the door to the confession booth opened and a woman with shoulder- length curly brown hair stepped inside.
“Ally Kendall. Dallas, Texas,” she said, taking her place in the chair.
Mitch snapped to attention. Ally Kendall. The woman who was “so into” Damien. He grinned. This ought to be good.
The woman nibbled on a cuticle a second, then examined her nails before lowering her hand to her lap. “How can I possibly express to you my deep feelings for Damien Dimeola?” she asked, staring directly into the camera. After a dreamy sigh, she opened her mouth wide and stuck a finger inside of it, gagging herself. “The only thing I found even remotely interesting about Damien was the crustacean hanging from his left nostril. Tenacious little ol’ thing. I kept waiting for it to drop off, but it held tight all the way through dessert. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. Good Lord, the thing struck me mute.”
Mitch didn’t even try to muffle his laugh.
Ally scowled. “Why is it all my dates have been duds? Are there any men playing this game who won’t bore me to tears? I’m starting to have my doubts.” She tilted her head to one side. “Hmmm. Maybe I should just follow the lead of one so-called committed female contestant and look to the crew for a little fun on the side.”
Startled by that last comment, Mitch waited to hear more, but Ally Kendall stood.
“Anyway, that’s all I have to
Similar Books
