My arms remain around Quinn as a deluge of water consumes us. Are we dead or alive when the boat stops? I don’t know. My eyes are closed, and my fingers have never clutched anything as tightly as I clutch the wee lass to my chest.
A smattering of applause greets my ears, and I open my eyes. Quinn’s head pops up, and she peers around.
“Oh my fucking god, get me out of this boat,” she grumbles as she scrambles off my lap.
Kindra offers her a hand, and I join her on the platform. Everyone looks like they’ve been swimming against their will.
“We have to get the next clue once everyone else has arrived,” Ezra says. “Jim’s orders.”
Quinn shakes her head and starts walking toward the exit. “I think I’ve had enough of Jim’s games for the moment.”
She doesn’t wait for me to join her. She doesn’t even pause to see if I’m following her as she hurries toward the exit. A sinkingfeeling fills my innards, and I hope against hope that the kiss hasn’t done more damage than I realized.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Quinn
Black eyeliner smudges at the corner of my eye for the third time, and I throw the stupid pencil at the wall with a scream. If I weren’t planning to impress a man, the liner would glide right on, butno. Now it wants to play up and make me look stupid.
Men, Quinn. Plural. Because you’re a whore and you don’t know which man you want most.
That’s the long and short of it. Kissing Aven was a horrible decision, not because it was a bad kiss. No, that would have made this simpler. Instead, he had to go and make me forget my fucking name. That’s how mind-scrambling his kisses are.
I close my eyes and lean my forehead against the mirror. This was supposed to get easier, not more difficult. I had hoped that he’d be a bad kisser or that he had horrible breath or, at the very least, I wouldn’t feel feelings and hear bells ringing when his lips pressed against mine.
Then there’s the whole loyalty issue once more. Green Guy was fine with my proposition to pursue both men, but will Avenbe so willing to share? Something tells me his answer will be a laugh and a resounding hell no.
You gotta call things off with Green Guy, my inner voice whispers.
That seems like the best call. He’s nice and all, but at least Aven can talk to meandfuck me. I’ll break the bad news to Green Guy tonight when we meet.
Feeling a little more self-assured, I open my eyes and drag the pencil over my upper lid again. This time, the line ends in a delicate point, just as it should.
“Perfect,” I whisper with a smile.
Voices rise outside my door, and I turn toward the sound as someone knocks. I’m not expecting any visitors, and Aven isn’t due to pick me up until six. I still have thirty minutes.
Curiosity and trepidation mingle in my chest as I rise and go to the door. Peering through the peephole, I spot Frankie, Cat, Eve, and Kindra. Eve holds a large purple garment bag, and Cat has what looks like an entire MUA studio trailing behind her in a massive black case. A hot-pink hairdryer hangs from the handle.
I open the door and offer the girls a smile. “What’s all this about?”
“Jim decided to give us a dress code for the show,” Kindra says with a nod toward the garment bag. “Once that was set, Cat decided we needed makeovers.”
Cat jiggles the case’s handle. “Before I decided to go into nursing, I had a budding acting career. I miss doing everyone’s makeup.”
I motion to my face. “I only got as far as primer and eyeliner, so my canvas is fair game.”
“And what a lovely canvas it is,” Eve says. She eases past me as I open the door wider to let them in. “Have you ever considered modeling? You have the facial structure for it, though my agency would make you lose about fifty pounds.”
“Fifty pounds?” I look down at my thick thighs and stomach pooch. While I’d love to ditch the latter, the former more than makes up for it. “I think I’ll stick to the pizza and chocolate shakes.”
“I don’t blame you, honey. I was blessed with the metabolism of a hummingbird, so I can eat whatever and maintain my physique.” Eve admires her figure in the mirror, as she should. She’s a knockout in a long powder-blue gown and strappy silver heels that lace up her sculpted calves. The color practically glows against her umber skin.
Cat is just as flashy in a hot-pink number that makes her blue eyes pop. The playful, flared short skirt paired with the tight, glittery bodice works well with her figure, and her bright blonde hair falls around her head in loose starlet waves.
“Why aren’t you in a dress?” I ask Frankie.
She grimaces, then laughs. “I don’t really do girly shit. I’m more comfortable in a power suit with flowing legs than a dress.”