His dark chuckle slithers its way to me, curling into my skin, and forces me to squeeze my thighs together.
“Now see,” I look beyond him, rubbing the soles of my fingers against the tree. The night seems lighter somehow. “Ogre makes sense, but lovebird is kind of random.”
He shakes his head, “It isn’t.”
Raised brows. “Care to explain?”
His are furrowed. Arms crossed over each other now. Ah, the ogre's default pose. “Pick me and find out for yourself.”
I can’t help it. I laugh.
Stomach clenching, raw and uninhibited laugh. A snort here, a spit flying there, totally unladylike, but I can’t help it. “No wonder you don’t have any game with women.”
It legit sounds like he watches too many romance films and decided to experiment a line pit for himself.
Surprise (not really), what works in movies rarely works in real life.
“Is this the reason you came?” I wipe a tear from beneath my eye. “Dating shows are your way of learning how to get the girlies?”
All humour disappears. “I’m not here to learn how to approach women, Nova.”
Thenwhatare you here for?
Seems like our conversation is done.
Just when I think he’ll walk past me, Dean stops in front of me. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. His minty breath warms my face. With one last glance brushing over every exposed slither of skin, “Don’t stay out too late.”
And I’m left more confused than before.
I run a hand through my hair, letting my fingers pull against tangled strands. Let me see, he comes here, knows me, doesn’t answer questions, doesn’t want me calling him Mr. Vuk even though we have a professional relationship, reads romance novels, doesn’t talk to any of the other girls, and stares at me like I’m going to snarl.
He is an escape room I didn’t sign up for and a part of me is… enjoying it.
Snap.
I screech, pulling the blanket closer around me. My heart is hollering and not the good kind. “Dean? Is that you?”
No response.
There’s no way I’m about to die on a reality show. I do not want to become a true crime podcast topic.
Whipping my head to look, leaves sway in trees, and bushes move with the wind,
Standing up, I walk through the arched opening and look down to a tree branch snapped in half. My nose scrunches at the stench of chemicalized fragrance left behind. I thought we learned not to use AXE sprays after middle school gym class.
Cameras should be turned off.
The staff members left. Or at least that’s what we’ve been told.
Unless…
Someone was watching us.
CHAPTER 17
“Tell us Nova, who do you think sent you the messages a couple of nights ago?” Irene sits on a highchair this time. She’s holding a cup of—what looks like—steaming coffee or tea in her hand. Her infamous iPad rests on her lap and she’s nursing that same friendly smile I’ve come to look forward to.
After waking up at the crack of dawn, visiting Lottie, and checking the plants in the garden, the production team messages me for an interview.
