“So, you going to give me a hint about the challenge today?” I whisper when Flynn sits next to me, arm slung casually over the back of my seat. His fingers gently rub the exposed skin on my shoulder.
“How about I give you three hints and you see if you can guess?”
“Deal.” I turn, giving him my full attention.
“One. You’re really good at it. But we haven’t done it in a while and I miss it.”
“Hmmm … I’m intrigued.”
“Two. I hope no one wants yours today.”
“You need to give better hints.”
His eyes sparkle. “Three.” He leans in and kisses me softly on the lips. It’s an innocent kiss; his forehead rests tenderly against mine as the bus slows to a stop.
Everyone crowds to look outside the windows at where we are. Santa Monica Pier. A minute later, Miles hops on the bus and delivers today’s challenge.
“Ladies. Welcome to Santa Monica Pier. Today’s challenge may earn one lucky contestant immunity from going home this week. With only six women left, the winner will have only one more elimination ceremony before making it to the coveted final four. I’ll let your boyfriend tell you all about what we’re doing here at the pier.”
Flynn stands. “You can bet this one wasn’t picked by me.” He catches my eye before continuing. “Your challenge today is to earn more money than me. We’ve each been assigned a booth and we’re going to see who the best salesperson is.”
“What are we selling?” Jessica asks from two rows behind me.
“You’re selling you, Jessica. Each of us is manning a kissing booth today. One dollar buys a kiss. The winner has to earn more money than me and all of the other ladies.”
“How are we supposed to sell more kisses than you? Look at you,” Jessica coos.
“I have confidence you’ll make a killing, Jess.”
As we step off the bus, Miles hands us each a chapstick and flashes a leering grin.
“Is she serious?” Sadie motions to Jessica’s booth, where the line is probably a hundred deep. We were each allowed to make one phone call and have a friend bring a single item to help us in our challenge today. Jessica received a bikini top from her friend—if you can call it that. Technically, I think “bikini top” is too generous; it’s more like nipple covers. Me? I asked Sadie to bring me a box of Altoids. Not my most well-thought-out plan.
I kiss a young boy on the cheek and stuff his dollar into the box next to me. I actually have a pretty decent line, especially considering I’m wearing a tank top that covers my boobs. I look over to Jessica’s booth. I gotta hand it to her, she certainly knows how to work it. Leaning over at the waist to reach each tongue-wagging guy, her ass cheeks hang out from her short shorts almost as much as her boobs flow over from her sad excuse for a top. Each guy gets a full pucker kiss on the lips. Even the fourteen-year-olds. There are going to be a lot of wet dreams in Santa Monica tonight.
Two hours later, the director calls for a fifteen-minute break so the crew and contestants can all use the bathroom.
“How’s it going over there?” I ask Flynn as we meet in the hall walking out of our respective bathrooms.
“Aside from the sixty-year-old who stuck her tongue down my throat and the fifteen-year-old who left gum on my lips? Not bad. You?”
I laugh. “I had a seventy-year-old man who took a selfie of us kissing to send to his wife because she pissed him off this morning, and I’ve kissed the same thirteen-year-old boy on the cheek eleven times. He keeps going back on line and trying to turn his head to catch my lips with his.”
“Kid’s got good taste. I would’ve been on your line a couple of dozen times too at that age.”
“Not Jessica’s?” I tease.
“Nah. I’m more the girl-next-door type. I like to use my imagination to picture what’s underneath the shirt.” Flynn’s eyes drop. He starts at my toes, his eyes lingering at my breasts, before his gaze locks with mine.
“Like what you’re imagining?” I arch an eyebrow.
“More than you know.” He winks.
chapter ten
Cooper
My car veers off the Pacific Coast Highway as if it has a mind of its own. I’ve kept away the last week, at least in person. Although it hasn’t stopped me from obsessing over the dailies I make Helen have on my desk every morning by seven. I’m beginning to feel like a voyeur. Slowing down the parts where Kate’s on screen, analyzing her every move when she’s around Dickhead.
I’ve been with women who get possessive too early; it makes me cut ties quickly, deeming them a stalker when it slips they knew where I was the night before without my telling them. Yet here I am, pulling up to the Santa Monica Pier like the stalker I’ve become. I watched the dailies this morning, told myself I was just going to go for a drive, put the top down and clear my head. I’m even bullshitting myself.