Chemical Attraction: The Social Experiment 3 Read online

  Brilliant? Powerful? They sound suspiciously like buzz words. She’s full of it. Isn’t she? Why do I get the feeling she’s conducting an experiment of her own?

  Ember reaches over and covers my fingers with her hands. “I just want you to know that what happens between us never has to be known, not to the world, certainly not to Chelle or your ex.” Sadness takes over her features for a moment before she blinks right back to that vixen-like grin. “Now that I’ve gotten to know your ex a bit, I’d like to do the same with you.” Her finger spins a soft circle over my palm, and I don’t dare flinch with the slight tickle.

  Ember jumps to her feet and offers a slight wink before taking off for the door.

  What the hell just happened?

  I sit there far longer than necessary trying to figure it out, but I’m stumped. Women like Ember Sparks have always had the ability to do just that, stump me—and that’s usually right before they bite my balls off.

  Carnal Circumstances

  Ember

  Springtime in Moon Ridge is the epitome of beauty. The wild lavender fields have taken over as far as the eye can see, right along with six-foot mustard plants dotting the periphery in bushels, and together they marry over the landscape in a swath of purple and gold like a real-life Monet come to life. The surrounding mountains are verdantly green right up until their snow-covered caps. It’s a feast for the eyes as everyone at Leland basks in its visual glory, right along with the balmy seventy-degree weather.

  I head for Coffeeology after my last class of the day, where Sophie and Violet sit waiting for me by the window, a spare drink between them just for me. What’s better than having a couple of great friends? Great friends who cater to your coffee addiction. I can’t help it. The scent of fresh ground beans is enough to drive me to the brink of an orgasm. Dexter Houston has it wrong. I shouldn’t be paired with a person. I should be paired with a coffee farm.

  “Hey, bitches.” I grin as I take my seat and the spare drink all at the same time. I take a few quick sips and moan. “Iced dark mocha is truly my favorite. Bitter and cold as my heart.”

  Vi wrinkles her nose. “You’ll need the caffeine. Any clue as to where date number two might be?”

  I glance to Soph and shake my head. “Nope. I was simply told to show up at Windy Peak in an hour.”

  “Windy Peak!” Sophie nearly shoots coffee from her nose. “I swear that place is permanently on my shit list.”

  It was at Windy Peak the TSE had Sophie and Rowen rappel their way down a sheer cliff side. Of course, there was enough panting and grunting going on between her and Rowen during that episode and, trust me, it was for all the right reasons. That date really kicked their relationship off to a heart-dropping start. And if anyone expects me to free-fall my way down a mountain, I’m pretty sure my heart will drop right out of my chest. Come to think of it, a death might be good for ratings. I wouldn’t put it past Dexter to secretly plot my demise on his way to conquering the Nielsen ratings.

  “I doubt they pull the same stunt twice,” I say, hopeful that my logic holds true. “I’m no fan of heights. Besides, I would never agree to that.” A thought comes to me. “Hey?” I look to Vi. “Didn’t they make you ski down a sheer cliff early on in their demented game? If getting my blood pumping is on their agenda, it had better entail a mattress and a cute member of the football team.”

  Soph looks up. “I thought your guy was on the basketball team?”

  “My guy as in Lenny? Yeah, he’s a b-ball boy, all right. And no offense to Lane”—I shoot a quick glance to Vi, whose boy toy dominated the dribbling game at Leland—“he’s the reason I’m requesting someone from another pig-skinned game. Lenny is about as exciting as a goal post. I’d say basketball hoop, but I’m guessing that hoop gets more action than he does. No offense to the minions who are hard at work behind Oz’s velvet curtain, but there’s no way I’m losing my head or my heart over that eight foot tall sack of bones—boy—emphasis on the boy. I need a man—that whole mattress scenario might be nice, too.”

  Sophie rolls her eyes. “You do realize that the entire point of this exercise is to make you fall in love over a short amount of time. It’s basically a pressure cooker. And you’re right about that whole get-your-heart-beating theory. It’s a scientifically proven fact that couples are more likely to fall in love once they’ve suffered a shared traumatic incident—one that gets your blood racing. You know, like scaling down a cliff or a mountain. Windy Peak, you say? My advice to you is bring cleats and a helmet.”

  Vi nods. “You might want to duct tape your body parts down for safe measure.”

  “Huh.” I contemplate the fact I’m about to venture out on some death-defying date, and that whole clash of the titanium bicycles comes back to me. “What if I told you I already had one hell of a heart-thumping unwanted one-on-one with the god of matchmaking himself?” I quickly relay my hellish encounter with Demented Dexter Hold-’em-Hostage-by-Hair-Houston and the two of them sit there, slack-jawed, eyes the size of golf balls.

  “God!” Sophie leans in clutching her chest. “He spun you by your ponytail?”

  Vi chokes at the thought. “Now that is kinky. Hey? Maybe he’ll work a little of that action into the show? He is striving for a ratings hike, and God knows that truth is stranger than fiction.”

  “Speaking of fiction…” Sophie nudges me with her foot from under the table. “How’s your fictional love life coming?”

  “As fate and irony would have it—great. I’ve buffed and polished his ego to a mirror shine. I’ve done so much stroking, my palm is almost as red as Dexter’s. And I might have landed a quick little peck on his lips to make sure he gets the lusty point.”

  “What?” Vi cries in horror. “You kissed him? No! That’s not how this works.”

  Sophie groans in agreement. “Geez, Ember!” she barks as if I just confessed to yanking off his summer sausage. “He’s going to think you’re a run-of-the mill skank. You want him to fall mercilessly in love with you, not into bed for a quickie.”

  I contemplate my options a moment. The latter would satisfy a rather long-suffering itch, but I don’t dare say a word. For a second, I envision Dexter with that pompous look on his face, his suit jacket gliding off his shoulders, his lids hanging heavy as he gets right to loosening his belt.

  “Whoa.” Soph waves a hand in front of me. “We’re losing her. Where’d you go?”

  Vi grunts, “She’s got him naked and on his back.”

  “He’s not on his back.” I frown over at her. “And he didn’t even get a chance to take his shirt off.”

  “Look.” Sophie closes her eyes as if she’s at her wit’s end with me. “I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no. Do not jump onto the nearest mattress. Do not collect two hundred orgasms. You want him to grovel at your feet.”

  Vi holds up a finger. “Two hundred orgasms?” She looks long and hard at her roommate before shaking her head as if coming to. “Never mind.” She looks my way with a look of pity. “No more kissing. Heck, no physical affection whatsoever. If you keep giving him something he’s not even sure he wants, he’ll be issuing you a restraining order rather than sending flowers.”

  “Nice.” I fold my arms tight across my chest. “So what you’re saying is that I’m on my way to a misdemeanor.”

  “Felony in some states,” Vi is quick to point out. “Play it smooth.”

  “Hard to get.” Sophie jabs her finger my way as if it were the winning answer. “Make him beg for that next kiss.”

  “And then what?” I ask both stymied and breathless. All of this is brand new territory to me. I’ve had a few boyfriends, if you can call them that, but I don’t recall any begging going on. And seeing that the thought thrills the hell out of me—it’s clear I’ve been doing it wrong. Dexter Houston on his knees is quite the visual. It’s officially the screen saver of my mind.

  “Fine. I’ll drive him so insane, he’ll bear holes at the knee from groveling. I’ll just tu
rn up the charm.”

  Sophie nods wildly. “Make sure to throw in an aerobic activity.”

  “Something quasi-dangerous!” Vi adds.

  “Aerobic and dangerous,” I parrot back.

  “Heart racing.” Sophie lifts her latte.

  “Heart breaking.” Vi lifts hers as well.

  I lift mine in solidarity. “Here’s to racing to break Dexter Houston’s black little heart. May he never know what hit him.”

  Sophie and Vi exchange a quick knowing glance.

  “And, Em?” Sophie pulls her drink back apprehensively as if what she were about to say were hardly toast-worthy. “Just be aware that these techniques have a tendency to work both ways.”

  Vi clenches her jaw tight. “Above all, guard your heart, lest you too fall hard and break something in the process.”

  A spurt of laughter bubbles from me. “It’ll be a cold day in hell when I fall in love with anybody—especially Dexter Houston.”

  “Okay then.” Sophie raises her drink once again. “To utter annihilation.”

  “To annihilation!” Vi and I chime in unison.

  Dexter Houston is going to fall on his knees and beg for more, right before I grind his heart out like a pile of smoldering embers.

  Annihilation indeed.

  * * *

  Windy Peak is just a quick jaunt from the now infamous Wild Rose Trail where Dex and I experienced our life-threatening meet-cute. I suppose the threat was strictly relegated to me, but I’m all about balancing the scales, and for the next five weeks, Dexter should very much fear for his life and his ego. But I’m not out to commit bodily harm. I’m all about the heart and squeezing the ever-living crap out of it with my tiny little fist.

  A bevy of trailers surrounds the base of the mountain, and I head over and find Seth speaking to his pretty plus one, Petra.

  “So glad you showed!” Seth belts it out as if I were rescuing him from a hostage situation. “Let’s get you into hair and makeup, and I’ll fill you in on what lies ahead for the evening.”

  He walks me over a few feet where I’m promptly pushed into a chair. “First, I’d like to go over a few things the demographics have shown concerning your on-screen debut.”

  “We haven’t aired yet, right?” My heart thumps inside my chest, first adrenaline rush of the night. It’s becoming clear I should probably ask Arlo not to view this with his buddies down at the fire station. I haven’t exactly been on my best behavior.

  “Not yet, but we always show it to a small sampling of students to get their thoughts on what couples we should focus on. The good news is that you’ve been selected.”

  “Lenny and me? Go figure!” I give the makeup artist a quick thumbs-up, but she promptly ignores me and continues to tease my hair toward the stratosphere. Unless it’s eighties night, it’s a totally unnecessary move on her part. And what the heck is up with her face? Is that burn on her cheeks? Is she so violently embarrassed to be here she can’t stop blushing? She pulls out a red palate of powder and begins liberally rubbing what looks like a bunny tail into it. Or that.

  Dear God. I’m going to look like a street whore.

  “What’s the bad news, Seth?” I have a feeling it’s only downhill from here.

  “They unanimously selected you as the villain of the season.”

  “A villain!” My adrenaline soars again, this time in a good way. If I keep having these heart-stopping moments all by my lonesome, I’m liable to fall in love with myself. I chortle at the thought. “That’s great news, Seth, and don’t you forget it.” I glance up to the blushing demon giving my hair a few quick—might I add rather violent tugs with her comb—“Be sure to give me some of those pointy brows that make you look like you’re perennially curious. If I’m going to be the villain, I want the classic look. Cruella de Vil all the way. Only instead of collecting puppies with which to fashion a coat, I’ll be collecting hearts.” Lenard and Dexter will be my first two victims. My God, this is going to be a hell of a lot more fun than I ever anticipated.

  Seth gives a dark laugh, that expression on his face looks just shy of pain. “It’s not quite a good thing, Ember. What I’m trying to say is that if you don’t come across a little more likeable, you’re bound to get the bad edit.”

  I suck in a sharp breath. “You mean the crazy edit?” I’ve watched enough reality TV to realize one poor soul gets sacrificed on the altar of psychosis just to give viewers someone to throw emotional peanuts at. “Oh my God, you cannot let that happen to me. I will walk.” I bat away the possessed woman attacking me with a fiery bunny tail.

  “Relax”—Seth holds out his hands in the event I decide to knock him over and make a run for it—“there’s plenty of time to rectify this. The first thing you’ll want to do is open up about prior tragedies. Have you lost a pet? A parent? The audience will love you. All they want is some assurance that you’re human. They don’t need you to be their best friend, just relatable. You’d be surprised how quickly people’s opinions can swing in the other direction. I’ll have Lenard ask you a few prodding questions. Feel free to run with any of them. Remember—you want to come across as affable.”

  Affable. Why does that sound like something that happened to Vi? I make a face. It would figure—I magnetized to her like a moth to flame. She was the official campus bitch for months. And if I’m not careful, it’ll be my turn next.

  “Got it,” I’m quick to assure him. “I’ll mind my P’s and Q’s. Speaking of which. We are nowhere near a bar. What kind of a good time do you have planned for me in this godforsaken desert?”

  Seth crimps a smile. “Head out when you’re through and I’ll show you.”

  Once Red-Faced Ruby is through gooping me up, I’m ushered back to Seth who promptly leads me past a curve in the road, only to reveal what looks like a bounce house, a giant blow-up slide and a couple of fat suits waiting on the side.

  “What in the fresh hell is this?” I demand. I am completely not amused. “It looks like a fairground,” I whine as a stagehand sticks his arm down my shirt and mics me up. “Please tell me we won’t be joined by an entire herd of thirteen-year-old boys. I’m allergic to prepubescent teens.” This was true even when I was a prepubescent teen myself. I’ve always had a low tolerance for goofballs that border on bullies.

  Seth frowns, but I pay his silent judgment no mind as I note a G-Wagen pulling up behind him. About damn time.

  Dexter has his sunglasses on masking his gaze, but by the way my backside suddenly heats up like a blaze, I’m betting I know exactly where those perverted eyes have landed.

  “Looks like the real show’s about to start,” I quip to myself.

  “That it is.” Seth gives me a spin before navigating me to where poor lumbering Lenard stands with a long stick in his hand that vaguely resembles a ten-foot Q-tip.

  “You ready to joust?” Lenard lets out a whoop in lieu of hello as the production team helps launch me onto a giant round arena—of the blow-up variety, of course. Everything set up at this mock carnival is fit for an eight-year-old’s birthday party. Hey! Maybe Dexter rented it out in hopes to use it later for its rightful purpose. I’m sure Chelle and her friends would have a great time, bouncing, leaping, and laughing themselves into delirium.

  Lenard helps me onto a small raised circular platform above the glorified arena, and his hungry gaze hooks to mine.

  “Damn, you’re beautiful.” He sheds a greasy grin that motivates me to send him flying.

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” I can’t help spouting off like a smartass. I’ve never been a good sport with cheesy come-ons.

  “I’m attracted to you.” His chest heaves as if it’s ready to pounce to prove it.

  “Everyone’s attracted to me.” I give a hearty wink and catch Seth just out of the shot, shaking his head my way. Crap. Affable. Right.

  A buzzer goes off, and I knock poor Lenard into tomorrow round after round before the TSE shuffles us to the oversized slide that looks just as dea
th-defying to climb as it does dangerous to descend.

  Dexter strides his too-cool-for-school self my way, and the warmth of his cologne reaches me before he does. The purple haze outlining the mountains behind him only highlights his vexing good looks—peppered stubble, glowing coffee-colored eyes, hints of a naughty smile. Dexter has it all going for him tonight. The fact he’s donned his requisite zoot suit makes him that much more comely against this foreign terrain he’s dragged us off to. He steps in close, and my body heat spikes. My heart begins to race for no good reason. Probably fight-or-flight—only after jousting like an Olympian, I’m too exhausted to fly anywhere.

  “That was quite a show,” he quips. “Remind me to never meet up with you in a dark alley.”

  “Yes, well, I’ve taken a cue from Teddy Roosevelt. Speak softly and carry a big stick.”

  He belts out a short-lived laugh. “I’m sure there are some very soft things about you. The things that come from your mouth are not on the list. You ready to climb the Matterhorn?”

  I offer a wry smile at his dig. “You’re right about my mouth, so I won’t bother with a comeback. Although it is rather nice to be recognized for my acid tongue. And if by Matterhorn you’re referencing that ridiculous descent into hell, you’re right a second time.” Men do love to be right. Gifting them that virtue is equivalent to licking them like a kitten on their most prized location. “You do realize how gravity works, don’t you? Look, I realize you’re no physicist, but a human body isn’t meant to glide down a luge that steep with nothing but a bale of hay waiting to break their fall at the bottom.”

  His lids slit low as if he were trying to seduce me, and my heart thumps wild as if accepting the offer. “Are you implying I’m lacking in intelligence?”