Page 6 of You're ours now

“I want her,” I admit for the first time.

“What are you proposing?” Zayne hedges. I knew he would be the first to cave. This is way out of character for me, but when it comes to her, I would walk to the ends of the earth to make her happy.

“We fulfill her fantasies. We wear masks, we give her what she wants, and we don’t tell her it’s us.”

Storm scoffs. “How the fuck do you propose we manage that? This is Mellie we are talking about here—she will know it’s us. Fuck, she knows us better than we know ourselves.”

“But she won’t see our faces,” I remind him.

“What?” Confusion laces Zayne’s tone.

“I meant it when I said we give her everything she wants, starting with wearing masks and chasing her. I’ll pull her application from the show, but we won’t tell her. We’ll let her think she was successful, then we’ll plan everything she wanted.”

“What if she figures it out?” Zayne asks.

I shrug. “We’ll deal with the fallout.”

“This is too fucking risky, Julius. We could lose her and that isn’t something I’m okay with,” Storm argues.

I knew he would be the hardest to convince; as the noble protector, he would break anyone in half to save Mellie. He’s never made a move on her because he’s too scared he’ll wind up breaking her heart. She has always been so in love with the ideaof love, and her heart is so damn pure. However, this dark and kinky side of her is something not even we knew about.

“I’m doing this with or without you guys, so either you help me or watch from the sidelines as she chooses me while you both miss out. You can take a leap of fucking faith and show our girl she doesn’t need to look for love because we’ve been here all along. We’re all she needs.”

We always worried having a female best friend would complicate things, but we’re not hormone-filled teenagers anymore. I know what I want, and it is for my best friend to get what she wants. And there’s absolutely no way some stranger can be trusted to give her what she needs.

Chapter Four

Mellie

For someone who loves the idea of love so much, I’m a complete disaster. It’s no surprise I didn’t get a call back forTrue Love’s Match. Who’d want the liability I would have brought? Not to mention there is no way they could air the content they filmed of me on any streaming service. Of course they wanted normal answers to their questions. I should have said I liked long walks on the beach and a nice quiet meal by the fireplace—now that’s something they could film. Not that I desire those things, but shit, I didn’t have to go balls to the wall straight up. Instead, I went directly to the things you normally have to warm people up to.

Thankfully, my boss just completed the biggest wedding we’ve done so far. It was magical, with ice swans and flowerseverywhere. The cake was so big they brought it in disassembled and put it together at the venue. I would never want something so big. Instead, I dream of a ceremony with only family and close friends, and a boho vibe. Though I doubt it will happen soon. I have the next five days off, and I plan to spend them moping around the house, watching sappy love movies, and eating my body weight in ice cream.

Opening the front door, I step through and dump my bag on the floor, then slip off my shoes. “Julius, Zayne, Storm... are you guys home?”

There’s no answer, so I guess no one is home from work yet. I stop at Zayne’s room and twist the handle, popping my head in—it’s empty. Strange, normally Zayne is home at this time of day. Maybe he got called in to the bar early or had a gig. As a musician, he keeps weird hours.

I can’t help my sigh of disappointment—I was hoping we could start our Valentine’s Day movie marathon early. After my failed interview last week, he promised he would clear today and mope with me. Walking down the hall with a bag full of every flavor ice cream I could carry, I head into the kitchen and dump them on the counter. My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore the message, expecting it to be my boss. I love being her assistant, but there are so many tasks she pushes on me, which shouldn’t be my problem. She pays me well, though, so I won’t complain too loudly. After stacking the ice cream in the freezer, I decide to read the damn text.

Unknown

Congratulations on making it to the second round of contestants for True Love’s Match. You will be sent a location to attend for the next stage, so please pack an overnight bag. You will be sent updates and must follow the directions to remain a finalist. Please check your email and sign the attached waiver form. We will be in contact after receiving your returned form.

A squeal peels from my lips, and I jump up and down. Maybe I won’t be spending Valentine’s Day with my best friend, who’s only doing it out of pity. Though I remind myself not to get too excited, as my potential match will have to actually ask me out on Valentine’s Day first, but it’s a step in the right direction.

Racing to my room, I then power on my laptop and open my email, clicking the link to the waiver. I scan the contents, and it all seems straightforward. It asks for my likes and dislikes, a safe word, and for a list of things I will consent to doing. It also wants me to upload my most recent STI results. Thankfully Julius is anal about all of us being tested twice a year. We got our results a month ago and since then I have been in a dry spell. It also states the only portion filmed is my arrival, and that I will be required to give an interview afterwards. It seems odd, but honestly, I don’t know what kind of show they are filming. Maybe it’s a matchmaking service, and it showcases what they can do, like more of a documentary. I make a mental note to ask when I arrive.

Once I’m done and have submitted everything, I slap my laptop closed and slide off my bed. I pack an overnight bag as nervous energy flits through my system, but I shake it off. I want this experience just once because no doubt when I finallymeet someone and settle down, my fantasies won’t be a priority. If the last guy is an example, wrapping my hand around a bed partner’s neck won’t be something I do often, even if the thought of my dainty hands collaring a man makes me wet enough to pull out my purple vibrator and take it for a spin. I close my eyes and picture Storm’s thick tattooed neck, but my eyes fly back open. Now isn’t the time to have a sexual fantasy about my best friend.

My phone beeps, and I open the new text from the unknown number. It’s a set of coordinates. A second message quickly follows.

Unknown

You have two hours.

Shit. Once I click on my destination, I see it takes an hour to drive there. Frantically, I throw my nice underwear in the suitcase, a dress, something casual to wear home, and my toiletries. Doubt creeps in as I zip up the suitcase. Can I do this? I want love and feelings, whereas this seems impersonal. But if it works out, maybe it could become love, so it’s worth a shot...

Ugh. I have an hour drive to convince myself I can do this. It can’t be worse than the many failed dates I’ve had in the last six months.

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