Page 71 of The Love Dare
“You’re not sorry, are you?” he asks softly, vulnerability coloring his tone.
She scrunches her brows. “Sorry for what?”
“That it happened.”
“God, no.” Winnie stops walking and looks up at him to make sure he understands. “I wouldn’t change a single thing about last night. Not a single thing.”
The corners of his mouth curve up. “Me neither.”
“I’m surprised you’re so calm though,” she comments lightly.
He tilts his head to the side, confused. “Why?”
“Because my dad might be one of those ten million viewers.”
All the color drains from Tyler’s cheeks. “Oh, fuck.”
Winnie laughs outright as she lets go of his hand, leaving him with that little gift before turning toward her side of the hotel.
“You don’t think they’ll show it, do you?” he calls after her, desperation shifting his voice an octave higher than it usually is. “Do you, Win? Win! Winnie!”
She turns toward him at the base of the stairs and offers a little wave before jogging up the steps. Let him ruminate on that for the next few hours.
Winnie’s grinning by the time she gets back to her room, so distracted she doesn’t even see the note attached to the door until she’s already knocking. Her fist is still raised as the panel swings open.
“You’re back!” Harper cheers. “Come on. I want to hear—” She breaks off, noticing the horrified expression twisting Winnie’s features. “What? What’s?—”
Harper quiets. A stern frown sharpens her features.
Whore.
They stare at the bright red word together, written in lipstick over theDo Not Disturbcard that usually hangs from the knob. It’s not until Harper reaches up and violently rips it down that Winnie even sees how it was stuck to the wood—gum. Her friend takes the thin cardboard and rips it clean in two, then disappears into the bathroom. The toilet flushes. She returns with a bright smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Well, now that that’s done, come on.” Harper hooks her elbow around Winnie’s and drags her into the safe haven of their room. “I want to hear everything.”
It’s a show of solidarity so pure, so powerful, Winnie blinks back tears. She’s so rarely had this in her life—someone to share the burden, to make it easier to bear. No woman except Sam has ever had her back like this, without question, without hesitation. And now she has three more friends, she realizes, as Harper shares a look with Cynthia and Charlotte, something passing between them unspoken, causing the other girls to race across the room—three more friends who see something in her worth defending.
It means so much more than any of them will ever know.
It’s the difference between spending the afternoon curled in her bed crying versus spending it the way she actually does, giggling and sighing and blushing and talking so much her throat goes a little hoarse, because she has no reason to feel ashamed and every reason to feel exactly the way she does—happy.
By the time the puzzle ceremony rolls around, she’s almost forgotten the incident even happened.Almost.Though it comes surging back to the surface the moment she steps into the cocktail party and every other girl in the room goes silent. Their looks are so dirty they may as well be slinging mud.
“Do I have something in my teeth?” Harper sweetly croons.
Charlotte rolls her eyes and links arms with Winnie, guiding her into the room. They find a tray of champagne and each grab a flute.
“You’d think they’d never seen two people make out before,” Cynthia comments as she joins them a moment later.
“They’re just jealous,” Charlotte adds. “It’ll pass.”
“I know,” Winnie says, feigning a nonchalance she doesn’t quite feel. Because she gets it. She came into this show wearinga bright redfuck medress, like a metaphoricalfuck youto every other woman here, whether she meant it or not. And now they all caught her out with Ty after hours, fulfilling the seductress roll production painted her into. They don’t know the full story. They have no idea that Ty sought her out, no idea of the history the two of them share. If Winnie were in their shoes, she’d be pissed too.
But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.
She sips her champagne, letting the fizz bubble through her and calm her nerves. The women whisper, passing glances her way. She wants to believe it’s not about her, that she’s being a vain idiot, but the little tickle at the back of her neck says otherwise.
“Where do you think we’ll go next?” Charlotte asks.
