Bedroom Games (2 page)

I didn’t mention that I’d tried to give my
mother some money and that she’d just gambled it away. This time? I
wanted enough money to take the mortgage out of her hands. So even
if she tossed away her entire paycheck, she’d still have a roof
over her head.

I wanted to run my fingers through my hair,
but they got tangled into the spray-teased curls and I winced. I
tended to fidget when I was nervous, and I was exceedingly nervous
right now.

For some reason, being on camera and knowing
that my confession was going to be broadcast to millions of people?
Didn’t bug me. Thinking about my mother sitting at the casino and
squandering her life savings? It made my lungs tighten and my
stomach hurt with anxiety.

“So that’s why I’m here. I know this show is
about scheming and backstabbing your way to the million-dollar
prize, and I plan on doing that with the rest of them. If I have to
flirt? I’ll flirt. If I have to lie? I’ll lie. I’ll do whatever it
takes to claw my way to the top. And I’m saying it now—if I’m not
very nice in this game, just know that it’s not me. This is just
something I’m doing to bail out my mom and get us ahead. And I
apologize in advance.”

“So what’s your personality like, Kandis?
Describe it for us.”

I sat up, startled to hear the words come
through the mirror. Someone was listening after all. “Well,” I
said, thinking. “I’m not much of a flirt, so I’m going to have to
work really hard on that aspect. Be prepared to see a lot of bad,
obvious flirting,” I said with a wry smile at the camera. “I tend
to get really competitive. Like, over-competitive. It’s probably my
biggest flaw. I’d say I’m easygoing, but that’d be a lie. I’d also
say I’m a good person, but I find that most of the time, when
someone says that they’re a good person, they’re usually trying to
convince themselves. I’m honest, though…so, again, I will be doing
a lot of bad, obvious lying in this game. Be prepared.”

“What do you do for fun?”

I grinned at that. “I love to dance. Love
it.” I did a little shimmy in my seat, raising my arms above my
head in a mock-dance. I dropped them again and smiled sheepishly at
my reflection. “Dancing’s my thing. It’s one reason I became a
Zumba instructor. Dance all day and get a workout? Yes, please.
Also, I’m a bit of a pig when it comes to food, so it helps to stay
in shape.”

The voice through the mirror was
hollow-sounding. “Any fears?”

“I hate bugs,” I said immediately. “Snakes
don’t bother me. Heights don’t bother me. Flying doesn’t bother me.
Being on TV doesn’t bother me. But bugs make me totally lose my
shit.”

The voice immediately piped back in, the tone
slightly chastising. “As a reminder, Kandis, you will be on camera
all summer. Please remember that cursing is bad for the network
because we have to bleep out your words, and it interrupts the flow
of conversations.”

I cringed. “Sorry. I have a big mouth.” I
grimaced. “Another thing I’m going to have to learn to keep shut in
this house.”

There was no laugh on the other end.

~~ * ~~

My hands twisted as I sat in the isolation
booth, listening to Vivaldi’s “The Seasons.” The blindfold itched,
but I’d been told not to fuss with it since it would make me look
twitchy. Apparently the cameras would be flashing to us repeatedly
while the show started, and we needed to be as still as possible.
So I sat on the hard stool under the hot lights, listened to
classical music, and tried my best to stay still.

Unfortunately, all that quiet time made me
think of my mother again.

My mother, who spent a fortune she didn’t
have at the casinos. My mother, who’d charged up all her credit
cards by putting groceries and bills on them so she could use her
cash for the casino. Who called in sick to work so she could go
gamble. Who was convinced that her ‘big break’ just lay around the
corner and that all she had to do was wait for it to happen.

My mother, who’d cried like a baby when she’d
had to come and borrow another hundred dollars from me so she could
buy food. I’d given her the money, suckered by her tears…

And she’d gone straight to the casino.

I didn’t know what to do. I’d staged an
intervention with other family members—cousins and aunts and
uncles—but they had embarrassed her and she’d run out the door. I’d
tried gently suggesting rehab. I’d suggested medication. I’d read
books on how to handle an addict. All the while, my mother kept
draining my funds because I wasn’t heartless enough to leave her
homeless. It had gotten to the point that I had to take her grocery
shopping simply because I didn’t trust her to take the money I gave
her and actually buy food. If it was up to her, she’d buy a
cupboard full of ramen and pocket the rest, all so she could stick
it in the nearest slot machine.

It was stressful for me, too. My finances
were getting tighter all the time, and I’d broken up with my last
boyfriend because he had been furious that I was spending more time
trying to handle my mother than going out with him. Also? It was
really hard to be in the mood when you were sick with worry, and he
hadn’t liked that either.

When I’d seen the
advertisement for the
House Guests
casting call, it had seemed like the winning
lottery ticket that my mother was always searching for. I’d sat
down with my laptop and made an audition video, vowing to lie,
scheme, and cheat my way to the top.

I’d never expected to get a call, not really.
And yet, weeks later, here I was, fidgeting and waiting for the
okay to step out of isolation and meet the other eleven guests that
I’d be living with this summer.

As if the show could read my
mind, a voice cut in over the soothing violin sounds in my
headphones. “
House
Guests
, please take your blindfolds and
headphones off. When your booth chimes, you will be allowed to
enter the house. Once inside, there will be stools onstage marked
with your name. Please proceed to your labeled stool and
sit.”

I pulled the headphones off, resisting the
urge to rock on my heels with anticipation. I was wearing high
heels—which I never did, because they messed up your feet and I
made a living off of my feet—and rocking backward would have been
dangerous. I pulled the headphones the rest of the way off, removed
the blindfold, and waited.

A moment later, there was a ding in my booth,
and I opened the door.

The isolation booths had been set up on the
porch of the creepy house, so I didn’t have far to walk to get
inside. Show staff was there to point me to the door, ushering me
inside, so I knew they weren’t filming this part. My guess was that
they’d film my grand entrance.

I headed to the big double-doors and an
assistant put a hand in front of the door, gesturing for me to
wait. After a moment, he cocked his head, listening to his
headphones. Then, he nodded and moved aside so I could enter.

I took a deep breath. This was my chance to
save my mom—and my sanity—in one fell swoop. All I had to do was
slither my way to the top and get the jury to vote for me.

I put a hand on the door and stepped
forward.

My heel caught on one of the cords stretched
across the doorway, and I stumbled into the house, nearly
face-planting. I managed to catch myself, staggering and nearly
plowing into one of the people waiting on the other side of the
door.

Memorable entrance, yes. Graceful, not so
much.

“You okay?” A man moved to my side as I
wobbled and tried not to fall. He put a steadying arm around my
waist.

“House Guests! No talking until you are given
the go-ahead. Please move to your seats.”

I looked over at the man, flashing him a
grateful smile. He was a few inches taller than me, about my age,
and he had a lean face with dark, soulful eyes. Not bad, not bad at
all. “You probably better do what they say.”

“I will…as soon as I know you can stand
without my help.” He didn’t move.

“It’s these shoes,” I muttered, lifting one
foot and leaning on my new friend. Sure enough, one of the spiky
heels had snapped, and now it hung on by a mere thread. I
contemplated pulling off the entire shoe, but it was stylishly
covered with buckles and straps and would take a minute to undo.
Since they were screaming for us to sit down, I did the next best
thing. I tugged the heel off, tossed it aside, and then lifted my
other foot to snap the other heel off, making myself a pair of
oddly angled flats. “At least now I can walk.”

He chuckled and his arm left my side. “All
right, then.”

I hobbled over to the stools and found the
one marked ‘Kandis’ on the front row and thumped into my seat.
There were a few other contestants already seated, perched silently
on their stools. The one I’d met—the cute guy—winked at me from his
place in the back row. There were three rows and I counted
seats—twelve in all. Four in my row, four behind me, and four in
the back. No one else was sitting in the front row but me.

As other contestants moved through the doors
and headed to their chairs, I rubbed at my now-throbbing ankles.
Stupid shoes. That was what I got for trying to be sexy on national
TV. Now I just looked like a fool. I began to unbuckle the shoes,
propping up one foot and keeping busy to cover my embarrassment
while the others entered the house. Some people blushed when they
got nervous. I got fidgety.

I undid the jillions of buckles on both shoes
and pulled them off and then held them in my hands politely,
waiting for the okay to go find a garbage can. I crossed my legs
and swung one of my feet anxiously, glancing behind me. Both of the
rows in the back were full, but I was the only one on the front
row. The three seats next to me were still empty. Curious, I
glanced at the names on the seats.

There were only initials: LB on the far end,
KS in the middle, and BS next to me.

So there were three more contestants. Where
were they?

The lights in the house flickered to get our
attention, and for the first time, I paid attention to my
surroundings. The house was…interesting. It was very bright inside
despite the menacing exterior—no doubt because we were filming in
here. Light fixtures had been set in the ceilings. The floor
underneath our stools was hardwood, and the walls were a dark,
patterned purple. Picture frames lined the walls in several dark
colors, but each frame was filled with a two-way mirror or dark
glass that I knew shielded a camera on the other side. Each window
had been shuttered with old-fashioned coverings since we were
supposed to be isolated. There was a large fireplace with a big
mantel across the room, a grandfather clock, and lots of old
Victorian couches with little wooden legs. At the far end of the
big living room, if I craned my neck, I could see a long, wooden
dining table surrounded by old fashioned chairs. Very gothic.

Our stools were facing a very large TV that
covered one wall. As of right now, the TV was blank. That would be
where the host addressed us, then. I glanced over at the empty
stools once more, curious, and shared a shrug with my friend in the
back. He didn’t know what was up, either. Well, at least it wasn’t
just me.

The large TV in front of us
flashed the
House Guests
logo, and then cut to a screen. A smiling blonde
woman with a huge bouffant of hair beamed at us from the other
side.

“Hello, contestants! My name
is Becky Bradley, and I’ll be your House Mother for this season
of
House Guests
!
Welcome to the show!”

We all clapped politely. Someone behind me
whistled.

Becky smiled, clearly
unfazed by our enthusiasm. She continued on. “In just a few
minutes, we’re going to lock the doors, and this summer’s session
of
House Guests
will begin. Your first week in the house will be a free one.
After that, however, you will compete in the Power Play. Whoever
wins Power receives their own private room and will nominate two
other players for eviction at the end of the week. One by one,
you’ll be voted out until only two of you remain. Those last two
contestants will go head to head at the end of the summer and
compete for the million-dollar prize. Are you excited?”

We all cheered, myself included. It was hard
not to get excited at the thought of a million dollars by the end
of the summer.

“Before we go, though, I
have to warn you. Every season of
House
Guests
is full of twists.” Becky’s smile
was coy. “This season is no different.”

I wasn’t surprised. Anyone
that watched
House Guests
knew that the show liked to change things up on
people. They had to in order to keep things interesting.

“In fact, we’re starting out
with three twists…” Becky paused dramatically. “And the first one
is about to come through the doors. Good luck to you,
House Guests
!”

The TV fuzzed out, replaced
only by the
House Guests
logo. I glanced at the three empty stools next to
me. It was obvious what the first twist was going to be: more
contestants.

Sure enough, the double doors burst open a
moment later. Three people entered, each one holding a yellow
envelope labeled with a 1, 2, or 3.

My jaw dropped.

They’d said twist, all
right. I just hadn’t expected the twist to be famous people. Or
rather,
these
famous people.

The first one through the
door was a hot, sexy rocker guy with dark hair falling over one
eye. His arms and neck were covered in tattoos, and he had
piercings all over the place. I recognized him instantly — Liam
Brogan from
Finding
Threnody
, my favorite band. I knew they’d
just broken up last month, too. Oh my god. I fanned myself with
excitement. Liam Brogan was here? He was
hot
. He’d also been on
The World Races,
which had
just finished airing a few weeks ago, and had hooked up with a cute
little Southern blonde named Katy.