Chapter 12

Everyone's shuttled back to the hotel in a too-tight, too-sterile van with dark leather seats—well, everyone except Josh, who's always deliberately pushed into his own taxi, limo, or first-class airplane seat. The point, Lauren knows, is to remove him from any part of the journey that isn't romantic and magical and perfect. He's not supposed to see the women like this: Sara, with a rosy cheek pressed against the glass of the window. McKenzie, currently squished next to Lauren, humming under her vodka-scented breath. And Krystin, several rows back, out of Lauren's line of vision.

Sara startles awake when the car pulls up in front of the hotel. "All right. Everyone out," Jim says. "Remember, call time's not until three tomorrow. We have Lily's one-on-one date, and then we're shooting some more B-roll."

Lauren climbs out of the shuttle as gracefully as possible, then pauses to sift around in her purse for her room key. Krystin gently bumps her shoulder on her way out, then all but jumps back. "Sorry," she murmurs.

"It's fine." Lauren's eye catches on Krystin's wrist, adorned with a glittering date ribbon. After karaoke, Josh had thanked her for "always putting herself out there" and "going out of her comfort zone" and "doing scary, brave things for the sake of finding true love." McKenzie had visibly tensed, and Lauren tried, for the fortieth time, not to think about how Krystin really put herself out there in their Buenos Aires hotel room.

"I can't believe hometowns are next week." Lauren's been so focused on Krystin, now scurrying into the hotel elevator alone, that she didn't even notice McKenzie—who's sidled up next to her, for some reason. "And Krystin's going," she continues. "Maybe Kaydie, if she got a date ribbon. I haven't seen her since her one-on-one earlier."

Hometowns. Lauren didn't expect to make it that far; chances are she'll get her string cut tomorrow. She just nods politely at McKenzie, then buzzes the elevator, letting the events of the day play through her head like the world's most confusing slideshow. For someone so good at going out of her comfort zone and doing brave things, Krystin seemed pretty damn determined to book it to her hotel room without so much as saying goodbye. Then again, she did save Lauren from a homicidal horse earlier, and for a split second in that dimly lit bar, she could've sworn Krystin was singing directly to her. "Not as predictable as you thought" might have been pretty accurate after all.

Then, at once, two things happen: The elevator dings, and McKenzie blurts out, "I really, really like him, you know."

At that, Lauren turns to look at her. She's clearly buzzed: Her face is flushed and glistening with sweat, and her dark hair's slightly frizzy. For a moment, McKenzie doesn't look like the ideal Hopelessly Devoted contestant or an airbrushed influencer, but a regular person. A drunk girl in a shitty bar bathroom, maybe, or someone Lauren could've crossed paths with back in college. She's about to respond that yeah, they all really like Josh, but she can't bring herself to play along.

They step into the elevator, and McKenzie jabs the button for the sixth floor. Someone really should've cut this girl off after her third vodka soda. "Look," Lauren says. "I'm telling you this because I know you really like him. You should probably stop talking. Play it cool, okay?"

"I just …" McKenzie trails off. She looks like she wants to continue, but instead, she takes Lauren's advice and stares straight ahead until the door dings and opens.

Lauren swipes her keycard into her room and flicks the light switch on. She changes into a black tank top and red pajama shorts, then heads into the small, attached bathroom to wash her face. She's in the middle of moisturizing when someone knocks.

Her gut tells her it's McKenzie, drunk and sloppy and still looking for moral support. Her brain, armed with an encyclopedic knowledge of Hopelessly Devoted plot twists, tells her it's Josh, trailed by cameramen and an exhausted producer, ready to either send her home early or kiss her good night and seal her fate as a front-runner.

But it's Krystin—notably alone, and still wearing her checkered two-piece set from the group date. Lauren swallows, suddenly unsure what to do with her hands.

"Are you sleepwalking or something?" she asks. Still, she lets her in, closing the door behind her.

"No."

Lauren squints. "Still drunk?"

"Not really."

"You're sure about that?" After all, Krystin's eyes keep jumping nervously from the drapes to the floor to the rose gold dress hanging in her open closet.

"Positive." As if to prove it, she finally looks at Lauren and attempts a nervous smile. It's … cute. Everything about her is cute, actually, and Lauren's torn between kicking her out right this second and kissing the smooth spot underneath her jawline again.

She wants to kiss Krystin again. Badly. She wants to watch her give up control, completely, trace a gentle line from her throat to her waist to her hips until she involuntarily whispers her name. She wants to make her forget about the producers and the cameras and Josh and the entire Hopelessly Devoted operation, just for one night. She's spent the past forty-eight hours trying to look at Krystin and think of anything other than the soft noise she made when Lauren's lips brushed her neck.

Anything other than the way she then jumped back and snapped her eyes open, horrified, like she'd just woken up from a nightmare.

"So. Nice concert earlier," Lauren says, because now Krystin's walking over to her bed and sitting down, and it's conjuring up images of …

No, she reminds herself. Focus.

"Oh. That." Krystin giggles uncomfortably. "You know, it's funny this show is named after a song from Grease, because it was always one of my favorite movies as a kid, and now—"

"Krystin," Lauren interrupts. "Are you sure you're not drunk? Do you want, like, water or something?"

"I'm not," she says again, and this time Lauren believes it. She sounds lucid, just … "I'm just nervous, okay? Are you happy now?"

"You're completely fine riding a rabid horse, casually saving my life, and doing karaoke in front of tons of cameras," Lauren says flatly. "But now you're nervous."

"You're really going to make me spell it out?" Krystin sounds pained. "Do I have to?"

"I mean, you don't." Lauren crosses her arms. She's a little annoyed, but mostly confused. "But you came to my room. And the other night? You kissed me." And then ignored me, she wants to add. But she doesn't.

Krystin chews at her lower lip. "I can't figure out why I did that," she finally says.

"Maybe because you … wanted to?" The suggestion pops out before Lauren can stop it.

Krystin opens her mouth to speak again, then closes it. Lauren's kissed enough straight girls (and "straight" girls) that she should be able to read Krystin's expression, should practically hear the gears turning in her mind. But Krystin doesn't seem like the kind of person who drinks a few glasses of champagne and decides to have a 2008 Katy Perry moment. In fact, Lauren can hardly imagine Krystin even kissing a guy—even her future husband and America's heartthrob, Josh Rosen—as impulsively, fervently, and suddenly as she kissed her the other night.

Which is why it's so weird that somewhere, deep down, Lauren isn't exactly surprised it happened.

"I did."

The raw honesty in her voice makes Lauren's breath catch. "Krystin," she says, taking a seat next to her on the bed. "I know I was teasing you at the bar earlier, but it's fine with me if you want to just, like, move on. It doesn't need to happen again."

"I know. You're right." She looks down at her hands. Lauren's tempted to reach out and hold them. "But what if that's … not what I want?"

There are too many variables at play—Lauren's faux heterosexuality, Krystin's clear emotional crisis, the fact that Josh Rosen is somewhere down the hall and they'll both probably kiss him tomorrow, the fact that Krystin kissed her two nights ago, the fact that Krystin kissed her at all, the fact that she might want to do it again. It's enough to make her dizzy.

Krystin looks up at her. "What do you even want?"

For the first time since she joined the cast of Hopelessly Devoted—actually, for the first time in years—Lauren doesn't even think about hiding or doctoring the truth. "I mean, I don't know how or why it happened, but it's like I said before. I … care about you."

Krystin smiles a little. "Well, this sounds promising."

"Let me finish, okay?" Her heart is hammering, and her hand finds Krystin's. "I think you're courageous, and I think you're a good fucking person, and I think you're, like, beautiful. I've thought you were hot since you stepped out of the limo on that stupid little horse. And even if you don't realize it, I think you're someone who knows how to go for what she wants, and I want—I want you to do that. If you want to leave here engaged to Josh, I want you to do that. If you want to go home and keep your championship title, I want you to do that."

Krystin's silent. Lauren takes a deep breath, then continues.

"You asked what I want, and, like, if you really don't know, I'll tell you." Lauren licks her lips. They're very, very dry, all of a sudden. "I want to kiss you again. But I want you to think about what you want, Krystin, because it's fine if you don't know, but if you do … and if you just don't know if you're, like, allowed to want it, or if you want to want it …"

She's getting dangerously close to babbling, so she stops. For a moment, there's a silence, and Lauren finally turns to look at her. She expects to see panic in Krystin's eyes, but instead, she just looks soft, maybe a little contemplative. And then, just like last time, Krystin drops her hand, grabs her face, and kisses her.

It's real this time—less of a question, and more of an answer—and there's nothing Lauren can do but rake her fingers in Krystin's hair and pull her closer, closer, closer; kiss her the way she's wanted to for a week or maybe a month; inhale her shampoo and swallow a gasp when Krystin tentatively slides a hand up her tank top.

"I do," Krystin sighs, her voice practically a breath. "Want it."

It takes almost no effort at all to push Krystin onto the bed—in fact, maybe Krystin's the one pulling her down, but in any case, their legs lock together, Krystin's skirt slides all the way up, and Lauren distantly wonders how the hell she spent so much time around this person without touching her lips, kissing her jawline, holding her in place with her hips and thighs and hands.

Lauren's fucked women before: a few of her college friends who wanted to experiment, a couple of microinfluencers and Tinder girls, even one D-list actress who never texted back. She wouldn't say it was life-altering every time, but it was usually fun—fun enough, anyway, that she always left with the smug, satisfied feeling of Yeah, I don't think I could do this with a guy.

But whatever's transpiring with Krystin right now is something more than good, more than fun. Nothing's even happened yet, really, but she's already turned on out of her mind. And she can't even bring herself to feel embarrassed about it, because the girl in front of her—lips swollen and parted just slightly, shiny-smooth hair framing her face, hot breaths tickling Lauren's cheek—isn't someone out of her Rolodex of wine-drunk fantasies. She's flushed, so real and so wrecked and so fucking pretty that, with every gasp and anticipatory look, Lauren can feel her own heartbeat pulse between her thighs.

"Remember our mud wrestling group date?" she whispers, leaning down again to kiss the warm, soft spot behind Krystin's ear. "You hated me."

"I didn't … hate you. You cheated." Krystin practically sighs out the words as Lauren kisses down her neck. Then, in one surprisingly fluid motion, she reaches out with both arms, pulls Lauren in, and helps her shimmy out of her tank top. Her fingers delicately trace the skin on Lauren's back, eliciting a lone shiver.

"No, you hated me," Lauren repeats, pushing her back down onto the bed. She unclasps Krystin's front-close bra with ease, and continues kissing her neck, her collarbones, her chest. She carefully positions herself between Krystin's legs, well aware that the moment her lacy underwear brushes Krystin's thigh, she'll be able to tell how fucking wet she is already.

"You know what I think?" Krystin asks, her voice achingly slow but certain, like she's a few seconds from solving a Rubik's cube. "I think you just liked me under you."

"Hmm," Lauren murmurs. Her lips make it to one of Krystin's nipples, and suddenly, Krystin is a lot less cocky. Her body rocks against Lauren's, and she lets out another deep, audible breath. "Well, what about you? What do you like?"

"I, um …" Krystin trails off, biting her bottom lip. She pulls Lauren's face up to hers, kisses up her jaw.

"You can tell me. Whatever it is," she says softly, savoring how it feels to be this close. "I want to know."

"It's not … that," Krystin says.

Even in the dim, Lauren can see the blush crawling up Krystin's cheeks. She waits, not wanting to interrupt Krystin's thoughts and puncture this already delicate moment.

Krystin exhales. "It's that I don't know … what I like." She brushes her forehead against Lauren's. "I haven't done this a lot. With anyone."

"Have you had an orgasm before?" Lauren asks softly. She kisses her ear, then the spot right under it, and feels her breath hike.

"Just on my own." She runs a hand through Lauren's hair, and Lauren shivers at the mental image of Krystin touching herself, making herself come.

"Okay." Lauren's hand gently brushes down Krystin's body, and she takes stock of each reaction, even the smallest ones: The way Krystin's breath hitches when she passes her chest, the goose bumps on her upper thigh. "Do you want … do you want to find out what you like? Like, together?"

Krystin's quiet, and Lauren tilts her head up to gauge her reaction. She looks fond—that's the word for it. Relieved, almost. She runs a hand through Lauren's hair, and Lauren's heart seizes. "That sounds really good," she says.

Lauren kisses up her body again, and then reaches for her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. As soon as their lips meet, Lauren slides a leg between Krystin's thighs, revels in the way she undulates. She isn't sure how much time passes as they kiss, but by the time she starts to move back downward, she sounds thicker, raspier. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," Krystin murmurs. Her voice is thicker now, too. "It—yeah. Please."

Lauren lands a small kiss near Krystin's hipbone. "There's something I'd like to do. I mean, if you want …"

At that, Krystin slips out of her black thong and gives Lauren a meaningful look. "I do," she says, her voice so small but plaintive that Lauren's heart squeezes again like she's in some kind of cheesy soap opera or something. She doesn't even try to stop from moaning as she kisses up Krystin's perfect thigh again; she feels herself fucking smile as Krystin sucks in a gasp and a sexy-as-fuck little oh.

"It's okay if you don't come, you know," Lauren says, her lips moving closer to Krystin's vulva. "I just want you to feel good, okay?"

At that, Krystin's strong thighs lock her in place. She gasps as Lauren circles her clit with her tongue slowly, then faster, as rhythmic as a heartbeat. "You look so pretty like this," she says. "You look perfect, you feel so perfect, you taste …"

Each word is quieter than the last, until Lauren isn't sure if she's speaking or thinking, until Lauren isn't sure of anything, really, because the only thing that matters is … well. Krystin whines, pushing against her in a silent plea for more, and finally seeing Krystin like this—feeling Krystin let go like this—turns Lauren's whole body into a live wire. A litany of "oh, God" and "yes" and even a solitary, strangled "oh, fuck" spills from Krystin's pretty lips; she squeezes her thighs tight around Lauren's head when she comes, cries out her name in a desperate sob.

It's the sexiest thing Lauren's ever heard.

But it's also possible that, up until now, the sexiest thing she'd ever heard was, "You just won a $5,000 ShineGirl gift card."

For a moment, after she climbs back up to Krystin's side, everything in the room feels still. Then Krystin breaks the silence. "Well," she says, slightly breathless. "I liked … that."

Lauren can't help but grin. And sure, it's somewhat out of pride, but she also just feels happy. It's a good thing Krystin didn't explicitly ask what she liked, because she's worried she would've said something like stupid—something like, I like you. I like sexy, fearless, freakishly competitive, and unabashedly kind horse girls. Apparently.

A tiny part of her wants to say it right now, actually.

But she knows she can't, and besides, maybe that's not what this is. She must just be in some kind of jet-lagged, sex-fueled haze, because Lauren's never liked anyone like that—the way her friends always like their boyfriends, the way McKenzie likes Josh. The way Krystin likes Josh … probably.

This will probably never happen again, Lauren tells herself. But even as she does, Krystin plants a small, open-mouthed kiss under her ear, and Lauren thinks it again. I like you.

She isn't sure when she falls asleep, only that they keep kissing and touching and discovering new ways to hold each other—Krystin's head tucked under her chin; Krystin's smooth, strong arms pulling her close; Krystin turning around and then reaching a hand back to thread their fingers together—until, finally, she finds herself waking up in the morning. She expects Krystin to be long gone, or at least in the shower, but she's blinking awake, too. And instead of looking visibly panicked, she's almost calm. Or maybe she's just tired.

In any case, she's not running away. And she's still completely naked. For the first time, Lauren realizes she must've taken off her date ribbon before showing up to her room.

"Hey," Krystin says softly.

"Hi." Lauren's positive that she's never wanted to touch someone so badly, but she's half afraid that the second she does, Krystin will evaporate into thin air or something. She reaches out and tucks a blonde curl behind Krystin's ear; it feels like a compromise. "Are you freaking out right now?"

Krystin doesn't answer right away, but she absently starts to trace lines across Lauren's collarbone. "A little," she finally says. "Are you?"

"Not really," Lauren says, and Krystin squeezes her eyes shut. She briefly wonders if she somehow said the wrong thing, then decides that's not the part to focus on. "Do you … feel okay about last night?"

"I feel okay." Krystin's voice is small, and what she says next sounds like a realization as much as a confession. "I feel … really nice, actually. And a little freaked out."

Me too, Lauren thinks, but she remembers what she told McKenzie last night. At the end of the day, Hopelessly Devoted isn't that different from the real world: If you show all your cards, you lose. You get hurt; you scare people away. As it is, this thing with Krystin feels fragile and fresh—not to mention completely temporary. She's bringing Josh to her hometown next week, after all.

So Lauren doesn't tell her that she wants to kiss her again. She doesn't tell her that she's thought about kissing her for weeks, that she doesn't want her to leave this bed, that she likes her or whatever. She just says, "Have I mentioned you're really fucking pretty?"

"Um." Krystin blushes. "Last night. Once or twice."

Lauren rolls over until she's on top of Krystin—slowly, giving her the space and time to tell her to fuck off. But she doesn't. Krystin just sighs and twines their legs together, runs her hands down Lauren's back, over her ass, from the back of her neck to her elbow. No one's ever touched Lauren like this before: like every inch of her body is a small discovery.

"I guess we should get up," Krystin finally says.

"He's going to be on his one-on-one with Lily all day," Lauren replies. She lands a kiss on Krystin's shoulder. "It's okay."

"I just really need to brush my teeth." Krystin sits up, and Lauren watches something like panic flash across her face. "And McKenzie and Kaydie and everyone are, like, down the hall. They'll see me in the dress I wore last night, and—"

"Hey, hey. Breathe." Lauren sits up too, and sifts around the bedsheets for her tank top. "If you're really freaked out, I can lend you a top or something. Then if someone sees you leave, you can say you came here this morning to borrow an outfit."

Krystin just looks at her.

"What?"

"That's just … smart thinking." She stands up and makes her way to Lauren's suitcase. "I can't believe you just came up with that right now."

"I wasn't, like, plotting something. You came here," Lauren says, suddenly defensive.

"I didn't say you were." Krystin gives her a tentative smile. "I just think you're smart. And alarmingly good under pressure."

Lauren waits for her to continue.

"That's it," Krystin says. "I'm complimenting you."

"Oh." And then, because Lauren can't fight her impulses when it comes to fashion and beautiful women, she adds, "You should try on the knit lilac one. You look good in purple."

"Yeah?" Krystin pulls it out of the suitcase. Lauren could swear she's blushing.

"Definitely." Lauren watches as she pulls on the ribbed top, and realizes that it was a self-serving idea, really. The thought of Krystin walking around the hotel grounds in Lauren's cropped little shirt, unbeknownst to Josh or any of the producers, is more than just a slight turn-on.

"Well?" Krystin fixes her hair with one hand, and reaches for a nearby pair of nondescript sweats.

"You look like you got a perfect nine hours," Lauren says.

"Okay." Krystin takes a breath. "I'm going to head out, then."

"Okay."

But she doesn't. She lingers near the foot of the bed, her eyes scanning Lauren's body with something like tenderness. "I'm going," she says again, this time shaking her head like she's trying to snap herself out of a trance.

"Sure." Lauren yawns. "I'll see you in a few hours."

She pauses by the door, then whips her head to face Lauren again. "You know," she says, "you're really pretty, too."

Lauren can't help it. She fucking smiles.

It takes her hours to get ready after Krystin leaves. Part of it is that there's nothing to do while she waits for filming to start: She's pretty sure there's a hot tub somewhere, but after last night, she's ecstatic to take a long shower and do a face mask while a low-budget nature show plays on the small hotel room TV. She doesn't make it to the lobby until twenty minutes before call time, and by the time she does—dressed in skinny jeans, a cami top, and a cropped sweater—McKenzie, Krystin, and Kaydie look like they've been there for a while. Kaydie and Krystin are seated on a sofa in front of the fireplace, and McKenzie's on a velvet armchair.

When Lauren walks in, though, McKenzie jumps up from her seat and runs over. There's a manic, restless look in her eyes as she digs her perfectly manicured fingernails into Lauren's arms. "Where have you been?"

"I got a long night of sleep." Lauren has to force herself to look at McKenzie—with Krystin curled up on the couch directly behind her, it feels next to impossible. "Feeling reinvigorated, really. What's wrong?"

"Sara left," Kaydie says, swiveling her head around. "Hours ago. I was the only one who even got to say goodbye to her, since the rest of you were all sleeping in."

"What do you mean, she left?" Lauren releases herself from McKenzie's clutches and heads to sit on the sofa, right next to Krystin. It's a bad idea: She can smell her shampoo, and it reminds her of how Krystin's hair slipped through her fingers last night. It might be her imagination, but she thinks she hears Krystin inhale when Lauren's thigh accidentally touches hers. "Did she self-eliminate?"

"Josh stopped by her hotel room before his one-on-one with Lily," Kaydie says. She sounds bored, like she's already gone over this a few too many times. "Like, super early. He told her she was, quote unquote, ‘an amazing woman, but he has to follow his heart.'" She makes air quotes with her fingers as she says that last part, not so subtly showing off her shiny date ribbon.

There are questions Lauren wants to ask, but then she glances at the small camera crew in the corner of the lobby. "Wow," she says. "I mean, poor Sara. And that must have been hard for Josh too. But I really do feel so lucky."

It's not a lie: She is lucky. If Josh had knocked on her door to end their journey first thing in the morning, he would've found another naked contestant in her bed.

"That's what I said." McKenzie returns to her chair, and sits down with a dramatic plop. "I can't believe we didn't even get to say goodbye to her and now she's gone. This is, like, getting real, guys."

"Don't worry," Lauren says. "Knowing Sara, she'll DM all of us as soon as she gets home."

"I'm just so nervous." McKenzie's eyes dart from woman to woman. "The fact that Sara was here last night and now—"

The elevator dings, and McKenzie abruptly quiets. Lauren watches as a few production assistants wheel out a sleek suitcase and two matching carry-ons. Lily's luggage.

Bravo for production, Lauren thinks as McKenzie lets out an audible gasp. This must be a perfect shot.

Lily pushes through the front door, followed by Jim and another cameraperson. Her dark eyes are watery, and her wrist is bare.

"Hey." This time Kaydie's the one to jump up. "Are you okay?"

"He cut my string. Right after we went kayaking together, no less." Lily chokes out a dry, humorless laugh. "He just said our connection isn't as far along as his others, and with hometowns coming up, he's—he just has to make hard decisions."

"It's a bloodbath. He cut Sara this morning, too," Kaydie says. Her voice sounds sympathetic, but Lauren can see a sharp, competitive glint in her eye, like she really only heard the bit about how strong Josh's other connections are.

"He's not … He's just not the one for me. It's fine." Lily's voice is scratchy. "And I will absolutely be okay."

"Come here." Kaydie wraps Lily into a tight hug. "You will be. I promise."

Krystin slowly rises, too, and hugs Lily as soon as Kaydie's done. The whole thing reminds Lauren of the receiving line at her great-grandmother's funeral ten years ago. As she awkwardly waits her turn to bid Lily farewell, her mind starts to jump ahead. Sara left this morning. Lily's leaving now too. There's supposed to be a string-cutting ceremony tomorrow, but …

"There are just four of us left," McKenzie says softly. It's for Lauren's ears only: Krystin and Kaydie are still watching Lily as she gives a shaky smile and walks back outside, and the camera crew is focused on her retreating body, now trailed by the PAs with luggage in tow. "Do you know what that means?"

Lauren doesn't answer, because she does. It means she made it further than Lily, further than Sara, further than she expected—further than she wanted. It means she doesn't even have a day in Patagonia to process the events of last night, or figure out what she's doing next. It means she's in this thing for real. And Krystin is too.

"There are just four of us left," McKenzie repeats, her voice somehow even quieter. "We're all going to hometowns."