No Kissing Allowed

Chapter 15: Damsel In Distress

Chapter 15: Damsel In Distress

Cora belted the white terry robe around her waist and wrung the excess water from her hair. She wouldn't bother blowing it dry tonight. The humid ocean air would leave it frizzy in the morning, but she didn't see what difference it made. She could have the best hair day of her life, and it still wouldn't make her attractive enough to qualify as reality-TV worthy.

The bathroom mirror had fogged up from her long shower. Cora wiped it with her towel to reveal the misty reflection staring back at her.

She wasn't unattractive by any normal standards, although her complexion tended to turn pasty over the winter months. The light suntan she'd acquired the past two days suited her, complimented by the honey-colored highlights in her hair.

Honestly, she considered her lack of stunning beauty a blessing. Excessively good looks would only be a nuisance, given her resolve to avoid romantic entanglements for the rest of her life. Much easier to glide through the world with a slightly above-average appearance that didn't attract too much unwanted attention.

But unwanted attention was exactly what she had attracted—in the form of television cameras. She'd somehow tricked herself into believing she belonged here on this beach, or at least that she didn't look ridiculous.

Until this afternoon.

The memory brought a sour taste to her mouth. It was all fun and games until the winner of the art contest had been announced and the prize revealed: Camilla, the 24-year-old surfer who looked like she'd just stepped out of an old episode of Baywatch.

The sight had hit Cora like a bucket of cold water to the face, not unlike the sensation of being bowled over by the ocean waves half an hour prior. Talk about a wake up call. The girl on the poster belonged on a show like this, prancing around in a bikini all day long. Cora? Not so much.

What was she thinking? Normal beauty standards didn't apply here. Her face was pretty but not model pretty—and that wasn't even considering her "Grecian urn"-shaped body. Of course she stood out. She couldn't hold a candle to any of the other cast members on a show like this, including her co-star on the other side of the bathroom door.

She never should have been cast in the first place. And she only had one person to blame for getting her here.

"Thank you so much," she muttered in the direction of Jamie's bedroom door.

Cora closed her eyes. She wished herself on an airplane, headed home. Or headed anywhere else. Anywhere besides this beach, inside this bungalow.

A gentle knock sounded from the door, startling her out of her thoughts. Cora scowled.

"Come in," she called.

Jamie had changed out of his swimsuit into a t-shirt and a faded pair of jeans. He'd showered before her and left his dark hair damp and  disheveled. He didn't need to blow it dry either, Cora thought bitterly. Good hair would only serve as an exclamation point on his baseline level of TV-worthiness.

He held the liner bag from the ice bucket, filled with the slushy remnants of the ice he'd been using on his ankle. He poured the bag out in the sink.

His limp had improved over the course of their evening, to the point that Cora had forgotten about his injury. But he'd made a beeline for the ice bucket the moment the crew left for the night.

"Do you need more ice?" she asked. Not that they had any means of acquiring any more before morning, abandoned by the crew in their bungalow for the night.

"No need. It's feeling much better." He lifted his bare foot and rotated it in a circle by way of demonstration.

She nodded. Had he come in here to talk to her, or only to use the sink?