UNEDITED
Gemma Alder is used to being the unlucky one in the Alder family: from a nasty rumour about her back in high school to inexplicable mishaps, she seems to be the comical target for unfortunate situations. But if there's one thing she's good...
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Jake
I run a finger across the warm, smooth skin of Gemma's hand, tracing the faint network of veins beneath her pale skin. She's probably pissed that I'm touching her like this, but I don't care. The comfort of her familiar touch is comforting; it's calming my nerves that have suddenly heightened. This is the moment that is going to define how the next two weeks play out regarding my Olive situation. Seeing Gemma and I standing here, together and cohesive, may be enough to staunch her obsession with me. But if worse comes to worst, it may cause her to work harder; she may try and break Gemma and I's 'relationship'.
All I can do is hope Olive doesn't opt for the latter option.
Even dressed for two weeks of camping, Olive looks as though she's dressed for a movie premiere in Hollywood. When I glance at Cassian, whom I'm still thoroughly pissed off at, he's adjusting the collar of his T-shirt. I'll go far enough to admit that Olive's Latina background does give her leverage with men, but I think she's gone a little overboard this time around. The fancy, low-cut blood-red shirt she's wearing is too much for two weeks of camping. And the shorts she's wearing? Too short and too tight. But what really makes me sick is the usual candy-coloured lips she's displaying. The colour is so bright it reminds me of the Starbursts Hanna and I always share whenever we go to the movies.
I know I'm being judgemental and inconsiderate. A woman has every right to display her body in whatever way she pleases. If Olive were a stranger, I wouldn't think twice about what she's wearing or the way she's done her makeup. But I know who she is beneath her style. She's elusive, cunning, and doesn't know how to take no for an answer.
"I see you boys made it," Olive calls out, her voice slick with honey.
Each time the gravel crunches beneath her expensive-looking sandals, I cringe. Word to the wise, even if your fake girlfriend is well-known for playing the part and fooling other people, you never know how the woman that's willing to handcuff you to the bed just to get your attention will act. Olive's schemes, ever since the incident at the Christmas party, has been incessant.
It hasn't even been a full twenty-four hours yet, but it feels like we've been playing this game for days. I don't know if I'm going to be able to make it through this without snapping. Thank God Hanna isn't out here and able to see the inner turmoil I'm currently dealing with. She knows me as calm and composed – not a fucking disaster. And I'm sure almost everyone can see it on my face.
"Relax," Gemma whispers. Her voice is surprisingly soft. Because of the way my thumb continues to stroke her hand, the way my arm is wrapped around her waist, I would have sworn she'd be petty and harsh. "You're doing fine. Take a deep breath. I've dealt with women like her before."
"Are you sure about that?" I whisper back, resisting the urge to call this whole thing off. Olive doesn't scare me – I scare myself. I don't know how much more of this flirting and touching I can handle before I lose restraint on my temper. "She's fucking relentless."
