Back Watch Me
Chapters (46)
  1. Cover
  2. watch me
  3. Also by Lauren Barnholdt
  4. Title Page
  5. Copyright Page
  6. Dedication
  7. Contents
  8. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  9. NOW
  10. THEN
  11. NOW
  12. THEN
  13. NOW
  14. THEN
  15. THEN
  16. NOW
  17. THEN
  18. NOW
  19. THEN
  20. THEN
  21. NOW
  22. THEN
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  24. NOW
  25. THEN
  26. NOW
  27. THEN
  28. NOW
  29. THEN
  30. NOW
  31. THEN
  32. NOW
  33. THEN
  34. NOW
  35. THEN
  36. NOW
  37. THEN
  38. NOW
  39. THEN
  40. THEN
  41. NOW
  42. THEN
  43. NOW
  44. 7:00 P.M.
  45. About the Author
  46. Back Cover

Somehow, an hour after meeting these characters, I’m in the hot tub with them. It’s like some kind of unspoken rule that the first episode of In the House involves everyone in the hot tub, in a bonding session before the fights and scandals take over everyone’s lives. I really didn’t want to wear a bathing suit on national television, but I couldn’t exactly say no to getting in the hot tub. I don’t want my roommates to think I’m some sort of stuck-up bitch who thinks she’s too good for them. Even though I kind of do. Think I’m too good for them, I mean. Ha. Just kidding. Sort of.

Anyway, I opted for a dark blue one-piece, figuring it would serve the dual purpose of being flattering while not giving my mom a heart attack at seeing her only daughter on TV in a thong bikini. Not that I have a thong bikini. But still.

Jasmine apparently doesn’t care about the mental health of her immediate family, because she’s wearing a red bikini that looks a size too small for her. Which may not be her fault, seeing as how I’m sure it’s extremely difficult to find a bikini top in her size.

“So, who’s the virgin?” James asks, looking around at us with a shit-eating grin on his face. The steam from the hot tub rises up around his face and, with Jasmine in her tight bikini next to him, he looks like he’s in a music video, pimpin’ on some hos or something.

“What do you mean?” Drew asks, running his fingers through his hair. The steam from the hot tub makes it stand up in little spikes. He looks very Hollister.

“Come on, playah, you know what I mean. There’s always one virgin in the house.” He looks at all of us closely. Please don’t ask me, please don’t ask me, please don’t . . . “So how about it, Ally?” Four pairs of eyes and one camera turn to me.

Fuck. What is it about everyone always wanting to know if you’re a virgin? It’s, like, the worst possible question to have to answer. People always assume that if you are a virgin, then there’s obviously something wrong with you and/or you’re a prude. If you’re not a virgin, then you’re a slut. If you haven’t had actual intercourse, but you’ve had oral, then you’re a slut and a tease. It’s all very complicated and confusing, and the whole system is bullshit. It’s like the answer to this one question makes people think of you in a certain way, and it’s hardly ever accurate.