Chapter 2: The Introductions
Mia's hand found the small of his back, a warm pressure guiding him through the crush of bodies near the glowing bar. David's glasses had fogged twice since they'd left their corner, and his palms were slick with a nervous sweat he'd been trying to hide by keeping them shoved in his pockets.
The glass dome swallowed the noise and threw it back down, a roar of laughter and clinking bottles and bass that vibrated through the polished concrete floor. David kept his eyes on the back of Mia's head, on the sway of her dark curls, because looking anywhere else meant catching a glimpse of someone's bare midriff or the deep V of a neckline and losing his train of thought entirely.
"There they are," Mia said, her voice light with purpose. She angled him past a cluster of people arguing over something on a tablet, past a woman in a glittering bikini top who was doing a handstand against the neon bar, and brought him to a stop in front of a curve of black velvet seating.
Three full figured pretty black women lounged there like they owned the place. All three wore matching neon bandeau tops, one in electric pink, one in acid green, one in blazing orange, and all three of them had a fullness to their frames that made David's mouth go dry before he'd even said a word.
The three of them were arranged across the velvet curve like a tableau, sleek arms and exposed shoulders, their bandeau tops catching the neon and throwing it back in flashes of electric color. The one in pink had a small silver hoop through her nose and a dimple that deepened when she smiled at him. The one in green was scrolling through her phone with the lazy disinterest of someone who had already decided the conversation wasn't worth her time. The one in orange, the one in the middle, set down a glass that had been sweating condensation onto the velvet and looked at David like she was reading a menu.
"Ladies," Mia said, her voice easy and warm, "this is David Dupree. Old friend of mine from way back. I'm claiming him for the season."
The woman in pink tilted her head. "Claiming him how? Like a partner or like a pet?"
"Like an asset," Mia said smoothly. "He's the brains. I'm the mouth."
"So she talks a lot and you think real hard," the one in orange said, her tone flat but not unfriendly. "What does that make me?"
"Scary," Mia said. "That's why I'm introducing myself before you start throwing elbows in the first challenge."
The woman in orange cracked a smile, and it transformed her face from formidable to practically radiant. She scooted over on the velvet, patting the space beside her.
"Sit down, girl. You too, brainiac. You're making me nervous hovering like that."
David sat. He sat quickly and a little too hard, the velvet cushion swallowing him up. Up close, the three women were even more overwhelming. They all smelled like different versions of the same expensive perfume, coconut and vanilla and something sharp and floral, and the combined effect was making his head spin.
"The tall one with the attitude is Renee," Mia said, gesturing to the woman in orange. "She's a corrections officer in real life. Don't let her scare you, she's soft as butter once you get past the muscles."
"That's a lie and you know it," Renee said. "I'm hard as stone. Don't teach him the wrong thing."
"The one scrolling is Simone. She's a chef. Owns two restaurants in Atlanta."
Simone looked up from her phone, gave David a slow once-over, and said…
"You look like you need a good meal." There was nothing flirtatious in it, just assessment. "No, I mean it. You're so skinny. They got a kitchen here the size of my first apartment. I'm gonna feed you. I’m gonna beef you up in no time, honey.”
"I, uh, I eat mostly protein shakes," David said, then immediately wished he hadn't.
Simone's expression flickered with something between horror and pity. She put her phone down, faceup, and gave him her full attention.
"We're gonna fix that, boo boo. First rule of being in a space with other people, you don't live on protein shakes. That's how you end up with brittle bones and no stamina. And trust me, you’re going to need stamina.” Simone said with a knowing smile.
David felt the word stamina land in the air and wondered if he was the only one who heard it differently. He cleared his throat and redirected.
"And you're Tasha," he said, looking at the woman in pink. "Mia mentioned you're a nurse."
"I am, yes.” Tasha said, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She had a warm face, open and curious, and she turned her body toward him on the cushion in a way that suggested she had nowhere else to be and no one else she'd rather study. "But that's not the part I lead with at parties. Wanna guess what I lead with?"
"Your smile?" David guessed, which came out more sincere than he'd intended.
Tasha laughed, a genuine sound that made her whole body shake. "That's cute. But no. I lead with my love language. That's the conversation opener. Gets people talking about themselves immediately, and it tells you a lot about how someone's wired before you ever get in bed with them."
David's brain took the phrase get in bed with them and ran with it directly off a cliff. His mouth went dry. He was acutely aware of all eyes on him, three of them curious and amused, plus Mia's, which he could feel on the back of his neck like a warm spotlight.
"So," Tasha said, leaning in slightly. "What's your love language, David?"
"Oh," he said. "I don't, I mean, I know what it is, concept-wise. Gary Chapman's five love languages. Words of affirmation, acts of service, receiving gifts, quality time, physical touch." The words came out rapid-fire, rehearsed, like he was reciting a textbook entry. "I think, based on the quiz I took online, I'm primarily acts of service. I like knowing I've done something useful. Made things easier for someone. That's satisfying to me."
He stopped. The silence lasted exactly two heartbeats before Tasha tilted her head and said…
"That's a good answer… beautiful, even. But it's not the one you're thinking about right now."
"What?"
"You just rattled off an entire paragraph like you were reading it off a monitor. But the real answer, the one you're chewing on, is different." Tasha's smile sharpened with something gentle. "I can see it in your face. You looked at all three of us and you thought something. And then you gave me the textbook instead of the thought. So I'm asking again, slower this time." She let the pause hang. "What's your love language, David? And don't quote the quiz results. Tell me what makes you feel loved."
David opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again, and what came out was, "I don't know."
He felt Mia shift beside him, but she didn't interrupt.
"I mean," he continued, the words sticking in his throat like dry bread, "I've never really been in a position to feel it. Any of it. The touch thing, it's a distant concept to me. Like I know it exists. I've read about it. I've seen other people do it. But I've never been touched like that." He gestured vaguely. "Not for real. Not by someone who actually wanted to."
The confession landed in the space between them, naked and vulnerable. He waited for the laughter, for the shared look that said what a loser, for Tasha to crack a joke and shift the conversation to safer ground.
Instead, Tasha's expression went soft. Not pity, something closer to recognition.
"Never?" she said.
"Never. It’s not something I'm ashamed of," David said quickly, which was true. It was something he'd been trying very hard not to feel ashamed of, which was a different thing entirely. "I just, I'm here to fix it. That's the whole reason. No secrets on this show, right? We're all supposed to be open."
"Hold up," Renee said, sitting forward. The orange bandeau top shifted with the movement, and David riveted his gaze to a point on the far wall. "Hold on. Are you telling me you're a virgin?"
David's silence was answer enough. Simone let out a low whistle.
"And you walked into Lust House ON PURPOSE?” Renee continued. "Boy, that's either real brave or real stupid. I haven't decided which yet."
"Brave," Tasha said firmly. She reached out, fingers brushing his forearm with the lightest touch, no more than a butterfly landing, and David felt every nerve ending in his arm fire simultaneously. He stopped breathing. "It takes guts to put yourself in a place where everyone's watching, knowing you don't have the experience everyone else has. That's not stupid. That's courage."
The touch lasted maybe two seconds. Tasha withdrew her hand, settled back into her seat, and David realized he'd been holding his breath the entire time.
Mia spoke into the pause, her voice light. "See? I told you. Good people. Now, once you're done interrogating my partner, I need to talk strategy. Who's in the house that's got you worried?"
“Ok, I have a few questions. Remy, what’s up with him? Second, who are the couples on this show? I heard they have an advantage in the game already. Third, Claire seems nice. What’s up with her? And lastly… How did you all get on the show? Are you Fans? Money? Something else? Was that too much?” He said.
The trio of black women smiled.
“No, it’s not.” Tasha said.
Tasha leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, the neon pink of her bandeau top catching the light as she began to tick points off on her fingers.
"Okay. Remy. He's a nightlife promoter from somewhere down South. I think it’s New Orleans. He talks like he went to business school. That's because he did, on his daddy's money. He went to Tulane, but he’s been walking around since he got here like he's already won, trying to recruit people into his little circle. He's a damn smooth talker. I will give him that. But smooth only gets you so far in a house like this. People figure out pretty quick when someone's all surface."
"He's the type who thinks flirting is a competitive sport," Renee added, her voice a low rumble. "Watched him try to work Simone earlier. She shut him down so fast I felt the breeze from here."
Simone shrugged, not looking up from her phone. "He opened with a line about how a woman who cooks is a woman who knows how to please. I told him I'd please him right out of my kitchen. He didn't stick around for dessert."
David laughed before he could stop himself, a surprised bark of sound that made all three women look at him with renewed interest. He felt his ears warm.
“Wow.” He said laughing.
"You got a real laugh," Tasha observed. "Don't hide it."
Before he could respond, Mia redirected the conversation effortlessly. "Couples. Who's paired up already? I clocked a few people getting cozy during the welcome speech."
"The big muscular brother with the deep voice, Lance. he came in with his girlfriend, Denise. The cute white chick over there.” Renee said, gesturing vaguely toward the far side of the atrium. "They're the type of couple who finish each other's sentences and work out at five in the morning. It’s sickening, but they have real competitive energy. They're going to be hard to break up."
"Break up?" David asked.
"House rules, brainiac," Renee said. "The pairs that form now aren't permanent. The producers are going to shuffle things up, you watch. They want drama, and nothing creates drama like splitting up a strong pair and making them compete against each other."
"So the couples are early targets," David said slowly, working through it. "Not assets. Targets. Because the show benefits from breaking them."
Mia shot him a look of approval. "See? This is what I'm talking about. He reads the game."
"The other pair to watch," Simone said, finally putting her phone down entirely, "is Claire and that model type she's been circling. The pretty boy with the jawline. I think his name is Jake. They're not a couple, not yet, but Claire's collecting people like chess pieces. She's already talked to me twice, trying to feel out where my head's at."
"And what did you tell her?"
"That my head's in the kitchen, and my alliances are my business." Simone's smile was sharp. "She didn't love that answer."
Claire, it seemed, was a strategist who hid her sharp edges behind a warm smile and an apparently generous offer of friendship to anyone who might prove useful. David found himself filing away the observation. She'd come to Mia first, before Mia had even established herself, which meant she was either very good at reading social dynamics or she'd done her research on the contestants before arriving. Probably both.
"She's nice enough to your face," Tasha added. "But I've watched her. When she thinks no one's looking, she's studying everyone like she's taking notes. If this was a chess game, she'd be the one playing three moves ahead."
"And what about you three?" David asked, surprising himself with the boldness of the question. "How did you end up here? Are you fans of the show, or...?"
"Money," Renee said without hesitation. "I'm a corrections officer. You think that pays enough to raise a family on? I've got two kids and an ex who thinks child support is optional. This prize money means college funds. Real ones. The kind that don't keep me up at night."
"Same," Simone said. "I own two restaurants, but the margins are thin. One bad year and I'm underwater. A million dollars means I can expand, or at least stop waking up in a cold sweat every time someone orders a steak." She paused. "Also, I wanted to see if I could do it. Prove something to myself."
Tasha was quieter when she answered. "I'm a nurse. I see the worst of people sometimes, the fear and the pain and the loneliness. I wanted to be somewhere that celebrates the good stuff for a change. The connection. The fun." She smiled at David, warm and genuine. "And yeah, the money would be nice. But I'm here for the experience."
"It's worth noting," Mia said, her voice dropping into something more serious, "that none of us are here because we're desperate for fame. That's what makes us dangerous. Because we're not playing for attention. We're playing for something real."
David felt the weight of that statement settle over the group. Three women who had real lives, real responsibilities, real reasons to be here that had nothing to do with cameras or followers or the fleeting thrill of being seen. And him. A man who had walked into this house with his own real reason, maybe the most vulnerable reason of all. He'd come here to be touched, to be wanted, and he'd just admitted that to a group of women who looked at him like he was something worth understanding rather than something worth mocking.
"So who's your pick?" Tasha asked him, breaking the contemplative silence. "For the whole competition. If you had to bet on someone other than yourself."
David considered the question carefully. He'd been cataloguing the contestants since he walked in, a habit from years of analyzing complex systems. The flashy ones, the ones who talked loud and moved fast, they'd burn out early. The show would pit them against each other, and the public would get bored of their drama. The real threats were quieter. The ones who listened more than they spoke. The ones who had genuine reasons to fight.
"You," he said finally, looking at Renee. "You're the one nobody's going to see coming. You talk like you're not interested in strategy, but you've been watching everything since I sat down. You know where everyone is in this room right now. You know who's talking to who, who's forming alliances, who's already isolating themselves."
Renee's eyebrows rose. Her gaze, sharp and assessing, ran over him again, but different this time. He was no longer furniture. He was a puzzle she was trying to solve.
"How do you know that?"
"Because you haven't looked at your drink once since I started answering your question," David said. "You've been watching the room over my shoulder the whole time. And you sat on this couch with the best vantage point in the atrium. That wasn't an accident."
The silence stretched. Then Renee let out a low, appreciative laugh.
"Oh, I like him. Mia, you didn't tell me he was like this."
Mia's smile was telling him that she was pleased.
"I told you. He's the brains."
"He's more than brains," Tasha said softly. She was looking at David with an expression he couldn't quite read, something warm and speculative. "He's observant. And observant people make good partners."
“So let’s recap, the eight women here are me, Simone, Tasha, Mia, Claire, Denise, and twins named Daphne and Diana. The eight guys…”
“Wait hold up. TWINS?” David said.
“Oh, yes. And they are trouble.” Simone said.
“Anyways… guys are… yourself, Remy, Lance, Jake. There is also Owen, a big burly white guy. Kinda cute in a country way. There’s Joey, you’ll like him. He’s kind of a class clown type and a good wingman. There’s Jeremiah, who is pretty much a fuckboy. Think Remy but without the family money. I heard he has a big…”
“Hey.” Mia cut him off.
“Sorry. Sorry. And there’s… Derek. Fine, beautiful man too. Smart, hell of a body, and…”
“Hey. Don’t scare him off, now. My man might prove you wrong. David might take this place over. Right, David?” Mia said. “You got me. The beauty with the booty… remember?” She stuck her tongue out.
Before anyone could respond to that, a voice cut through the ambient noise of the atrium. Zola was on the raised platform again, a microphone in her hand, her emerald jumpsuit glowing under the lights.
"Alright, everyone. Gather round. I hope you've all made some new friends, because we're about to find out what you're made of. First challenge of the season starts in ten minutes. And I promise you, this one's going to get very, very… personal."