Reindeer Games
Page 6

Since they hadn’t liked me, and they’d ruined my game…I wanted them to suck at their game. I was totally cheering for the red team lose and lose big. And if that made me a little bitter, well then, Luna Collins was totally fine with being bitter about being the first loser of Endurance Island: Alaska. I figured I’d won the right to be a bit of a bitch about it.
I peered out the frosted windows of the lodge. It was chilly outside, a fresh layer of snow on the ground. I wondered how the others were doing with the fact that it was winter in Alaska and they were forced to camp outside. The show wouldn’t let them freeze to death, but that didn’t mean the circumstances couldn’t be totally miserable otherwise.
It was dark outside, but I could make out a red parka.
Yesss, I thought gleefully. Those jerks deserved to lose. I peered at the person, the hood pulled tight over his – or her – face. I couldn’t tell who it was, but the person jogging up the steps looked bigger than Patty.
So my friend had made it another round. Good for her. Was it Gary, then? Or Pat-the-guy? I stepped backward a little so I could get a good look at whoever came in.
The door opened and the newest member of the Loser Lodge threw his hood back as one of the camera-crew hovered nearby, filming everything.
I stopped in shock.
There was no mistaking the strong, square jaw despite the fact that it was clenched in anger, or the brilliant amber eyes. There was a fine layer of dirt on Owen’s face, but he was unmistakable all the same.
They’d voted out motherfucking Owen.
“Ha!” I yelled out, and pointed at his face with my spoon. “Ha!”
He swiped at my spoon as he pushed into the lodge, his bag on his shoulder. “Get that out of my face, Luna,” he said in a not-so patient voice. “I’m not in the mood.”
Just because I knew it would piss him off, I simply said “Ha!” again, and trotted behind him.
He shook his head and rolled his eyes at my glee, pushing past me and heading to the kitchen of the gorgeous lodge. “Do me a favor and leave me alone.”
“Aww, what’s the matter with Owen?” I said in a mocking baby voice. I followed him into the kitchen, because how could I resist rubbing a bit of salt in the wound? “How’s it feel to get the boot this early, huh? Guess the team didn’t like you any more than they liked me.”
He ignored my jibes, heading across the lodge and into the enormous, open kitchen. Once in there, he slung his bag to the ground and headed to the industrial-sized refrigerator and opened it, staring in.
I drummed my fingers on my ice cream bowl, delighted by how pissed he was. “Not going to talk about how things went down? Since we both seem to be the first losers?”
He ignored me, grabbing a package of cold cuts and tossing it onto the counter. Next was mustard, then cheese. It was obvious he was making himself a sandwich…just as it was obvious that he was going to ignore me.
I tapped my spoon on my chin, pretending to think and ignoring the fact that his silence was a huge red flag of DO NOT ENGAGE.
I was totally going to engage. This was my moment of glory.
So I didn’t let up. “Gosh, Owen, if you’re not volunteering information, I guess I’ll just have to figure it out on my own, then. Let me think. You seemed to think Clarissa was pretty hot when we were there, but I’m guessing she doesn’t fall for the Neanderthal type.” I studied his impassive face a moment longer, and then guessed, “You hit on her, and she took it so badly that the others voted you out to spare her from your passive aggressive terrible flirting? No? Is that not it?”
He shot me a seething look, tossing more stuff onto the counter.
“Maybe it wasn’t Clarissa after all? Maybe you were caught groping the wrong person in the group shelter? Actually, it wasn’t really a shelter, was it? Because when I left, it still didn’t have a roof–”
Owen tossed the loaf of bread on the counter and placed his big, dirty hands on the flat surface. He leaned in and glared at me. “Are you going to sit here and yap at me the entire time that I’m here, Boston?”
“I just might. I mean, seeing as how I’m the queen of this place.” I waved my spoon at our surroundings. “First Lady of the Loser Lodge. I think that gives me the right to yap as much as I want to. Are you not going to talk to me?”
He gave me a derisive look. “I don’t think I have anything to say to you.”
And there went my temper. I’d gone from gloating to furious all over again. God, I hated this man. I calmly stepped around the counter and slopped my bowl of melting ice cream on top of that hood. “Fuck you very much, sore loser,” I said in my sweetest voice.
And walked away.
This was going to be a long, long round in the loser lodge if Owen was here.
Vacation? Ruined.
 
~~ * * * ~~
 
I didn’t see Owen again until the next morning, which suited me just fine. Mornings in the Loser Lodge were kind of nice. I woke up around nine, because about that time, the newest camera-crew shift had just cleared out to go film the contestants, and that meant I was in the kitchen alone. I liked the crew well enough, but given the fact that they weren’t really supposed to talk to me? It made meals awkward, so I just avoided them to make things easier.
The kitchen was fully stocked, and the coffee delicious. I puttered around for a few minutes, trying to decide what to cook myself, before settling on eggs and toast. I wasn’t much of a cook at home. Normally I headed out to Dunkin’ Donuts first thing in the morning, grabbed breakfast, and then opened my laptop up to write. I wasn’t used to making my own food, but I figured I couldn’t mess up eggs.
I’d just cracked them in the skillet when I heard a pair of shuffling feet behind me. I turned…and there was my nemesis.
I made a face at him. “Good morning, Sunshine.” I focused back on the eggs I was burning, and turned the burner down. Jeez. You wouldn’t think eggs would be so wicked hard to make, but mine were already turning a dark brown around the edges and were still watery in the middle. I focused on my breakfast and not on Owen.
The man had a lot of nerve, showing up in the kitchen in a pair of sleep pants with no shirt on. He had a delicious, smooth brown bare chest that only irritated me even more. Jerk was probably just trying to show it off, which made me like him even less. I rolled my eyes at my eggs. Typical male.
I heard the clink of the coffee pot being moved and whipped around. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Owen stared at me, mid-pour into a coffee mug. “Getting myself coffee?”
“That’s my coffee,” I told him. I’d only made enough in the pot for one large cup — mine. “You’d better not be drinking my coffee.”
“I’d bettah not?”
“You want my fist in your face?” I told him belligerently. “Cause I’m wicked good with my fists. It’s a Boston thing.”
“Like being an asshole?”
I breathed heavily out of my nose, practically snorting like an angry bull. He was just trying to get my goat. “Put the coffee down, you son of a bitch. I said that’s mine and I meant it.”
In disbelief, I watched as he finished pouring the last of the coffee into his mug, and gave me a challenging look. Then, he sat down at the nearby breakfast bar and picked up a newspaper, ignoring my spluttering.