Wicked Games
Page 17
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Judging by the information I’d been given prior to joining the show, we had three more group eliminations to go through before we merged as one big happy tribe. Dean and I kept track of the days by hash marks on a tree, and we’d been out here for a little over two weeks. Incredible, that. My body was tanned and a good deal leaner than when I’d first landed on the island, my hair was a tangled mess that I wore in a thick braid just to keep it off my head, and my clothes were a briny mess that smelled like salt water.
I supposed it was just as well that Dean wasn’t interested in me; I mourned as I picked rice kernels out of my breakfast bowl (made from a coconut half) and licked them off my fingers. I didn’t exactly look fresh-faced. I looked like I’d been stranded on a deserted island.
“Challenge today,” Dean said as he opened our red mailbox and pulled out the message. Normally our messages were fairly straightforward, tied in a roll with a piece of twine to hold it shut. Once we’d gotten one written on the back of a coconut, and the challenge was coconut bowling (which we’d done terribly at, and not on purpose). This message was a square of parchment with long green grasses hanging off the edge, almost like a, well, like a grass skirt. It shivered and slithered when Dean shook the message, and I stood up and moved to his side to read over his shoulder.
As I did so, my breasts brushed against his arm and he glanced over at me in surprise.
“Sorry,” I said in a meek voice and took a step backward, wishing he wouldn’t look so darn surprised when I did that. It made me apologize. I didn’t want to apologize to him—I wanted to grab his shoulders and climb all over him.
It was so very wrong.
Ignoring my apology, Dean handed the letter over to me and I began to read it aloud. “Today’s challenge is a special one. You’re guaranteed to have some fun. Pack your bags and pack your things. Who knows what tomorrow brings?” I flipped it over, just to check if anything was written on the back, and then frowned and handed it back to Dean. “That tells us nothing.”
“Something’s up,” he said, shaking his head. “They wouldn’t want us to bring our things unless they plan on doing some sort of switch-up.”
My stomach dropped. “A switch-up? You mean, like changing partners?” That ruined everything. Oh no—what if I was stuck with someone like Leon or Olaf the Biker? I’d be screwed. Worse yet, Dean would be paired up with some cute little hottie and he’d forget all about me and my unrequited lust that he was determined to ignore.
Dean gave me a scrutinizing look. “Do you want to stay together?”
What? Why was he asking that? How was I supposed to respond to that? Or was he just taking the easy way out? Of course—it struck me at that moment. He probably wanted a more athletic partner. Someone a bit more pleasant than me. Someone cute and pretty and as athletic as, say, Lana. “Maybe.”
His mouth crooked on one side. “Don’t sound so excited at the prospect.”
I was just being cautious. After all, leaping onto him and screaming “Dean, I want to have your babies” seemed a little extreme, especially given that he’d never wanted to be paired with me in the first place. So I said, “Well, whatever happens, the four of us are going to stick together to the end, right?”
His mouth twisted slightly, his smile faint. “Right. The odds are in our favor if we work together, no matter who is on our team.”
“Maybe it’s for the best that we split up,” I ventured slowly. “So we can influence our other partners.” It sounded purely logical. It made me want to throw up. “After all, it’s not like we wanted to be paired together in the first place.”
His half smile turned cold. “No, you got that right. We’re in this for the money.”
Ouch. That hurt a little more than I’d thought, hearing it come from his mouth. We’re in this for the money, and you’re a lousy partner. He might as well have spoken the rest of it out loud.
This felt ludicrous and hurtful. We should have been working together, trying to formulate some sort of plan. Figuring out how to stick together despite any sort of switch-up. Instead, here I was telling him it was for the best that we split up, and he was agreeing with me. My cynical heart that had been throbbing so hard in his presence felt crushed.
“We’d better get going,” Dean said, crossing camp to grab his bag. “Boat’ll be here soon.”
I retrieved my pack out of the small shelter and felt the heavy weight of the peanut butter inside it. We’d been extremely stingy with it so far, taking small nibbles only before challenges. I remembered the scene with the first taste of peanut butter, how Dean’s mouth had licked my fingers clean and I’d stared at him, dumbfounded, as my pulse beat loudly in my ears.
And with that memory in my mind, I opened the can and dug a finger into the peanut butter one more time and offered it to him. “Energy for the challenge?”
He glanced at me and at my finger. I hadn’t offered to ‘feed’ him the peanut butter since the first time, when he’d automatically reached out and taken me into his mouth. I could tell that he was thinking about that too. After a moment’s pause, he nodded at the can. “I’ll get my own.”
I shrugged as if that didn’t bother me and put my finger in my own mouth, licking it clean and trying not to show how hurt I truly was at his refusal.
After all, this was a game. He was playing for two million dollars, and so was I. Of course he wasn’t going to get romantic—especially with someone like me, so clearly not one of the other supermodel Playboy-bunny types. I was far too normal for a god like Dean.
I continued sucking on my finger, sighing. Perhaps a new partner would be the best thing.
Chapter Eight
I think Abby hates me. Why else would she be so determined to get away from me?—Dean Woodall, Day Fifteen
The teams filed onto the challenge beach, apprehensive. Bags were slung over shoulders, and I scrutinized the rest of the contestants for a moment. Everyone always seemed to look different after a few more days on the island, and today was no exception. Everyone was browner, their clothes dirtier. Shanna—the Playboy Bunny—had a very deep tan, but her legs were thin as twigs, and her implants stood out like boulders on her too-skinny frame. She looked like she needed a sandwich, and she wasn’t the only one. Lana was starting to become wraith-thin, though still lovely. The men were starting to grow extremely thin as well, losing their bulk. For once, I thanked the extra fifteen pounds I never seemed to shake. Lucky me.
I glanced out over the water, checking for challenge markers of any sort. Nothing. Interesting. Ahead, Chip stood atop a tall platform decorated with the Endurance Island logo. Eight booths were lined up facing him, but from the contestant angle, we couldn’t see what was behind each booth, as they were covered with filmy white coverings that blocked the eye. Normally, everything was color-coded and numbered to match up with our teams—Team Eleven always had purple markers, for example. Today, though, there was nothing to mark each of the items as ours. I began to have a funny prickle in my stomach and suspected that Dean was right.
This was a switch-up of some sort.
I supposed it was just as well that Dean wasn’t interested in me; I mourned as I picked rice kernels out of my breakfast bowl (made from a coconut half) and licked them off my fingers. I didn’t exactly look fresh-faced. I looked like I’d been stranded on a deserted island.
“Challenge today,” Dean said as he opened our red mailbox and pulled out the message. Normally our messages were fairly straightforward, tied in a roll with a piece of twine to hold it shut. Once we’d gotten one written on the back of a coconut, and the challenge was coconut bowling (which we’d done terribly at, and not on purpose). This message was a square of parchment with long green grasses hanging off the edge, almost like a, well, like a grass skirt. It shivered and slithered when Dean shook the message, and I stood up and moved to his side to read over his shoulder.
As I did so, my breasts brushed against his arm and he glanced over at me in surprise.
“Sorry,” I said in a meek voice and took a step backward, wishing he wouldn’t look so darn surprised when I did that. It made me apologize. I didn’t want to apologize to him—I wanted to grab his shoulders and climb all over him.
It was so very wrong.
Ignoring my apology, Dean handed the letter over to me and I began to read it aloud. “Today’s challenge is a special one. You’re guaranteed to have some fun. Pack your bags and pack your things. Who knows what tomorrow brings?” I flipped it over, just to check if anything was written on the back, and then frowned and handed it back to Dean. “That tells us nothing.”
“Something’s up,” he said, shaking his head. “They wouldn’t want us to bring our things unless they plan on doing some sort of switch-up.”
My stomach dropped. “A switch-up? You mean, like changing partners?” That ruined everything. Oh no—what if I was stuck with someone like Leon or Olaf the Biker? I’d be screwed. Worse yet, Dean would be paired up with some cute little hottie and he’d forget all about me and my unrequited lust that he was determined to ignore.
Dean gave me a scrutinizing look. “Do you want to stay together?”
What? Why was he asking that? How was I supposed to respond to that? Or was he just taking the easy way out? Of course—it struck me at that moment. He probably wanted a more athletic partner. Someone a bit more pleasant than me. Someone cute and pretty and as athletic as, say, Lana. “Maybe.”
His mouth crooked on one side. “Don’t sound so excited at the prospect.”
I was just being cautious. After all, leaping onto him and screaming “Dean, I want to have your babies” seemed a little extreme, especially given that he’d never wanted to be paired with me in the first place. So I said, “Well, whatever happens, the four of us are going to stick together to the end, right?”
His mouth twisted slightly, his smile faint. “Right. The odds are in our favor if we work together, no matter who is on our team.”
“Maybe it’s for the best that we split up,” I ventured slowly. “So we can influence our other partners.” It sounded purely logical. It made me want to throw up. “After all, it’s not like we wanted to be paired together in the first place.”
His half smile turned cold. “No, you got that right. We’re in this for the money.”
Ouch. That hurt a little more than I’d thought, hearing it come from his mouth. We’re in this for the money, and you’re a lousy partner. He might as well have spoken the rest of it out loud.
This felt ludicrous and hurtful. We should have been working together, trying to formulate some sort of plan. Figuring out how to stick together despite any sort of switch-up. Instead, here I was telling him it was for the best that we split up, and he was agreeing with me. My cynical heart that had been throbbing so hard in his presence felt crushed.
“We’d better get going,” Dean said, crossing camp to grab his bag. “Boat’ll be here soon.”
I retrieved my pack out of the small shelter and felt the heavy weight of the peanut butter inside it. We’d been extremely stingy with it so far, taking small nibbles only before challenges. I remembered the scene with the first taste of peanut butter, how Dean’s mouth had licked my fingers clean and I’d stared at him, dumbfounded, as my pulse beat loudly in my ears.
And with that memory in my mind, I opened the can and dug a finger into the peanut butter one more time and offered it to him. “Energy for the challenge?”
He glanced at me and at my finger. I hadn’t offered to ‘feed’ him the peanut butter since the first time, when he’d automatically reached out and taken me into his mouth. I could tell that he was thinking about that too. After a moment’s pause, he nodded at the can. “I’ll get my own.”
I shrugged as if that didn’t bother me and put my finger in my own mouth, licking it clean and trying not to show how hurt I truly was at his refusal.
After all, this was a game. He was playing for two million dollars, and so was I. Of course he wasn’t going to get romantic—especially with someone like me, so clearly not one of the other supermodel Playboy-bunny types. I was far too normal for a god like Dean.
I continued sucking on my finger, sighing. Perhaps a new partner would be the best thing.
Chapter Eight
I think Abby hates me. Why else would she be so determined to get away from me?—Dean Woodall, Day Fifteen
The teams filed onto the challenge beach, apprehensive. Bags were slung over shoulders, and I scrutinized the rest of the contestants for a moment. Everyone always seemed to look different after a few more days on the island, and today was no exception. Everyone was browner, their clothes dirtier. Shanna—the Playboy Bunny—had a very deep tan, but her legs were thin as twigs, and her implants stood out like boulders on her too-skinny frame. She looked like she needed a sandwich, and she wasn’t the only one. Lana was starting to become wraith-thin, though still lovely. The men were starting to grow extremely thin as well, losing their bulk. For once, I thanked the extra fifteen pounds I never seemed to shake. Lucky me.
I glanced out over the water, checking for challenge markers of any sort. Nothing. Interesting. Ahead, Chip stood atop a tall platform decorated with the Endurance Island logo. Eight booths were lined up facing him, but from the contestant angle, we couldn’t see what was behind each booth, as they were covered with filmy white coverings that blocked the eye. Normally, everything was color-coded and numbered to match up with our teams—Team Eleven always had purple markers, for example. Today, though, there was nothing to mark each of the items as ours. I began to have a funny prickle in my stomach and suspected that Dean was right.
This was a switch-up of some sort.
