Wicked Games
Page 19

The fire was licking up the cheap legs of the stool and licking toward the rope already, and I watched as the other women glanced over at my fire and began to use theirs as well, stools thumping onto the tables right and left as women stood and tried to copy my success.
There was a snap, and my flag shot into the air. “Abby wins first place,” Chip called out in a sour voice. Apparently he didn’t like my bending of the rules. I didn’t care. I clapped my hands and sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart. My god, I’d won something. It felt good.
One of the production assistants off-camera motioned for me to go and stand next to Chip and I did so, waiting for the others to finish. I scanned the line of men remaining. I’d have first pick of partners, and they knew it. None of them were making eye contact with me except Dean, who flashed a brilliant white smile in my direction that made my knees weak. So as not too seem too obvious, I looked up and down the row of men. Tattooed Leon was still there, and Olaf the Biker. Will smiled at me, but it was uncertain and I knew he didn’t want to be separated from Lana unless we were told we couldn’t pick our old partners. I totally understood that and gave him a small nod. The others I hadn’t run into very much—Shane, Chris, Jack, Riley.
Dean was so much better than them in every aspect. I thought of the tiny shelter back on our beach and our bug repellent. Did I want to curl up with someone else in that shelter? Rub bug lotion all over their bodies? Have them lick peanut butter from my skin?
“Lana,” Chip shouted in my ear. “Second place!” Then, “Ginger, third!”
Slowly, the rest of the women finished. Well, sort of. Both Heidi and a girl named Heather hadn’t been able to create fire, so they were forced to draw straws, and Heather ended up with last pick. At last, Chip returned to me and I wiped my sweating palms on the edge of my shirt, nervous.
He held out the red envelope. “As first place, you receive this envelope. Open it and read aloud.”
I took it from him with shaky fingers, unnerved at the fact that all eyes were completely fixed on me and my movements. There was a wax seal on one side, and I broke it with my thumbnail and flipped the letter open.
“As winner of this reward challenge, a choice must be made. Either get first pick of partners and increase your odds, or elect a day in the shade.” As usual, the messages written by the staff were crappy and made no sense, so I turned to Chip for my answer.
“You have two choices, Abby. One, you can take first pick of the male contestants. Any of them that you want. This can give you a huge advantage over the others. Or,” he said, and paused dramatically, “you can forego strategy and select the reward instead. If you select the reward, you will be taken to a luxury spa and will spend the night there. You’ll have food, showers, and a warm bed waiting for you. But the downside is that you’ll be forced to remain with your current partner and will receive no strategic advantage.”
No strategic advantage? It sounded like paradise to me—vacation, food, shower, and Dean? But what if I was the only one that wanted that? It occurred to me that I might be making Dean the most miserable person on earth if I kept him with me, and I quickly glanced out to him, looking for my answer in his face. As usual, he wore no expression, not giving away anything. That was no help. I had no idea if I was making the right choice or not. Panicked, I scanned the row of men one last time, trying to decide.
To hell with this.
I’d lived several days with angry Dean before. I could live with angry Dean again. Even if it did make my stomach knot at the thought of him being mad at me after the bonding we’d done. But, my decision made, I handed the red card back to Chip. “I want the food,” I said.
“Of course,” Shanna said down the line, her voice catty. Someone snickered next to her.
Chip seemed very surprised by my choice. “You’re deciding to keep the same partner?” he said as Dean rose to his feet in the distance and slung his pack over his shoulders, the expressionless look still on his face. “After all the troubles the two of you have had for the past two weeks, what made you choose that?”
Uh-oh, I had to explain myself. “I really just wanted the food and shower,” I said in a bright voice, hoping that my bubble-headed lie sounded convincing. “Who wouldn’t?”
Chip gave a fake chuckle and gestured in the distance. “If you’ll go that way, you’ll be taken to your reward.”
With my bag clutched tightly in my hands, I trailed off of the small stage, back down to the ground. One of the production assistants was waiting nearby, ready to interview me about my win. Dean was in the distance, heading toward me, and I offered him a faint smile as he walked by. “Hi,” I called, just before another production assistant grabbed him.
He turned and gave me a hard look. “We’ll talk later.”
That didn’t bode well. I swallowed and nodded. If this was a show for the cameras, well… he certainly had me convinced.
 
***
 
While there were many tiny things I really disliked about the rules of Endurance Island, the worst had to be the ‘no talking’ rule on transportation. Since the show was all about filming every aspect of our day in the island setting, talking on the motorboats would interfere with that, so the simplest show rule was “No talking at all” during transport. Which was fine, normally, but as I sat in the helicopter with Dean next to me, our legs touching, it was hard to stick to the rule.
I wanted to find out if he was mad at me. If I’d made the wrong decision.
The helicopter dropped us off at a designated pad on a different island, and a woman was there to greet us and take our backpacks, since we weren’t allowed to bring them into the spa. She had the long, wavy hair and round face of the native islanders and was dressed in a colorful wrap dress and wore a flowered wreath. “Come,” she gestured at us, her voice barely audible as the helicopter took off again, and I felt (rather than heard) the familiar cameraman moving into place at our side.
The woman led us up a long flagstone path to a small beach house with large windows. The heavily slanted roof and bushy palms surrounding it were supposed to give an air of privacy to the hut itself, but I could see the rest of the hotel in the distance, and it felt weird to be so close to civilization once more. Our escort led us up the stairs to the bungalow and opened the door, then gestured that we should enter. “Your food is waiting for you inside. Please ring the bell if you need anything,” she said, then walked to the edge of the bungalow porch to demonstrate the bell. “I will come and assist you with anything you require. The helicopter will return in the morning to take you back to the beach.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, not looking at my partner. It sounded like it would be just the two of us. An anticipatory tingle skittered over my skin, but that was ridiculous.
Dean thanked her as well and she moved down the steps and away, leaving us alone in the small island bungalow. Dean glanced at me.
My mouth dried at the expectant look he was giving me. He clearly wanted answers, and the only ones I could think of started with I didn’t want to be separated from you… which just sounded desperate. I pushed past him into the cabin, looking around.
The smell of food hit like a brick, and my mouth began to water immediately. I followed it into the large living room area of the tiny house. The bungalow seemed to be built with a very open layout—one half of the entire house was the living room area, and a long, low table overflowed with food. Two pillows sat on either end of the table—I assumed for us to sit on.