God, she hoped one of them was right, if for nothing else than to shove it in Ford’s annoying, smarmy... gorgeous face that she was right, he was wrong, and he needed her. Maybe if someone like Dr. Ford Matthews needed her, other people might start taking her a little more seriously. Sure, it was flattering to be known as a badass to students, but the Lara Croft comparisons were starting to get old. She was tired of never getting an invite to speak at the International Institute of Archaeology’s annual conference, the most prestigious gathering of the world’s archaeologists. Aside from a few Women in Archaeology panels she’d done in the past, the only conferences she’d been invited to speak at were Comic-Cons. Fun, yes. But not exactly career-building opportunities.
No, she was the one who hadn’t been able to land a good job after they’d graduated (thanks to Ford swiping her opportunity). The one who’d started teaching at some random third-tier school and only made her way to Berkeley afterArchaeological Digestran that ten-page story about one of her many digs that had gone awry but had a happy—and unexpected—ending. The story had included a couple of full-length color photos of her in a pair of short-shorts and a low-cut tank top. She’d become the talk of the town after that story, and whether it was because of herbadassdig story or because of herfineass, that story had led to her next teaching gig, which had then led to Berkeley. And even then, she suspected the reason Berkeley had hired her had more to do with trying to increase enrollment, given the buzz around her name (and picture), and less to do with her actual skills. She only hoped that someday people would stop thinking of her asthat one curvy, sexy Latina archaeologistand maybe asthat archaeologist who helped discover Chimalli.
Or, you know, maybe eventhat archaeologist.
One day she’d prove to all the stuffy old relics that she was a badassanda genius, and she’d prove it all on her own. In the meantime, maybe if they found Chimalli’s remains on this dig, even if it was just an asterisk next to her name while Ford took most of the credit, maybe people would see beyond her tits, ass, and wild shenanigans.
Dammit. Guess she wouldn’t leave him after all.
“Hey...” Ford said as he finally approached. “Look, what I said back there—”
Corrie cut him off by tossing the walkie at him. “Jon and Memo haven’t found anything. They’re on their way back right now.”
“Can we talk for a minute?”
“Nah, I’m good.” She stood and walked over to the raft, fidgeting with some of the bags to make sure they were secure.
Just because she wasn’t going to leave him didn’t mean she needed to be his BFF.
“Corrie, come on.” He moved beside her, blocking her way.
“Yeah... you know, I’m all talked out from yesterday.” She looked up from the raft and flashed him the brattiest smile she could muster.
“Oh, so when you want to talk and I don’t want to, you keep pressing, but when it’s the other way around then you’re all talked out?”
“Oh, wow, Ford. Look at that. You finally get me.” Standing tall, she batted her lashes and clasped her hands together over her heart. “Now move, please,” she said, elbowing him out of her way and inspecting one of the oars.
“Okay. Got it. Glad we sorted this out, Cor. A real pleasure.”
By the time Jon and Memo returned, the sun had started to dip. Butthe Bosswanted to keep going so they could make sure they made it back to camp before sundown tomorrow. Corrie thought about protesting. After all, they didn’t know this river or any of its potential treacheries. But she wanted to get this over with as much as he did. They pressed on, agreeing to paddle until six o’clock so they could make sure they had enough time to pitch their tents and make dinner.
Jon and Memo carried on in the front of the raft, talking about not wanting to miss the World Series. Something about someone’s brother’s girlfriend’s cousin’s friend knowing an usher at Dodger Stadium and how they might be able to get seats during the playoffs. Corrie couldn’t care less about baseball, but at least their excited discussion provided some entertainment and distraction. Because there certainly wasn’t anything going on in the back of the boat, where she paddled with Ford.
She checked on him out of the corner of her eye—under the guise of boat guiding, of course. But he paid her no attention. Instead, he stared off to the side of the river, focused only on getting them to where they needed to go.
A few drops of water from Ford’s oar splashed onto the inside of his arm. He wiped away the droplets, then stopped with his fingers brushing over his mother’s initials tattooed on his skin, clearly deep in thought. Seconds later, he straightened up and resumed paddling, but not before Corrie noticed him rub the corner of his eye.
Okay, maybe she shouldn’t have blown him off. It was pretty childish, after all.
But could he really blame her?
And it wasn’t even that he was being a jerk. She was mostlyupset because she was disappointed. Disappointed that the guy she’d spent hours laughing with yesterday was still back at camp. Or maybe he didn’t even exist.
And that sucked because she actually liked that guy. She’d almostkissedthat guy. If only he hadn’t let go of her hand and backed away last night, she would have made a move.
A rumbling in the distance snapped Corrie out of her thoughts. The others didn’t notice. But no... something wasn’t right.
She stood in the raft, finally catching Ford’s attention.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Shh.” She craned her neck to see in front of them. There.
Rapids.
“We’ve got rapids.” She rushed to sit. “Everyone, keep calm.”
“Are they gonna flip us over?” Jon asked, all the color draining from his face.
