“Seems unlikely,” Hunter grumbles.
I chuckle. “You could havestayed—”
“Nope.” His jaw tightens, but he’s looking at Donovan instead of me as he says, “I go where you go, D.” Still, there’s too much tension in his body for me to think he has no regrets about coming with me.
Not for the first time, I wonder what Hunter’s life would look like if he hadn’t started working with me. He keeps to himself for the most part, and we get along well. But there have to be times when he wishes he hadn’t chosen me. I come with all sorts of complications, and even if he leaves, there are always going to be people who recognize him as Derek Riley’s bodyguard. My fame is his fame too.
It’s too bad I can’t do what I do without that side of things getting in the way.
“Who wants to be the first to try?” Thiago asks.
“I think you should get that honor,” I tell him in Spanish, making him snicker.
One of the WanderLove guys laughs too—a guy named Maverick—and I make a mental note of that so I can put it in my notebook later. There are a lot of people to keep track of on this trip, so I won’t study all of them in detail, but there’s enough variety among the guests to get some interesting character studies going. Especially once I work up the nerve to talk to some of them. Even with NDAs protecting me, I still get nervous in situations I can’t control.
“Dinner should be ready in about half an hour,” Donovan says when the married woman from before volunteers to follow Thiago down the winding trail into the bushes, where I assume there’s a private spot waiting for the glamorous Hopper buckets. “If you need help with your tents, Farah and Mason are happy to walk you through it.”
“Do you need any more help with dinner?” Morgan asks, raising her hand once again. Her eyes slide over to me, running from my head to my toes and back up again before she turns back to Donovan.
Donovan’s smirk says she saw the once-over as clearly as I did, and she glances at me as if trying to gauge my interest. The two women look alot alike, from their red hair to their athletic builds, but Donovan looks softer in every way. More natural. And, as much as I’m loath to admit it, her disdain interests me a lot more than Morgan’s poorly restrained fawning.
Morgan is easy to understand. Donovan is a puzzle I’m itching to solve.
“Nah,” Donovan says, “Superman and I have it covered, but we always welcome help with the dishes afterward. Everyone can go relax until we’re ready to eat.” It seems she finally settled on Superman over things like Mr. Hollywood and Emperor Silver Screen. I don’t love it, but it’s better thanPoster Boy.
Everyone slowly filters to other parts of the beach—the four WanderLove women hover nearby despite Donovan’s gentle dismissal and look like they’re scheming—and I’m about to follow Donovan back to the kitchen when Hunter nudges my arm.
He has that look he gets when he has something he wants to say but knows I won’t like it, which happens more often than it should for how long we’ve worked together. Most people learn to keep those thoughts to themselves once they realize how stubborn I can be, but Hunter always stands his ground.
I roll my eyes. “What?”
“People are talking.”
“About me? Big surprise.”
“You and Donovan.”
My eyes involuntarily jump to her as she starts loading seasoned chicken onto a hot skillet. “I’m not surprised about that either,” I say, though I lose some of the sarcasm of my last comment. Rather than ask for specifics about the conversations I’ve missed while helping with dinner, I shake my head. “People can say whatever they want to while we’re on the river.”
Hunter grunts. “You should be more careful.”
“Careful? I’m learning what it’s like to be a river guide. Just because Donovan is a member of the opposite sex, it doesn’t mean we’re—”
“I’m worried aboutyou, Derek.” He grits his teeth, glancing at the four women nearby. They must not be a threat because he looks back at me and frowns. “You’re acting…different.”
My jaw tightens, mostly because he knows better than to use the ‘A’ word around me. I choose to focus on the other word he used. “Different,” I repeat and wait for him to explain.
Groaning, he runs his hand over his buzzed hair and has to search for the words he wants to use. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I don’t know if it’s a good thing either. You’re just…”
“Different.” I narrow my eyes. “Okay. Well, if you figure out what that means, I’m all ears, but I need to go help Donovan with dinner if you want to eat anytime soon.” I turn to leave.
“You seem happy.”
The words stop me in my tracks. This coming from the man who spent the whole bus ride to the river trying to convince me to back out and go home where I’m happier? I mostly ignored him, jotting down my notes about the guests I met, but he seemed pretty sure that theHot Scooparticle about my friends leaving me behind affected me more than I’ve admitted to him. I figured it was all an argument to get out of being forced on this trip with me, but maybe he was genuinely worried about me.
What changed in the last eight hours? I don’t feel any different than I did this morning.
I force a carefree smile, not feeling especially happy. “Maybe being away from my phone is good for me.”
