He grunts as I readjust my footing on his shoulder. “You’re not the only one with abs, Miss. I’m happy to trade places.”
My eyes widen as an unbidden memory from yesterday floods my mind.
I’m sitting on the beach with Maria. We’re putting on the insect repellent Colton and I won from day four’s RewardChallenge while Colton and Bill go fishing with the spear Bill and Maria got from the crates the first night.
That’s when Colton decides to join us on the beach. He emerges from the ocean with a spear in one hand and our next meal in the other. His firm pectorals gleam in the sunlight, making him look like a muscled Poseidon after a fierce ocean battle. And here I am, just an innocent bystander, eager for a meal, and what a meal my eyes get. I instantly look for Hairy the mole, but Colton is too far off. The only thing I can see is the glimmer in his eyes, so like the controlled and dignified woman I am, I avert my gaze. Eventually.
My arm starts to go numb from untying the knot and I shake it out while brushing away the distracting memory and zoning back into my surroundings. The hum of a drone moves closer, and all too soon, I’m face-to-face with America. I give a small wave to the camera and pray that those watching can’t see straight through my blush. But who am I kidding? They’re likely too blinded by the bib of sweat that marks my nylon shirt or the way I’m panting like a dog after reaching for the coconuts.
But I’m no quitter. I take this time to show America what I’m made of. With Herculean effort, I push up on my tiptoes once more, to Colton’s dismay, and wedge a finger between the folds of the knot and yank hard. An amber-colored coconut hurtles to the ground, nearly hitting Colton on impact.
“I’d really like to stay conscious for the remainder of the game,” he gripes before adjusting his stance on the soggy ground. “Any chance you’re about done up there? For being so graceful on stage, you sure know how to destroy someone’s back with your feet.”
“Oops, sorry,” I say, insincerely. I fish a violet-painted coconut out of the open bag to reach our teal one, dropping them both close to Colton.
“Just remember, you’re strapped to me. If I’m knocked unconscious and can’t move, neither will you.”
“You know, I might actually prefe—” I lose my balance, tilting backward, my free arm flailing wildly. My sudden motions cause my muddy shoes to slip beneath me. In a flash, I’m falling, fast, my back poised to make breath-stealing contact with the earth. But instead of sudden pain, my body gets cradled between two strong arms. Poseidon arms.
With the bungee pulling my right arm awkwardly behind me, I’m snug as a bug against Colton. I look up at him, unblinking, as the seconds pass between us. A smear of mud cuts across his cheekbone and ends at the four-day-old scruff along his jaw. His bandana is pulled taut across his forehead, holding back a tuft of wild hair, and I fight the strange desire working inside me, the one that longs to stare a little longer. Suddenly, Colton Downing looks less like the Senator and more like … himself.
Colton’s arms flex tighter around me, and I can’t help but want to curl into this moment. Because for reasons I can’t understand, something feels … it feels … safe.
Colton exhales slowly, his breath warming my face. Why isn’t he saying anything? No snarky comeback? It’s too quiet. I’m too close. We’re too close.
“My arm,” I squeak, wriggling my tethered appendage out of its awkward angle before rolling onto my feet.
Eager to busy myself, I reach down to pick up our teal-painted coconut that sits between the violet and amber ones. Once I have a good grip on it, I place it in the net bag that all of the other contestants and I were given before the challenge to help us carry our coconuts. Once I have both my net bag and backpack slung over my shoulder, I lean toward Colton’s stuff, but he snatches his backpack before I can even touch the straps. I swear he’s got extra hand sanitizer stashed in there.
We spend the next couple of minutes in silence as we scour the jungle for more teal coconuts, letting the heat make puddles out of us. A trip to Antarctica is creeping up on my vacation list. I’ve never wanted to freeze so badly. I can feel my steps starting to slow, the joy of finding our previous coconut wearing off as we trudge along a path I am sure we’ve already walked down twice before.
“It’s going to rain,” Colton says, breaking the silence.
I look up, not spotting a gray cloud in the sky. “You hiding a barometer in that backpack of yours, or did the sun tell you that?”
“No, your hair did,” he says, flicking a piece of my ever-frizzing hair.
I gasp, but Colton just walks forward, pulling me along. “You take that back, Colton Downing.”
“Would love to, but I was taught never to tell a lie.”
“Oh really, just like that time our junior year when you …”
Colton clamps his free hand over my mouth, and I smile under his fingers, knowing he would very much like to keep the fact that his perfect attendance record in high school was, in fact, a lie. He’d forged a sick note and ditched school for an entire day to go to an arcade with Jordan and Miles.
“Okay, fine. Your hair is the paragon of silkiness,” he deadpans.
“And?”
“Silkworms everywhere envy its greatness.”
“And?”
“And … I’ll … let you drive my Beamer.”
Wow, the extraandwas gratuitous. I just wanted to see how far he’d go. But now that the Beamer’s in the deal, I’m ready to milk this. “For …?”
“A day,” he says, unamused.
