It’s not long before we finish tying the main structure of the raft. I’m surprised when I look up at the clock to find we still have twenty-six minutes left. Feeling a moment of relief, I lean back and roll the ache out of my shoulders while stretching the tension from my fingers. Missy looks at me, then at the clock, and I visibly see her shoulders relax.
After a short break, we start putting on the crossbeams. Missy and I work together as she holds the crossbeams in place whileI tie. With her face so close to mine, I find that tying the knots is infinitely harder. And I swear she knows. Every time I have to tie and untie a knot because the way her hair brushes my neck, I find she moves even closer to me, figuring out another way to scramble my brain.
I glance at her, meeting her hazel eyes. Her smile ticks upward, and suddenly I want nothing more than to leave this raft on the beach and go back to our dilapidated Bunk Hut.
Last night, Missy and I had fallen asleep sitting side by side, leaned up against one another in the world’s most uncomfortable bed with a literal serpent beneath us, and yet, I had woken up feeling better than I had in years.
I think of Missy and the way she was nestled against my chest this morning, fast asleep. It was a moment that will no doubt slide into my thoughts for years to come. But then my stomach bottoms out as I remember that one word she’d spoken over and over again in her sleep. The word, or rather, the name, had awoken me to a reality that I didn’t want to consider … that Missy might have feelings for someone else.
I think back to the night we made our pact to stage a relationship for the sake of the show and how Missy had said she didn’t have a boyfriend. And maybe she doesn’t but is there a past boyfriend? Someone she still thinks about? Dreams about?
My insides twist at the thought before I realize that I’ve tied a crossbeam wrong again. I huff out a frustrated breath and try to focus, but the thought of Missy saying the name repeatedly in her sleep is as persistent as the pain in my fingertips.
“Okay, I can’t take it. What’s going on? You’ve been off.” Missy shifts to sit back on her heels.
“Off?” I shake my head and concentrate on tying the knot correctly this time.
“Off.”
“I’m not off,” I mumble.
She motions to the line between her scrunched-up eyebrows. “You’re doing that scowl thing you always do when you’re peeved at something or someone. Most often me.” She smirks, but her lips quickly fall into a flat line, a blush creeping into her skin.
Missy visibly swallows, looking timid as she leans toward me. “Was our Katniss and Peeta moment … uh … maybe it was …”
“No,” I say, quick to cut her off. I don’t want her to think I regret kissing her. Because I could definitely do with more of that. But I also don’t want to admit that I was … thinking about her and that name. That stupid name. No, I need to just let it go. “No. It’s fine. I’m fine.” I force a smile at her, then home in on the rope between my fingers.
Missy glances behind her, looking at the drones that hover above Legend and Silver, who are struggling to get the top of their raft tied together. Another follows Bill and Maria and their crew member as they finish their crossbeams well ahead of everyone else.
Missy turns back to me. “Colton Downing, if you know what’s good for you, you best be telling me what’s wrong.”
I glance up to find her brows shoved downward like an angry child, making her the cutest mix of pouty Southern princess and a tabby cat who’s been given dog food by accident. I don’t know whether to laugh or confess.
But on second thought, I’d rather keep my dignity, so I keep my thoughts to myself.
I’m just getting back to the knot when I feel the crossbeam I’m working on shift. Standing up on our raft, Missy crosses her arms in theI’m not going anywhere until you tell mepose, then stubbornly steps off the raft and sits in the sand next to me.
I exhale in surrender and lean back on my heels. Confess it is, I guess. “Last night in your sleep. You were … saying someone’sname, and I was just … It sounded like … he meant something to you.”
A smile lifts the edges of her lips. Why is she smiling at me? I sound jealous. Do I sound jealous? Ugh. I sound jealous.
She’s loving this. She casually picks up her water bottle and takes a sip.
“Mmkay,” she says, amusement dripping from each letter. “Whose name was it that I was saying?” She takes another lazy drink from her water bottle, 100 percent aware of the dignity she’s draining from me. Fortunately, our lapel mics and cameras are being switched out for the more water-resistant tech due to the demands of this challenge, which means I’m not having to shred my man card for public consumption, but then I catch sight of a drone drifting our way and take back that sentiment.
I scrunch my lips together, all too aware of Missy’s enjoyment.
“Harry. It was Harry.” I brace myself for Missy’s answer. For the revelation that she’s attached to another man. One that is not me. I watch Missy’s expression morph from confused to surprised, and then … and then water spews from her mouth, droplets peppering me like bullets from a shotgun.
Missy starts coughing, water dripping from her chin as I sit there, newly spritzed and confused. “Harry?” She chokes out the name.
“Yes,” I say, backhanding the saliva water off my skin.
She bites her lips, holding back a smile before covering her mouth with her hand.
My brows scrunch in confusion. “Is he … a boyfriend?”
She just shakes her head, her eyes bright with laughter, which on any other occasion I’d find adorable, but I feel about as vulnerable as if I were speaking in public in my custom Colorado Rockies snuggie for all of Congress to see. “So … who is he? Harry.”
