But Tamsyn barely got a chance to revel in her fangirl moment. Her thoughts ricocheted inside her head like marbles in a metal tin. She was too busy wondering if Isla had noticed her. Had she spotted her during the run? If she had, did she recognize her from the tryst in the gaudy powder room? Then another thought slipped in uninvited, one even more embarrassing than being forgotten... what if Isla had seen her, recognized her, and was ignoring her on purpose? Surely even Isla Stone didn’t have that kind of gall.
“Here’s how it works,” Vivian went on. She stepped toward a thick tree trunk that two production assistants in black had hauled into the clearing just a minute ago. Atop it sat two canvas bags. One stampedLegends, and the otherContenders. “Legends will be paired with Contenders. You’ll each draw a stone from your respective bag. Each stone is colored to match a pair. Once paired, you will compete together in challenges, fight for rewards, and face The Sending as a team.”
Tamsyn had expected as much. What she hadn’t expected was a chance to be paired with Isla Stone. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted that. Especially after the very real possibility that Isla might want nothing to do with Tamsyn.
“Before we start, I would like to take a moment to acknowledge the place we’re standing on.” Vivian gestured toward the rust-colored ridges and the endless blue sky. “This place is older than any game we could invent. These mountains were once seabeds. The ground beneath you has been ocean, desert, and everything in between.” She let that sit for a moment,and Tamsyn used the silence to look at Isla and try to will her to turn her head just a few inches.
But nope. Isla was looking straight ahead.
“Remember, ladies, this land doesn’t care how strong you are, how clever you are, or how badly you want to win,” Vivian added. “Out here, the land is your first competitor.” She turned toward the Legends and extended a hand. “Dominique, you’re up. Come forward and draw your stone.”
Chapter Three
Isla had recognized her immediately. The most kissable lips she had ever seen, and cowboy boots. Eyes the color of coffee and cheekbones like those of a model. At first, Isla had thought she’d imagined it, or the late morning heat had somehow produced a mirage the exact same shape and size as the woman who’d absolutely derailed her in Mallory’s peony-infested powder room six months ago.
But no, apparently not. Tamsyn Lott was here in the flesh, and Isla could hardly breathe.
She pulled hot air into her lungs and focused on the two people dressed in black, who were organizing camera equipment. One woman, with her hair up in a ponytail, had just uncoiled the black cables while the other was sipping on a sweating bottle of water that Isla could easily down in one thirsty sip. Two other camerawomen, whom Isla didn’t recognize, stood several yards away with shoulder-mounted rigs trained on all the contestants. Apart from the cluster of production gear and the temporary shade tents staked into the ground over a silver water cooler, there was nothing but rust-colored ridges stretching outward in every direction.
Isla concentrated on the ridges until they blurred.
“And that’s a blue stone for Dominique,” Vivian said. “Agatha, you’re up next.”
Agatha, also known as Aggie, from Season Three, walked up to the stand, but Isla barely noticed. Which was huge considering Aggie’s hair was dyed such an electric blue it probably could’ve been spotted from the International SpaceStation. But Isla was just too focused on trying not to look sideways. Which wasn’t just hard, it was nearly fucking impossible. The urge to look at Tamsyn standing over by the Contenders, next to a copper-haired woman in a lilac tank and a brunette in yellow Chuck Taylors, felt like driving past a car accident and not slowing down. Her eyes were burning to look. Her body itched. She had no idea how long before she combusted into flames.
“Orange,” Vivian said brightly. “Petra, come on up.”
Petra, with her long black hair plaited down her back and frayed jean shorts, and a faded red Fleetwood Mac T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, walked casually forward. Isla had long admired Petra’s game in Season Three, which had included starting a fake feud with her own pair, Dani Klawers, as a distraction tactic. Petra and Dani had gotten to the top three before they were voted off on a double-pair elimination advantage. It had been a sad goodbye. Isla had really rooted for her.
Now, Isla concentrated on Petra’s sun-bleached tan Blundstone boots as she walked toward Vivian and tried not to think about the one-in-six chance that she might get paired up with Tamsyn. The thought was so terrifying she felt her stomach flip. Then flip again.
On the third flip, she recalled several moments in the past six months where she had thought about Tamsyn Lott. All three had happened when she was home alone after a particularly unpleasant shoot and needed to decompress. The routine had been predictable yet satisfying: a lavender-scented bath, dimmed lights, a generous glass of Pinot Noir, usually from the Willamette Valley. She usually added in the memory of that night: Tamsyn kneeling on the black marble tiles, looking up at her. With that image and the gentle press of her own two fingers, she usually felt a fair amount better.
Whatever had happened in that powder room was destined never to repeat itself because Tamsyn had flown back to Santa Monica. Isla only knew this because Mallory had informed her of her colleague David’s choice of long-distance fling with Mikey. Isla hadn’t expected to see Tamsyn ever again, which was why spotting her out here, in Australia, on Season Five ofOutlast Herwas not only deeply inconvenient but also somehow extremely offensive. It was as if the universe had gone out of its way to reopen a chapter Isla had deliberately filed under one-night occurrences.
“Green for Petra,” Vivian announced. “We’ve got three stones left for the Legends. Isla, you’re up next.”
At the sound of her name, Isla stepped forward. Her white VEJA sneakers were already dusted red, and her daisy-printed pastel yellow socks were caked with a fine powder that clung like chalk to everything, including her skin. She wanted daisies to be her trademark this season. New beginnings and all that. She didn’t look sideways, and she didn’t look back. She kept her gaze firmly on Vivian, who smiled like an old friend when Isla slipped her hand inside. Three smooth stones the size of a quail’s egg felt cool against her fingers. The last time she’d played, she’d picked purple. A strong color in her opinion. The color of royalty. The color of bruised sunsets and lavender fields. She rolled a stone between her thumb and forefinger, delaying the inevitable for half a second longer, then pulled it free.
Yellow. The color of buttercups, of caution lights, of lemon rind, of school buses, and sun-bleached grass. The color of luck.
Which had to be a sign, right? If luck were on her side, she’d be paired up with any of the other five contestants. All of them perfectly nice-looking women with whom she’d never shared a torrid powder-room encounter or any other questionable decisions about women. Anyone, literally anyone, would make a betterOutlast Herpartner than Tamsyn Lott.
Isla held the stone up briefly so Vivian could see, then she closed her fist around it and walked back to the Legends. Her eyes were on her sneakers the whole time, even though she could feel Tamsyn’s gaze drilling into her soul.
“Isla has picked yellow,” Vivian said cheerily. “Two left. Come on up, Kendall.”
Kendall jogged forward. She was a marathon runner with a willowy frame and a short black pixie cut. She used to run along the beach every morning during her season, which the viewers found endearing, but her fellow contestants had not. She had a golden-retriever energy that was both motivating and deeply exhausting. Isla expected the latter from her this season. Kendall picked red. Then it was Janelle from the same season. Rumor had it the two of them had snuck off behind a wind-bent casuarina tree to do a little getting to know each other on day six, but who knew how much truth was in that. She picked purple.
“And that’s our Legends,” Vivian said, turning toward the other bag. “Contenders, let’s find your matches.”
Isla suddenly felt sick. And it had nothing to do with the heat. Or that run. Or the fact that she’d devoured a Big Brekkie—eggs, bacon, sausage, tomato, and mushrooms—this morning. Tamsyn Lott would soon choose her stone, and thereafter the game would begin.
There would be no avoiding her forever.
One by one, the Contenders approached. Vivian called out their names in what seemed like alphabetical order because Abigail “Abi” went first and chose red, then Barbara, who went by Barracuda or Barra for short, picked out a blue stone.
By the time Nadine stepped forward and picked green, Isla pressed her own stone deeper into her palm as if she could somehow grind the possibility of being paired with Tamsyn down into dust.
