I made my way over to his hanging body and nudged him, then whispered under my breath, “Just think about your grandma or something.”
“What?” His expression turned from pained to horrified. “How the hell is that supposed to help me right now?”
“Well.” I shrugged, feeling my own face heat. “I mean, I know that some guys can’t control these things, but it has to be kind of embarrassing. I mean, you’re, like, really aggressive.”
“I’m tied up,” he said through clenched teeth. “Any more aggressive and I’d be a paralyzed snail.”
I pointed at his pants. “Right, well, tell your parts to paralyze so people don’t think ropes and balls turn you on.”
“What?” He looked up and let out a defeated sigh. “I can’t help that Edward wants to be free. I would too. It’s okay, little buddy.”
“Um . . .” I swallowed. “Do all guys name . . . things?”
“Oh, he’s not my thing. He’s a snake.”
“In your pants,” I clarified.
“Well, it’s not like I put it there!” he argued.
“Right, pretty sure God had something to do with that, and you know nature.”
“God had nothing to do with what’s currently twisting around in my pants. Believe me, if He did, I would so not give money to the church.”
“What?”
“The next question!” Rex shouted. “How many oceans border the United States?”
“Catch! Catch!” Max yelled.
But he was too late. One of the girls had already yelled, “One. The Pacific. Duh.”
“Good Lord,” Max grumbled.
The next pair went and got the question wrong. Then again, was there ever any hope they’d get it right? It’s not like they exactly picked the sharpest tools in the shed for this show. I wonder what that said about my own intelligence? Hmm.
“And we’re back to the first team!” Rex shouted.
“Free Edward,” Max grumbled.
“Stop addressing him.” My eyes fell again to Max’s pants. “It encourages him . . . more.”
“What can I say, when I name pets, they immediately take a liking to me.”
“Pets?”
Okay, so, I was officially turned off, no lust, nothing. Wow. Just. Wow. He thought of his penis as a pet? How weird was that?
“Your question.” Rex pulled up a card and read from it. “What are the Seven Wonders of the World?”
Max sighed.
But I actually knew it. “Colossus of Rhodes, Great Pyramid, Hanging Gardens of Babylon, Temple of Artemis, Zeus’s Statue, Lighthouse of Alexandria, and the Mausoleum.”
“Wow.” Rex squinted. “Correct! And it seems since you’re the only team to actually get one right, you win!”
Max mouthed, “I love you” to me. I was ready to walk up to him and give him a high five. When he was cut down.
The minute his body hit the ground a small snake slithered out from his pants. “ ’Bye, Edward, be free!”
“Ah.” I hunched down next to him. “So that’s Edward.”
“The things he’s seen and survived. We should all be as strong as Edward.” He sighed and looked at my torn shirt. “Oh, and P.S.: Thanks for the trail into hell. For a minute there I was going to change your nickname from Little B to Gretel, but then the whole rope incident happened and—”
“And now we feast!” Rex announced.
People appeared out of nowhere with food in their hands and began leading everyone away from Max.
Music started.
And Max visibly relaxed.
We’d officially made it through one day.
Only twenty more to go!
Yeah, he wasn’t going to make it.
Then again, I probably wasn’t either.
“Shall we?” Max offered his hand. I took it and was followed by Reid and the rest of the production crew. It wasn’t until we sat down at the head of the table that I remembered cameras were still on us.
Crap.
I was getting singled out as the favorite.
Which meant only one thing.
I looked around the table as the girls glared in my direction.
Yeah, I was going to be a target.
Max lifted his wineglass into the air. “To the Island!”
“Cheers!” the girls yelled.
We set our glasses down; something touched my right thigh. I looked down to see Max’s hand. He didn’t move it. Not until it was time to go back to our huts, and even then, I felt the warmth of his fingertips long after I’d left him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MAX
All was quiet as I walked back to my hut. Big Al and the camera crew yawned the entire way—but I was anything but tired.
I felt a bit . . . on edge.
Then again, I’d spent the better part of my day getting chased by a goat, choked by seaweed, and attacked by a killer garter snake named Edward, and I’d finally ended said day of hell upside down while that same snake nearly nicked me in the balls, missing by what I can only assume was the grace of God, and biting my thigh.
“You heading in?” Big Al asked, pushing open the door to the hut. “Your call time’s at seven, so I’d try to get some sleep if I were you.”
“My call time?”
“For your confessional.” Big Al yawned again. “We’ll go over all the details of yesterday, gauge how you’re doing, and set you up for your date tomorrow evening.”
“Date.” My lips formed into a smile. “With Becca.”
“And the scary one.” Big Al nodded. “Good luck with that one.”
“Right,” I grunted and stepped into the small hut. It felt empty. Then again, the past few weeks I’d been not only camping out with Jason but wherever I could. I hated being alone. It made me feel—lonely. And it wasn’t because of the typical reasons.
I wasn’t abandoned as a child.
My parents didn’t lock me in my room.
My dad never raised his hand to me.
And yeah, I had my fair share of friends when I was little, not to mention enough money to go around just in case I needed to buy a seat on the swing set.
I think it was because I was just used to a lot of . . . busyness. The main reason living near Colt, Milo, and Jason worked was that they were the distraction I needed. My days were consumed with making sure Jason didn’t physically harm himself or run into anything, and helping out Milo and Colt, who were renovating their house. I was able to supervise.
When I was busy I didn’t have to think about all the other things men my age should be doing. Like working or moving on with their lives rather than thinking about where they’d gone wrong with the girl who got away. Or you know, getting a job.
But when I thought about what men did at my age, twenty-one? Most of them started either careers or families. I was pretty sure my career had been decided for me. Take over the hotel business, make millions, be awesome. Maybe I was trying to push back the inevitable CEO position, white picket fence, and trophy wife holding our twin boy and girl while I wined and dined business professionals from all over the world.
Shoot me now.
With an irritated sigh, I walked out onto the terrace that was connected to my hut and led out into the water. I took a seat on the dock. The ocean was just a few feet below, beckoning me to jump in. I looked around, then slowly stripped off my shirt and jeans. With one final glance around the corner, I slid my boxers down to my ankles and jumped into the glassy water.
The warmth of the ocean mixed with the humidity of the air felt like absolute perfection.
I swam toward the dock again and noticed Little G poking his head out from the room. “Aw, little man, you come out for the party?”
“Tell me,” a female voice interrupted. “Do you name everything?”
Becca walked around the corner and sat on the dock, pulling her knees to her chest.
“That depends.” I swam closer to her. “Is it cute bordering on sexy that I name everything or la
me?”
“Hmm.” She tapped her chin. “Depends. Why do you call him Little G?”
I pointed at the gecko. “Because he’s a gecko and he’s small, thus Little G. I didn’t say my names were brilliant.”
“So.” Her eyes narrowed. “You call me Little B?”
I grinned shamelessly. “You do the math.”
“Max . . .” Her voice held a warning edge.
“P.S.” I swam closer to her and grabbed at her ankles. “I’m naked.”
“Oh.” Her face flushed, she jerked her ankles away from my grasp and laughed. “That’s . . . um, nice.”
“It really is.” I let my eyelids almost fall closed over my eyes as I scanned her perfect form outlined in the moonlight. “Care to join?”
“Not much of a swimmer.” She grinned. “Sharks, remember?”
“Ah,” I sighed. “Afraid I’ll bite?”
Becca burst out laughing. “Doubtful.”
“Excuse me?” Okay, after the snake incident my confidence was a bit shaky, but what the hell, it’s not like I’d gotten a personality transplant.
“Max.” Becca giggled. “No offense . . .”
Not a fan of sentences that started out as insults.
“But you’re kind of harmless.”
“Harmless?” I repeated. “As in I’m a badass hunting dog that’s just been tamed but can still bark and bite like the rest of them?”
“No.” She licked her lips. “More like a blind, very old, old, old—”
“Stop saying old,” I snapped.
“Lapdog.”
“Lap. Dog?”
“Yeah.” She grinned wider.
Why the hell was she smiling? Was she mocking me? Me? Max? King of the Jungle? “Grandpops had a lap dog—it used to get the shits around the house and always found the playroom as the best place to hide the evidence. I hated that dog. I wanted to drop-kick it. But it was too damn passive. The one time I yelled it walked right over to my G.I. Joe and dropped a load. So.” I glared. “Are you saying I’m like Squeaker?”
“Is that the G.I. Joe or the dog?” Becca dipped her toe into the water.
“Really? The very fact that you have to ask that means you have no idea what you’re talking about. Who names their G.I. Joe Squeaker?”
Becca leaned forward, her white tank top catching in the wind, making me stare like a dog, just not one who sat on your lap . . . unless . . . well, at any rate, she leaned forward and said, “What was your G.I. Joe’s name?”
“None of your business.” I sniffed and grabbed at her foot, massaging the bottom of it and pulling it farther into the warm water.
“Come on.” She leaned over farther. Damn, that shirt was low, just low enough too. I cleared my throat and looked away.
“Joe-Joe.”
“Like the potato?”
“No!” I released her foot. “Like Joe times two! Like double the badassery!”
“Or like the band K-Ci and JoJo.”
“I’m not a lapdog,” I said, changing the subject. “And honestly, I’m a bit insulted that you think I’m harmless.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Harmless would mean I haven’t been staring at your breasts for the past ten minutes dreaming about what they’d feel like cupped in my hands. Harmless”—I drew out the word—“would mean I haven’t been thinking about what you taste like—everywhere.” I smirked. “Harmless? Oh, honey, if you think I’m harmless then you’re in deeper than you think, but that’s okay. I like it that way.”
“What way?” She exhaled quickly, then stood.
“Just because I’m friendly doesn’t mean I’m not dangerous.”
“You named a gecko,” she pointed out.
“True.” I nodded. “I’m a friend to the animals.”
“And a snake was in your pants.”
“Right, but—”
“You screamed like a girl.”
“Not true!” I yelled.
“And . . .” She held up her hand like she was doing a damn countdown! “You’re kind of, like . . .” She leaned forward and whispered, “A bit . . .” Her eyes teased. “Metro.”
“As in . . .” I baited her.
“Feminine,” she snapped. “Yup, that’s the word. And Max, I mean that in the nicest way possible.”
“You mean . . .” I licked my lips, then slapped the water. “In the kindest way you can possibly say it, ‘Oh, look, Max has boobs’? Or you mean it in the way that says I lack the proper sexual magnetism to get your engine going?”
Becca rolled her eyes. “Hey, I didn’t come here to fight. I was just going to go over our date for tomorrow without the watchful eyes of Big Brother.”
“Hmm.” She was looking down at her feet. So I did what any desperate man who’d just been insulted in the worst way possible would do. I grabbed her feet, dragged her into the water, creating a huge splash, and then, when her head popped up for air, I gave her something else.
My tongue.
Kissing Becca could become a very nice, very addicting . . . pastime. Her lips were soft, pliant, but her hands were beating against my chest. Ah, classic move. Listen up, men: women fight us because they’re expected to. They have to put up the fight so they don’t come off as easy. So the next time a girl hits you in the chest, go with it, kiss her harder. It just means she wants more, especially when her chest is heaving and her tongue is doing . . . that. Yeah, exactly. Oh. Hell. Damn. Kill me now. When her tongue is doing that? Becca’s tongue pushed against mine and then she sucked.
I felt said sucking all the way through my body.
When she stopped fighting me, I wrapped my arms around her neck, pulling her as close against me as I could, and then pulled away.
Her eyes furrowed with confusion as she tried to lean forward.
I pulled back again, and swam her over to the ladder.
“Thanks, Becca,” I whispered. “I needed a little motivation.”
“M-motivation?”
“Game on.” I helped her up and followed. “And by the way . . .” I grabbed her hands and moved her flat palms from my chest all the way down to my waist. “I’m anything but feminine. Have a good night.” As I walked away, I did what any sane man would do. I paused so she could get her fill and realize that yes, I was, in fact, still naked. And when I heard her gasp, I turned around and saluted her in more ways than one.
Point. Max.
CHAPTER TWENTY
BECCA
I tossed and turned all night and finally woke up at six a.m. ready to march right over to Max’s hut and just . . . punch something. Not him. Because touching him meant . . . touching . . . him and I was pretty sure that after last night I would never be the same again.
His body was . . . tight.
Not just tight. It was tan and tight and . . . not . . . expected? Holy crap it was hot in my stupid hut! Where was the AC?
I tumbled out of bed and made my way on wobbly legs over to the sink to wash my face. Grumpy, one of my hut partners, was snoring so loud you’d think she’d wake herself up. Grumpy was also known as Shel, and no that wasn’t short for anything, and no it wasn’t a good idea to ask her because, well, Max hit it right on the head: she was super Grumpy.
She didn’t appear to be a huge fan of the tropics. At least from what I could tell.
I splashed water onto my face and my body.
It did nothing.
You know how visions just burn into your consciousness? Visions of Max . . . they wouldn’t leave! I tried everything! It seemed the harder I tried, the worse they got.
A knock sounded at the door.
I pulled it open and scowled.
“Aw, you’re so cute in the morning. Sleep marks on your face and everything.” Reid tilted his head to the side.
I glared. “How can I and my sleep-induced puffy face help you?”
“Hey.” Reid held up his hands. “You still look hot.”
“You’re letting mosquitoes in.” My eyes narrowed.
> “They’re not out right now.” Reid crossed his arms, and a roguish grin formed across his lips. “Out late last night?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Just didn’t sleep well.”
“Hmm.” He leaned against the doorframe. “Interesting.”
“Did you need something?” I stepped forward, as if my small frame would do anything to push his six-foot, fully stacked muscular body anywhere.
“You offering?” His eyes did something I’d never seen eyes do. Seriously. I’d heard of guys who knew how to give the look, the “screw-me eyes,” but I’d never actually had those eyes directed at me.
“You slut.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Horrified, I slapped my hands over my face and groaned.
“Wow, you weren’t lying about being grumpy.”
“Go away, you bastard!” Shel yelled from her bed.
Reid peered around me, his face questioning.
“Naw, she’s Grumpy—as in, Max nicknamed her Grumpy—so that name’s already been taken. Sorry, champ.”
“Champ?” Reid’s feet shifted, he looked almost confused. “Did you just call me champ?”
“Uh, yeah? What did you need again?”
“You,” he whispered. “Only you.”
I leaned in so I could smell his breath. “Are you drunk?”
“What?” He reeled back. “No! Hell, no!”
“Then why are you hitting on me?”
“Why aren’t you liking it?”
“You’re serious?” Was this getting filmed? Maybe it was part of the show. I pushed his muscled chest away and peered around him. No cameras, nothing. Huh.
“Stop that.” He blocked my view with his body. “I’ve never had this . . . happen.” He scratched his head. “I’m . . . broken.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Holy shit.” He started pacing in front of me. “That’s it! She’s repelled my sex!”
“Um . . .” I waved. “Sorry to interrupt your freak-out, but did you need anything?”
“Yeah, um . . .” He staggered away from me. “Your call time is eight, for breakfast, games, and then you have your date this evening, so . . . right.” He pulled a sheet out of his back pocket. “Here’s your schedule and I’ll just be . . .” He looked me up and down. “Really?”
The Consequence of Revenge Page 11