My mouth opens, but I say nothing. I step back from Drew’s truck and shut the door. On the inside, I’m a mass of invisible flames and arousal. I have to blink twice to get my bearings back.
A few seconds later I nod at them and holler “Oh great!” to Rylan. The smell of garlic and cheese hits my nostrils as she and Wyatt walk into the hotel.
But even the prospect of yummy food after a long day of shooting doesn’t hold a candle to the prospect of Drew finishing his thought about what exactly he wanted to do to me the night we met.
And maybe, just maybe, he’d be up for showing me now.
I turn around, ready to ask him, but he’s gone. Then I spot him walking into the hotel entrance without a second look back at me.
9
Three slices of pizza, one can of beer, and two hours later, I’m sitting on my hotel bed, staring at my phone.
It’s driving me nuts the way Drew left things earlier. He skipped out on pizza with the crew in Haley’s room. Wyatt said he texted him to say he couldn’t join because he was FaceTiming with his niece and nephew.
I try to focus on the cute image that conjures up, but that only distracts me for a minute. I can’t stop thinking about Drew and what he said to me earlier. How we flipped from coworkers with a weird and strained history to coworkers who were flirting up a storm.
For the umpteenth time this evening, I contemplate texting him . . . but I don’t want to interrupt if he’s visiting with family. But I also don’t want to show up to the set tomorrow morning with this unresolved tension. It will make it impossible to focus.
I cover my face with my hand and I groan. I’m thirty-two years old. Why am I acting like some insecure tween? How beyond embarrassing to be agonizing over a text message.
I straighten my posture, drop my hand from my face, and smack the bed. No more second-guessing myself. All I need to do is send one simple text message.
So I type one out.
We should talk about what happened earlier.
But before I can send it, Drew texts me.
My stomach takes a tumble. And then I take a breath and read his message.
Drew: Hey. I think I owe you an explanation.
Me: You think?
When I send the message, I immediately regret it. That sounded way, way too dismissive. I quickly send a goofy face emoji, then cup my face in my free hand and groan. God, I am so, so bad at this.
But he replies with a “haha,” and I let out a relieved exhale.
Drew: But srsly . . . sorry for what I said earlier. Kinda inappropriate.
I frown at my phone screen. Inappropriate? Now I’m confused as hell. Because thinking back on our interaction, I feel like I was sending a million positive signals to him that I was into what he was saying. How I hung on his every word, how I couldn’t take my eyes off him, the ragged way I was breathing when we talked about the night we met.
I start to type a message asking him to clarify, to tell him that he doesn’t have anything to apologize for because I loved everything he said—but he texts me first.
Drew: I got caught up in the moment, talking about our date. That shouldn’t have happened, especially now that we’re coworkers. We agreed to forget it . . . so that’s what I’m hoping we can do with my slip up.
Drew: Can we move on as colleagues?
His change in feelings hits like a bucket of cold water to the face. I guess this afternoon of scouting and riding together didn’t mean nearly as much to him as it meant to me.
I dry swallow the lump in my throat, then take another breath before I reply.
Me: No worries! Already forgotten.
And then I place my phone on the nightstand and stumble to the bathroom to get ready for bed, feeling like the biggest loser on the planet.
* * *
• • •
“I know I’ve said this about five thousand times since we arrived this morning, but holy hell, this is gorgeous.” Haley gazes around the trailhead of the Narrows.
This trail is the most popular one in Zion National Park. It’s actually a river—the Virgin River, which cuts through a section of the canyons at this end of the park. Visitors wade through the water, which varies in depth from ankle-deep to chest-high, to admire the slot canyons that surround them.
Everyone in the crew has stopped to gawk about a million times during our first day of shooting. I haven’t set foot here since I was a kid. Every few minutes I catch myself staring openmouthed at the endless red canyons that make up this park.
Haley stops to snap some photos on her phone. “When shooting is over, I’m going to come back here like a proper tourist.”
I smile as I refocus back on today’s shot list.
“This place is something else, isn’t it?” Drew comments from nearby.
A handful of days after he rejected me via text, and I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve had a conversation—always work related.
Judging by the neutral expression on his face every single time he’s spoken to me, he’s forgotten about our conversation while hiking Whale Rock. There’s not one smidgen of awkwardness in his interactions with me . . . which makes all those times I blush and stammer in front of him all the more humiliating. Because he’s clearly moved on from our flirty interlude . . . while I can’t stop thinking about it.
I sigh and stare unblinking at the tablet until Drew walks over to Joe.
Haley comes up to me. “You think Blaine is going to show up today?”
I check the time. He’s already an hour late. I shrug and shake my head, then let out my breath in a slow, silent hiss. “I’m sure Blaine has more important things to do. Like drop acid and try to free-climb a random rock face totally naked.”
Haley lets out a chuckle, then sobers. “Sorry, I don’t mean to dwell on him. I know he’s causing enough stress for you already.”
I offer a weak smile. “It’s okay. It’s part of the job.”
Just then Rylan walks up, her phone in hand. “Colton says that he’s on his way with Blaine. And he apologizes for the late start, but I guess Blaine was impossible to wake up this morning. Plus, the drive from that exclusive resort he’s staying at is over an hour away.”
The stress knot in my neck eases the tiniest bit knowing that Blaine is at least headed here.
“Thanks for the update,” I say.
“How are things going with you and Colton, by the way?” Haley asks.
She grins wide. “Really good. He’s the sweetest. He’s taking me to some hidden hiking spot next week.”
“Aww, puppy love,” Haley teases as she gently nudges Rylan’s arm.
Rylan blushes. The smile doesn’t budge from her face. She fidgets, then folds her hands in front of her. “I just can’t believe I randomly met someone while shooting this series—and that we hit it off so well!”
Haley studies the schedule for today. “Well, given that our diva douchebag host is only an hour and a half late today, we’ll wrap up shooting at the Narrows sometime in the late afternoon.” She looks up at me. “You sure you don’t want to at least get a shot of him trying out Angel’s Landing? It’s the most popular hike in the park.”
I shake my head. “Positive. As breathtaking as the Angel’s Landing hike is, it’s incredibly dangerous. People have died hiking it. And as much as I despise Blaine, I don’t want him to die.”
Rylan whips her head to me, her eyes wide with terror. “Are you serious? People die on that trail?”
I nod. “There’s a part where you have to scale the edge of a cliff and the trail is super narrow. Like, less than two feet wide. There’s a chain bolted to the rock that you hold on to, but still. If you lose your footing or your grip, you fall. And I mean, Blaine would definitely fall.”
Haley and Rylan nod in agreement. Just then I hear the sound of chanting. I turn to w
here the dirt path leads from the Narrows hike to the parking lot and see Blaine marching, wearing nothing but tight yellow boxer briefs that highlight the unsightly bulge between his legs and tall hiking boots.
“Jesus Christ,” Haley mutters. “Where is his shirt? And his pants? It’s barely fifty degrees out right now.”
A handful of tourists stop and stare at Blaine while he sings some song I don’t recognize. As insane as it is that he’s showing up to a shoot dressed like a maniac, it could be worse. Today there are only half a dozen people around to witness this spectacle. If we were filming this in the summer when Zion is packed to the max with tourists, there would be hundreds of people observing this freak show.
He marches up to me, heaving a breath through a wide smile.
I’m aching to take him to task over his wholly inappropriate attire, but I bite my tongue. Best to just ignore it, get him into his gear for the shoot, and start filming.
He holds his arms out like he’s presenting himself. In the position he’s in and the way that he’s dressed, his highlighter-yellow crotch is the focus. A couple of tourists gasp. A man nearby covers the eyes of the small child he’s with.
“Since I have to wear a wet suit and all that sponsored gear, I figured I’d show up on set ready to dress,” he announces proudly.
I force a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. Blaine doesn’t seem to notice or care, his chest puffed out and his hands on his hips.
“Great idea,” I say through gritted teeth, trying my hardest not to look at that godforsaken hump in the front of his fluorescent underwear. “Drew will show you where the gear is so you can get set up. Hey, Drew!”
Drew jogs over to us. His brow flies up to his hairline as he stares at Blaine, but he reins it in a second later. He takes Blaine to the spot where we’ve set up the equipment and gear under an open tent.
“Thank God we’ve got a wet suit sponsor for this episode. Can you imagine if we had to film him hiking the river in that getup?” Haley shudders.
I press my eyes shut. “Please. I don’t need a mental picture of that.”
When I glance over at the open tent, Blaine is almost dressed. I overhear him suggesting to Drew that he leave the top of his wet suit open so he can display his chest at “maximum aesthetically pleasing levels.”
I close my eyes and take a breath. “Give me strength,” I mutter to myself. Then I walk over to the river.
Three hours later, we’ve only filmed half the number of scenes scheduled for today. Blaine started strong, nailing the first scene. But now he’s stuck flubbing his lines like usual, even with Drew spoon-feeding each one to him.
Blaine stands at the beginning of the trailhead, where the water in the Virgin River is the shallowest and the calmest. It’s a stunning shot with the river snaking all the way to the horizon flanked by the massive brownish-red slot canyons. The crisp blue hue of the sky is the perfect backdrop.
“Join us next week when we explore the unique and mesmerizing beauty of Br . . . Brinson . . .”
“Bryce Canyon National Park!” we all say in frustrated unison.
Blaine frowns. “Jeez. You don’t have to yell.”
“Okay, cut! Let’s take five, okay? We’ll set up some B-roll shots while you take a break. Keep practicing saying ‘Bryce.’ ”
As I throw on a pair of neoprene socks and lace up my waterproof hiking boots, I hear Blaine mutter something about not needing to practice. Then he announces he’s going to do tai chi in the water in order to prepare for the next take. I bite down until pain shoots through the back of my neck. I’m going to shatter my teeth because of this guy.
Wading through the water, I scope out the surroundings. I notice there aren’t any tourists near us anymore, which means we could get a clean panorama of the river and surrounding slot canyon.
I tell that to Wyatt, who takes the camera off the tripod and props it on his shoulder. A nearby boulder jutting out of the water about fifteen feet into the air catches my attention. If we could get a camera shot from up there, we could do an overhead shot here too.
I turn around and relay my idea to Wyatt, who studies the boulder in response.
I walk ahead to the rock with Wyatt splashing behind me. I scramble up the jagged rock face and stand up, gauging the steadiness of the rock.
“Yeah, it’s totally solid up here,” I say, stomping my boot on the boulder to test the sturdiness. I look up and try to gauge the position of the sun behind that wall of clouds.
I spot Drew and Joe making their way through the water in this direction, several feet behind where Wyatt stands.
“Be careful,” Wyatt calls. I look down and see him staring up at me, a terrified frown on his face.
“I am. Promise.” I squint at the clouds. “Okay, while we’re waiting for the sun to come out, let’s at least get some footage of this part of the river.”
I turn around and scan the jagged rock face on the other side of the river. I point to an area where the water rushes over a cluster of boulders, then spin around to address Wyatt and Joe. “Joe, can you get—”
I stumble on the edge of the boulder and lose my footing. Instinct tells me to plant my feet on the rock to steady myself. But then when I stomp down, there’s nothing. And that’s when I realize I’m falling.
* * *
• • •
When I hit the icy-cold water, I gasp. I choke on a mouthful of water as I struggle to gain my footing underwater. This end of the Narrows is barely waist-high, but because of how I fell, I land back-first and am completely submerged.
The frigid water feels like a million ice picks plunging into my skin. I kick my feet until I hit solid ground below, then shoot above the surface.
Around me all I hear are shouts: “Are you okay?” and “Holy shit!”
My heart is pounding and my chest heaves as I struggle to breathe. Every inhale is a stab to my chest. It’s like someone is squeezing their fist around my lungs.
Every time I try to stand up, I wobble and fall back into the water. I attempt to wipe away the soaking wet hair plastered across my face, but my hands and face are so numb I can barely feel anything.
Just then I hear splashing. I look up and see Drew barreling toward me. He stops in front of me, his brow furrowed and his eyes sharp with worry, then bends down and grabs me. “We gotta get you out of this water.”
He scoops me up and starts walking. I mutter something about how I can manage, even though I know I can’t. It’s like a reflex, saying I’m okay when I’m not, or saying I’ve got this when I know I don’t.
A gust of wind whips around me and turns my soaking-wet skin to frost. My teeth chatter.
“It’s fine,” I mumble. “I’m fine.”
Another reflex, another reassurance I know isn’t true.
“It’s okay,” Drew says through a breath. “I’ve got you.”
I try to focus on my surroundings, but my vision goes blurry.
I clutch Drew’s shoulders. “Can’t see . . . very well,” I slur.
“Well, that’s because you fell in icy-cold water, Dunn.” Drew grunts, then stops walking to tighten his hold around me. “Just hang on. We’re almost to land. We’ll get you warm and dry. Promise.”
I close my eyes and lean my head against his chest until the splashing sound stops. I look down and see that instead of rocks and water, there’s rocks and red dirt. We’re back on land.
Drew yells something before speedily walking us to the tent setup. Then he sets me on the ground and props me up to lean against something giant and sturdy. He crouches down so that we’re face-to-face, then presses his hands against my cheeks. The slightest hint of panic flashes in his eyes. Then he heaves a breath, scoops me up into his arms once more, and takes off.
I close my eyes, still feeling cloudy-headed. There are hurried footsteps behind us
, then Haley asking something I can’t make out.
After what feels like seconds, I open my eyes and see that we’re back at the parking lot. Drew sets me down so I’m sitting on the concrete, my back against Wyatt and Joe’s van. He disappears, yelling something I can’t understand to someone I can’t see. I open my mouth to say “thank you for helping me out of the water and carrying me all the way from the river to the parking lot,” but my lips won’t stop quivering. My teeth won’t stop chattering either.
A beat later Haley comes running over and tugs my jacket off. “Let’s get rid of those wet clothes, okay?”
I nod and try my best to shrug out of the sleeves, but I’m shaking so hard that I can barely bend my arm. “Sorry,” I slur again.
Haley grips my face in her hands. She’s frowning, her brown eyes wild with worry. “It’s okay. Just try to breathe slowly, okay?”
I stop forcing my arm to move. Haley grabs me with gentle hands and tugs off my jacket, then my shirt. I move to try to unbutton my jeans, but my hands are still shaking so hard that I can’t get a steady grip on them.
Just then a giant pair of hands cover mine. I look up and see Drew’s face twisted in concern.
“Why don’t you let Haley do that,” he says gently.
I nod. He scoots me forward, then settles behind me, his arm wrapping around my torso. It’s not until I realize how warm his skin feels on mine that I register what’s happening. Drew’s shirtless torso is now shrouding my shirtless torso. My eyes go wide at the realization, but then I remember that I’m still wearing my bra. I close my eyes for a long second and try to ease my racing heart.
Haley pulls off my boots and jeans; then Drew stands and lifts me up. Then he sets me inside the van. I land on something soft and slick and plush. A sleeping bag. Drew is crouched over me wearing only the worn jeans I saw him in this morning. He tucks me inside the sleeping bag and I hug my arms around myself, gritting my teeth at just how cold my skin feels.
He turns around and jumps out of the van. “Someone’s gotta jump in there and warm her up.”
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