Page 24 of Down and Dirty Celebrity Edition

Naomi seemed perfectly satisfied with the response. She nodded, then stepped closer toward the pedestal just as Amy leaned close enough for her shoulder to brush against Savannah’s shoulder. The heat seared almost painfully at that spot.

No, she didn’t want to stop. In fact, maybe it was time she told Amy that she liked her. Maybe it was finally time to admit she had feel—

“Alright, contestants,” Naomi announced, her voice cutting through Savannah’s thoughts once again. She placed a flat palm on the closest cup and added, “Time to vote.”

Chapter Fifteen

Amy had always been fascinated with The Sending because of its sheer unpredictability. One minute she and Savannah were the favorites to be sent home, and the next Jade and Erica were standing in front of them like two deer caught in high-beam headlights, completely blindsided. Even Luna voting with them after publicly trying to defame them had been a surprise and a reminder that in a game like Outlast Her, nothing was ever guaranteed.

“If we win the next challenge, how about we don’t pick Luna and Kate?” Amy said, leaning her hip against the rough stone of the watering well. “And if they complain about it, well, then we can remind them that karma has a funny way of coming around.”

Savannah chuckled, albeit a little hollowly. It had been her idea to go to the watering well to fill up everyone’s canteens, and Amy hadn’t thought twice about it. She’d followed like a lost puppy, although she now wished she had stayed back at camp.

“What was it with you last night?” Savannah asked, unhooking the small wooden bucket from its wooden peg. “You were acting like a nervous wreck,” she added, dropping it into the well with a splash.

Amy looked down at her feet. She was wearing a pair of ivory flip-flops that were no longer ivory. A thick layer of red dust coated the straps, and mud was crusted along the heels. She squeezed her toes against the rubber and deliberated whether or not to say anything. “I think someone heard us,” she finally decided. She didn’t even have to mention the particular night. The look on Savannah’s face was one of complete recognition. The night of the reward. The night Amy had climbed on top of Savannah in that king-sized bed.

“No, I don’t think anyone did,” Savannah said quickly, gripping the wet rope.

She started tugging it back, hand over hand. Amy would’ve helped, but she felt stuck, rooted to the side of the well. If someone had heard them, if the truth leaked out, it wouldn’t just stay on the island; it would follow her home. The moment Amy published her next book, the readers and critics would piece it together. Every review, every comment would say the same thing: Outlast Her’s Amy Sandler once again seduces for inspiration. It didn’t even matter that Amy was beginning to actually care about Savannah, because as soon as Savannah ended this—and she would—whatever Amy put on the page would be proof of a crime she hadn’t even meant to commit. If she could go back, she would never have told Savannah about her new book. She would never have mentioned that she was desperate for inspiration, and she would never have implied that sleeping with Savannah would give her the spark she so desperately needed. It had turned everything into a sticky, hot mess.

“We were quiet,” Savannah added. “I’m sure we would know if someone had heard us. Besides, don’t you think they would’ve said something to us by now?”

This was true. But then again, gut feelings were like breathy whispers in the dark. Amy could feel it on the back of her neck. Something about the way Wyn looked at her this morning, her usual smirk just a tad smirkier, as if she knew. But what did she know?

“Maybe,” Amy muttered, toeing a rock that was shaped like an arrowhead. When she flipped it onto its side, a fat, black, armored beetle scrambled for cover. She didn’t even yelp despite it reminding her of her cousin Tommy, who used to trap beetles in glass jars and chase her around the house with them.

“Is that what’s been on your mind all day?” Savannah asked, unscrewing the cap of the first canister before tipping the bucket forward. Water sloshed in a steady stream, and for a second, Amy’s gaze locked onto it. If only her life could be as simple as water running into a bott—

CRACK!

Amy snapped her head toward the trees just as Savannah did. Her heart lodged itself straight into her throat as she waited for Kate or Luna or even a cameraman, but there was nothing. No one. Last she’d checked, one camera person had followed Maya and Ezra to the surf, and the other had been trained on Kate and Luna building a makeshift net out of Jade’s old Stevie Nicks T-shirt. They were going to attempt fishing.

“I think it was just the wind,” Savannah said after a minute. She exhaled, then moved on to the next canteen. “Or a small animal. Didn’t they say this island is full of crabs?”

Amy hadn’t seen a single crab since they got here. But she didn’t say so because the lump in her throat was so thick she could barely swallow it down. That sound was a sign, right? The universe sending down one giant red flag. “I think we should maybe take a little break.”

Savannah paused mid-pour. Her hand jerked a little to the left, causing the water to slosh over the side of the canteen onto the ground. A tiny waterfall trickled all the way over an ant’s nest. Then Savannah looked up at Amy with such a concerned frown that Amy suddenly wanted to take it back. Of course she didn’t want to stop what they were doing. In fact, she wanted to push Savannah up against that tree over there and kiss the nape of her neck and run her palm over the bony hill of her hip. “A break?” she asked. “You mean from... us?”

Us. Was there even an us?

When Amy didn’t reply right away, Savannah smoothed the crease between her brows and said, “I thought you wanted to find inspiration?” But it was too late. Amy had seen her panic. She’d seen the worry.

Did Savannah want to kiss her as badly as she did? Did the thought of never kissing her again kick the air clean out of her lungs? But if she did feel that way, then surely, she would’ve said something. After all, Savannah was the brutally honest book critic who literally made a living speaking her mind. So if Savannah was staying quiet, it was because there was simply nothing to confess.

“I thought you didn’t want to be my inspiration,” Amy said instead of admitting that the inspiration she was so desperately seeking was beginning to feel a little too real. “Did you change your mind?”

Savannah stood up, abandoning the four canteens that still needed filling. For the quickest second, Amy held her breath. Maybe Savannah was going to tell her how much she cared about her, how sleeping with her was literally the best thing about being out here, how she wanted to keep doing what they were doing because who gave a fuck about this game when orgasms were that good. But then Savannah smoothed her wet palms on the front of her pants and said, “You’re right. It’s too risky.”

“Too risky,” Amy repeated, more deflated than a popped balloon. But Savannah was right, wasn’t she? Getting involved could ruin their chances of winning the game. Then again, Barra and Allie had literally made it to the end while fucking behind every strangler fig and banana tree they could find.

That wasn’t the only risk, though. Falling for a woman who might not want to fall for her in return could hurt a hell of a lot more than losing the game.

“We should just lie low for a while.”

What did lying low even mean? What Amy really wanted was to plan a midnight escape into the forest.

Savannah leaned down, grabbed the two filled canteens, and twisted on their caps. “Lie low,” she repeated. Then she straightened again and said in a tone that was flatter than a table, “Can you fill up the rest, please? I have to go.”