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CHAPTERNINE
Day Eleven—Eleven teams remaining
Lauren
“Breakfast of champions,”Archer cracked as he walked past me and looked at my plate.
Back home, a plate of grilled fish, a giant scoop of beans, and a handful of gummy bears wouldn’t have excited me. But here, I was living large.
“Here’s hoping,” I said, trying to savor every bite but wanting to devour it.
We were having a competition this morning, and after finding the chest yesterday and eating mac and cheese with dinner last night, I was confident in our chances.
“It’d be badass to finally win a competition,” Archer said. “But whatever we do, we have to at least kick Neil and Shayla’s asses.”
“I always do my best.”
“Whatever we’re doing, I’ll take the lead.”
I scoffed. “How generous.”
“Can we not argue about which of us is more athletic?” he asked, glaring. “It’s what I do for a living.”
“Really? You dig hockey pucks out of mud holes?”
“Don’t be a stubborn asshole, Lo. You know what I mean.”
I scowled as I chewed a mouthful of gummy bears, making him wait. From his expression, I could tell waiting made him even more aggravated.
“I don’t appreciate being patted on the head and told to let the big, strong man be in charge,” I said. “I worked out for an hour every day when I found out I was coming to do this show. I train with my rowing team. I’m not a slouch.”
Archer’s brows shot up. “You coach rowing?”
“Yep.”
“You don’t know shit about rowing.”
I shook my head, disgusted. “I do now. Believe it or not, Midwestern high schools don’t have former Olympians vying to coach our teams, and teachers have to step up.”
“I think that’s really cool.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“Clearly your good mood from the sugar has worn off,” he muttered.
“Is being stranded on an island with your ex good for anyone’s mood?” I shot back.
“You can either put your energy into winning or into bitching.”
I shrugged, refusing to look at him. “I’m a multitasker. And you haven’t heard me bitch about anything but being stuck here with you, so get off your high horse.”
He took his T-shirt off of our makeshift twine clothesline and put it on, cringing. “This thing smells fucking fantastic.”
I finished my food, rinsed my dishes, and followed Archer out of camp, neither of us saying another word. Sweat had already soaked through my swimsuit top, and by the time we arrived at the site of our competition, my T-shirt was well on its way to being drenched, too.
As I scanned the faces of the other contestants arriving, the fatigue and crankiness I felt was reflected in their expressions. Neil shot Archer a dirty look, apparently still pissed over the treasure chest.
I closed my eyes, trying to recall my positive attitude from earlier.
Focus, Lauren. Show him that you can do anything you put your mind to.
“How’s everyone feeling?” Josh asked, looking fresh and well-rested.
There was a collective groan from the participants.
“Jack and Moira, I hear you guys almost tapped out last night,” Josh said.
Everyone turned to Josh and Moira. She’d been one of the quieter women during our time at the resort, but right now she looked like she could spit fire.
“Yeah, we were close,” Jack admitted. “It’s fucking hard not having anyone to talk to except someone who hates you.”
“You guys hate each other?” Josh asked, sounding amused.
“Pretty much,” Jack said as Moira nodded. “There was a reason we broke up.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Moira said, “The reason is because he’s an asshole and a liar.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”
Moira turned to him, about to let loose, when Josh cut their interaction short.
“Why don’t you guys just channel that energy into this competition?” he said. “Not only is a $500,000 donation to the charity of the winning hockey player’s choice and a $500,000 cash prize to the winning ex on the line, you could also win a steak dinner for two on the beach tonight.”
All the contestants looked around, and I could tell everyone was excited about this prize. Oh my God. A sizzling, medium rare steak would be life-changing right now.
“Dinner will include mashed potatoes, salad, and peach cobbler,” Josh continued, eliciting actual moans of pleasure this time. “And also ice-cold Coronas and margaritas. It’s all you can eat and drink, guys.”
My mouth watered at the thought. I loved margaritas, and I had questions. Were we talking frozen, or on the rocks? Generously salted rims? Classic flavor, or fruity?
Not that I’d turn down any of them. I just needed to know what to picture in my mind as we did this challenge.
“I’d give my left nut for a cold beer,” Archer said under his breath.
That brought on even more questions that made me smile as Josh started to explain the competition. What would be the process in which Archer would give up one of his nuts? I imagined him having to cut it out with the machete in exchange for a beer and could hardly contain my amusement.
The guidelines for the competition wiped the smile right off my face, though. Josh was explaining that we had to take turns as a team climbing ladders that led to platforms at the tops of coconut trees.
“Each platform has thirty hockey pucks, and you have to bring them down one at a time,” he said. “So it’ll be fifteen trips up and down the ladder for each member of your team. And once you have all thirty pucks in your baskets, located at the bases of the trees, you’ll take them over to the slingshot area, where each member has to fire pucks with a slingshot into three different baskets. The first team to get ten pucks in each of those three baskets wins the beach dinner, and the last team to finish will be eliminated.”
The camera operators stopped filming then so a production assistant could show us exactly how to do the challenge. My stomach rolled nervously as we watched.
I’d never fired a slingshot. This was going to be interesting to say the least, because while I wasn’t looking forward to arguing with Archer back at camp, the thought of not doing that because we’d been eliminated was even less appealing.
There wasn’t much time to psych myself out before Josh told us all to go. Beside me, Andrea flew up her ladder, easily beating me to the top.
“Come on, Lo!” Archer called from the ground. “Grab that puck and go, fast as you can!”
I got my first puck in the basket and Archer took over. Every time he scaled the ladder, I had just enough time to catch my breath. We stayed in it, though, with no major mistakes, and we were in the middle of the pack when we finished filling our basket of pucks.
“Run!” Archer commanded as he went for the basket of pucks. “I’ll catch up!”
This was no time to argue. I took off toward the slingshots set up on the beach, and Archer was quickly on my heels.
“Watch how I do it,” he said as he put the first puck into the slingshot.
He pulled it back, looked at the baskets to aim, and let the first puck go. It flew and whizzed past a basket, missing it by inches.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.
“Is that how it’s done?” I asked wryly.
“Let’s see you do better.”
It wasn’t like Archer to engage in jabs in the heat of a competition. He was normally cool and calm, focused only on getting the job done. But the thought of the prize was rattling him today. He wanted it badly, and I did, too.
We could still win this. I loaded the slingshot, pulled back and fired.
I missed the baskets by a lot. Archer didn’t react—he just loaded the slingshot, aimed and fired again.
And made it.
I tried to mimic what he’d done, taking my time aiming. When he crouched beside me to check my aim, his solid form so close, my heart raced and my calm slipped. Why was my body reacting this way to him? He’d crushed me. We’d been over for eight years.
“That’s perfect,” he murmured. “Keep the tension in it and launch it hard.”
Hard. That one word from his mouth made my pulse pound.
Get it together. Think about the least sexy thing you can imagine.
I mentally grappled to picture something—anything—other than the man whose breath had just warmed my ear.
Lucky Charms cereal. It was all I could come up with. I envisioned the pastel-colored marshmallows, a carton of milk, and a waiting bowl.
Keeping the slingshot still, I launched the puck, watching it sail through the air and land in a basket.
“Yeah!” Archer pumped his fist and grabbed the slingshot, reloading it.
Only twenty-eight pucks to go.
* * *
