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“I spoke with Summer today.”
Ka-Boom!
Lana drops the bomb on me.
“You’re right.” I sigh. “Now I don’t want to hang up. But, sweetheart, I really must go. I’m already running late. I’ll call you as soon as I get back, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Just tell me, was it… civil?”
“Mostly, but I still don’t know how to behave around your sister. That’s why I called. I need to pick your brain.”
“Okay, my meeting shouldn’t take long; it’s going to be an introduction to the expedition team and itinerary planning. I should be free in an hour tops.” I make a quick calculation of the time difference between Thailand and California. In the US, it’s still yesterday evening. “Or is it going to be too late in LA?”
“No, Christian is at the studio doing a voiceover. He said it’ll take him hours to finish so I should be alone all night.”
“All right, talk to you later.”
“Later, bye.”
I shimmy out of my bikini panties and walk into the stone-and-wood shower to wash off the sweat of an hour spent sunbathing on the outside patio. As I quickly foam myself up, my thoughts inevitably drift to my sister.
In the past few months, I haven’t talked to her much. I still can’t forgive Summer for what she did to Lana. The thought of my sister having an affair with Lana’s boyfriend still sends me into a raging tailspin. But I hope that if they’re mending their relationship, we, too, can find our path back to each other. Being so mad at my twin that I can’t stand to see her face—incidentally, my face also—isn’t healthy.
I hop out of the shower, towel off, comb my hair back without drying it, and don the clothes I prepared. Flip-flops on, I’m ready to go. I slip out of the bungalow, opening the French windows just far enough to let me through—no monkeys in sight, but I’m not taking chances. Imagine if they stole one of my cameras… I’d be swearing far worse than Mr. White Cheeks. Yeah, better safe than sorry. Triple-checking the door is locked, I pocket the key and skip down the steps of my stilt hut to walk to the resort’s reception and go meet the others.
I hope the team is solid. I’ve never worked with the agency that booked me for this job, so I don’t know anyone on this trip.
Fingers crossed.
Nothing could be worse than being stuck in the jungle for three weeks with a bunch of morons.
* * *
Logan
I stare at my watch impatiently. Everyone’s here, except for the photographer.
When the Social Sciences dean told me a woman had been hired, I tried to persuade him to cancel. But Dr. Voss insisted she came highly recommended, and I couldn’t make a fuss. Securing the funding to finance this entire operation has already been close to impossible, and since UC Berkeley is our sole sponsor, I wasn’t able to put my foot down too hard.
But now I wish I had.
Bringing a woman on board was a terrible idea. I’ve nothing against women per se. My ex and I went on countless archeological trips together. But a few bad experiences with mixed-gender teams afterward have taught me what a nightmare having to deal with relationship drama on an expedition can be. I never want to go through that again. And this trip will be no joke; with weeks of heavy trekking ahead, it’ll be physically exhausting even for the most trained of us, and I’m used to setting a punishing pace. No matter how fit the photographer is, she’s bound to slow the group down. Plus, having one woman join a team of eight men is going to be an unwanted distraction on its own. We won’t even be able to take a leak without making a fuss.
I hope she’s at least ugly. Or married. Less chance of my team falling over themselves trying to impress her if she is. I have enough problems without adding yet another to the mix.
Already this expedition hasn’t started in the best of ways. I unlock and re-lock my phone, reading the time on the newly-cracked screen. Fifteen minutes late and counting. I can already tell she’s going to be a massive headache for me.
I snort and walk to the refreshment table to grab another pineapple juice. The humidity in this place is overwhelming. Even standing in the shade of the Welcome Center—an open-walled wooden structure with a thatched roof—there’s no break from the heat.
I pick up a glass covered in condensation and turn back to re-join the others, almost choking on my first sip when I spot a slender blonde walking into the hotel’s reception.
Her wet platinum-gold hair frames an angelic face—big blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and full lips. And the body that goes with the face… Well, let’s just say it brings to mind a very different kind of angel, as in, the ones walking down the runway at the annual Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show—generous rack, tiny waist, legs that never seem to end.
The blonde is wearing a flimsy T-shirt and a pair of light-washed jean shorts that are basically underwear. Really, she has great legs. I low whistle in my head, thinking the wait and the heat suddenly aren’t quite as annoying with this gorgeous woman to distract me.
My appreciation turns to dismay as the blonde takes a quick scan of the reception, pinpoints our group, and promptly walks toward the team to introduce herself, shaking hands left and right. It would appear our photographer has arrived.
