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By the end of the first day, as the shadows on the ground grow long and eventually fuse, there’s soon no denying it: it’s time to turn in.
Samantha plops down gratefully, but Russel sighs, scanning the forest around us suspiciously.
“What?” I ask him.
“If we’d only gone an hour longer,” he mutters.
“It’s dark out,” Samantha says flatly.
“I have already tripped many times,” Manuel adds tentatively.
“They’re right,” I tell Russel, “We keep on going and we’ll lose someone. Maybe you.”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” Russel is mopping off his forehead with a Mario-print bandana. “Only the snakes.”
“Which ones?”
In the moonlight, his teeth glint as he shows an ominous smile. “The fer-de-lance.”
The poisonous ones. Fucking great. “You saw them here?”
“Around here, I think. Told you, memory’s a muddle since I was hepped up on adrenaline and whiskey.” He sighs regretfully. “If only the whiskey hadn’t run out.”
If only I didn’t have an idiot for a guide, a joke for a map and… yeah, whiskey would be nice right about now.
“What does it look like?” Harley asks. “The snake, I mean.”
“Grey or brown, has a triangular head with diamonds.”
“Right, avoid diamond-head snakes,” Harley mutters, half to herself.
“Not just those snakes,” Russel says, cheerful for some reason now. I see him light a pipe and then I understand.
“There’s other dangerous ones?” I ask sharply.
He should’ve warned us about all this at the start, so we could’ve made a better informed decision. Especially since he was the one who was dying to go to the beach.
But there’s no point in bitching about it now. What’s done is done.
“Tons.” Still that cheerful tone that makes me want to shake him. “There’s the eyelash viper snake, and it’s yellow, green, red or brown. The coral snake is striped. Very, very bad, if you get bitten.”
Before I can snap at him, Harley sums it up: “So just avoid all snakes at all costs.”
“Basically,” Russel agrees, taking a whiff of his pipe.
“Snakes should avoid our camp as long as we’re loud enough for them to know that we’re here,” I point out. If I’m going to snap at Russel, better if the others aren’t around, especially Harley. No point in worrying them needlessly. “Jorge, didn’t you bring a small speaker that can be hooked up to your phone?”
“Er—yes?” Jorge says, tipping his dark curly-haired head. He was the one with the largest duffel bag by far, after having spent half his interview stubbornly insisting on his right to bring ‘what I want, where I want’.
“Perfect,” I say. “Set them up with whatever music you want. That should help. I’ll do a quick trek around to make sure we don’t stumble on anything either.”
Which is how we come to be listening Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side of the Moon a few minutes later as we set up our tents. I make sure to set mine up well away from Harley’s—no fucking way do I want a repeat of last time.
Although when I see her struggling with getting her tent upright, I have to go over and help. Russel beats me to it, though.
“We’ll figure it out together,” he says, with a wink at me.
I stand there for a minute, frozen with sudden rage.
Asshat.
I make myself turn away. No, it’s good. The less I am around Harley, the better.
Although it takes effort to ungrit my teeth and walk away. And to pry the image of her, leaning over to grab a tent rod, and showing a tantalizing hint of cleavage too, out of my mind.Chapter 8Harley
After the long and action-packed day we had, I assumed I would’ve fallen asleep like a babe. Instead, I’m lying on my back, staring up at the black stretch of canvas that is my tent’s ceiling.
For the first time, I let myself think about what happened last night.
Last night, Greyson and I. Our bodies moving together as seamlessly as if the whole thing was choreographed. Although nothing so unexpected and good and impulsive and wild could have been choreographed like that.
And now… now, so what? Why overthink it? I’ve had flings before and enjoyed them for what they were, pleasurable dalliances that were necessarily fleeting.
Only, a fling with the guy who has admittedly been my celebrity crush for years…
I sit up and check my phone. Hannah hasn’t texted, of course. She told me herself that she didn’t want to bother me during what might be the most important job assignment of my life. I was supposed to text her.
And now… what do I even say? I wish I could call her, but it’s awfully late. And what would I even tell her? That I hooked up with my boss and he’s actually really cool?
No.
I get up and make for the tent entrance. No point in sitting here obsessing over him like a Twilight-obsessed preteen. Dark Side of the Moon is still playing quietly outside—I don’t need to venture far to clear my head.
