Chapter Nine #2
THE FIRST THING VIOLA had ever said to Amy during her creative writing classes was that to write, you had to experience life.
She couldn’t have been clearer. For Amy’s bestselling book, Spurred and Spanked, she’d gone to extreme lengths.
After activating Bumble’s Travel Mode, she’d set her location to Stephenville, Texas, and swiped right on a brown-eyed horse wrangler and cattle hand called Maeve.
That was how she’d ended up spending three weeks at the Copper Ridge Ranch.
They’d spent hot afternoons wrangling stubborn heifers into the squeeze chute, drinking lukewarm beers on the tailgate of Maeve’s mud-splattered pickup, and stealing breathless kisses in the tack room behind the leather saddles.
On the third day of Amy’s visit, they’d hooked up in the loft of the old timber barn while the midday sun sliced through the wooden slats.
Amy had returned to Broken Arrow wiser than ever before, with spicy words leaking out of her every orifice.
Once again, Viola had been right.
Two nights ago, Amy had experienced what had to be the most inspirational night of her life.
She couldn’t stop thinking about Savannah’s soft lips, her long, tender fingers, and the way they had pressed and explored.
With the turquoise waves crashing in soft breakers against the sand and the humid breeze carrying the sweet scent of wild hibiscus, Amy was ready to write the scorching first chapter of her new book.
Coming back to Outlast Her was the best thing she could have done.
She just needed to iron out a few details.
What better way to do that than to experience it all again?
The only problem was that Savannah seemed intent on keeping a distance between them.
How could Amy get more steamy scene inspiration if the inspiration was refusing to get even two feet from her?
“Have you heard the phrase, ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’?” Amy asked, wading out into the surf to where Savannah was doubled over, washing her clothes.
“Because the more you try to avoid me, the more obsessed I’m going to become with you.
” Amy wore a ribbed plum halter bikini top that squeezed her breasts so close together that the saleswoman at the boutique in the Rose District had promised it would earn her either a marriage proposal or a police warning.
There was no way Savannah could resist. “You read romance books for a living... you know how it goes.”
Savannah didn’t look up immediately. She just straightened and then continued wringing water out of her shirt.
Then, after what felt like a year, she looked Amy’s way.
“It was a mistake, Amy,” she said, her voice barely carrying over the rush of the waves.
Not that she needed to whisper; the cameramen were busy following Maya and Avery as they added a few modifications to the lean-to.
“We both had too much to drink at the reward and we weren’t in our right minds. We weren’t thinking clearly.”
“That’s what you said yesterday,” Amy replied, taking another step closer until the water lapped at her thighs. “But even you can’t deny that it was hot. Hotter than hot.”
Savannah slung the damp shirt over her shoulder and started making her way to shore.
“I don’t want to be some inspiration for your book.
” When she was less than a foot away from Amy, her eyes fell down to Amy’s chest. Finally.
But instead of falling head over heels in love with her as the saleswoman predicted, she just inhaled deeply and said, “I’m going to fill up the water bottles. Don’t follow me.”
Savannah didn’t even give Amy time to protest. She rushed past her toward the beach, kicking up a spray of saltwater.
Amy watched her go. Then her attention turned toward Luna, who was plodding down the sloping sand dune.
She yawned out loud and then joined Amy in the shallows.
“What’s her problem?” she asked, jerking her thumb over her shoulder toward Savannah, who had just reached the lean-to.
This morning, Amy had watched Luna hack off the bottom of her dress with a machete so that it hung above her knees.
Her legs were squat and reminded Amy of an English bulldog. “She looks angry.”
Amy considered telling Luna what had happened, but then decided against it.
What if Luna found the scene extremely erotic and suddenly felt inspired to write about it?
Luna might be her idol, but she was still a fellow sapphic romance author and her biggest competition, in and out of this game.
“Oh, you know, brooding book critic,” Amy lied smoothly, wiping a stray drop of saltwater from her cheek. “They’re always grumpy.”
“Who’s grumpy?” Wyn asked, joining them. “Because if you’re talking about Sloan, then I have to agree with you. You’d think she was used to eating nothing.”
All three women turned toward Sloan, sitting hunched over by the fireplace with her head hanging between her knees.
Ezra had finally gotten the fire going with a skill she’d learned during a MasterChef challenge.
Sloan had said very little since last night and now walked around with a constant grimace.
Amy suspected there was something more than just grumpiness going on, but she didn’t mention anything.
Better to leave it alone than to stir the pot.
“Where’s Erica?” Luna asked. “Maybe she could cheer her up with a joke.”
Then all three women looked toward Erica on the other side of the beach, standing close enough to Brenda and Jade that it couldn’t be more obvious they were conspiring. Amy’s heart sank to her toes. How many people had Brenda convinced to vote out Kate at the first Sending?
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Luna asked, frowning until her brows disappeared beneath her bangs. “Has Brenda talked to any of you? Amy, did she say something to you at the reward challenge?”
Amy was just about to draw in a deep breath and use it to power through the lie forming in her head.
No, of course not. We didn’t even talk strategy at the reward challenge because we were too busy watching Orion’s Peak.
Then Kate appeared. Maya had braided her hair tightly that morning in an attempt to tame it, but the humidity was aggressive enough to win the battle.
Wild, curly tendrils were snapping free like tiny springs.
“I’ve been hearing my name all morning,” Kate said, looking morose. She folded her arms tightly across her chest. “I think I might be on the chopping block.”
The truth burned a hot, agonizing hole in Amy’s tongue.
She could feel it clawing its way up her throat, begging to be let out.
Every instinct screamed at her to blow the game wide open and go against Brenda and Avery’s plan.
She was also about to go against Savannah, who had agreed with them.
As a writer, she had to listen to her instincts.
“Kate, you’re not...” Amy started. She wanted to say that Kate wasn’t imagining it, that Brenda was determined to vote her off, but then the warmth on her back vanished as a shadow fell over her shoulders. Every hair on the back of Amy’s neck stood straight up.
Without looking back, Amy knew exactly who was blocking the sun. Savannah had come back to catch her red-handed in the middle of a betrayal, and Amy deserved every last bit of the coming storm. She braced herself for it.
“We’ve got mail,” Savannah declared instead.
Her voice was so sharp it could slice through rock.
She moved into Amy’s line of sight and kept her eyes on Amy the entire time.
The intensity rooted Amy to the spot, which she found not only terrifying but also incredibly hot.
She wanted nothing more than to switch roles, pin Savannah against those rocks, and ride her face like she was competing in the lesbian rodeo finals.
But then her eyes drifted down to the dusty envelope Savannah was gripping in her hand, and the heat in her veins instantly froze.
“Is that?” she asked softly, her throat suddenly dry.
“It is,” Savannah replied with a nod.
The Sending always tied her stomach into the biggest knot. Before Amy could even draw a breath in, Wyn yelled, “WE’VE GOT THE FIRST SENDING TONIGHT, LADIES!”