Chapter 4
Hunter
After a two-hour afternoon production meeting, we’re released for some “free time” before the big Welcome Dinner tonight, but Kit and I are still finalizing some of tomorrow’s details at our regular table in the Sun Lounge when I look over to see Isabella Gonzalez walking toward us.
“Head’s up,” says Kit, oblivious to our connection. “Izzy from Team Primo is incoming.”
Part of our production meeting was reminding us that while the show encourages connections—especially those of an illicit nature—between contestants who have agreed to be filmed, production crew members are expected to steer clear of romantic involvements with cast members during filming.
That said, I can’t help the way I feel when I see her up close and in person; my heart races, my cheeks get hot, my mouth waters. Fuck me. I remind myself that the only interaction I need to have with Isabella is a conversation to understand why she broke up with me. After that, we’re done.
“Hey, Hunter,” she says, pausing by our table. She’s wearing a black sundress with her dark hair in a loose bun and sunglasses perched on her head. Effortlessly sexy. “Can we talk for a minute?”
Kit “ah-hems” loudly.
“Kit, this is Isabella. Isabella, this is my coworker, Kit.” They shake hands over the table. “Isabella’s best friend married my brother a few months ago.”
“You don’t say.”
“It’s true,” says Isabella, putting her hands on her hips. “But don’t worry, Kit. No conflict of interest here. Our acquaintance doesn’t give me an edge or anything. You hate my guts, right, Hunter?”
Kit chortles, then grabs her half-full coffee cup and stands up. “I think I’ll take a lap and give you two a minute.”
“Was that necessary?” I ask Isabella as Kit disappears around a corner of the deck.
“Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it?”
No. Yes. Sort of. I cross my arms over my chest, staring down at her. “What do you want?”
“My cousin’s afraid you’re going to try to sabotage us.”
“Is he?”
She tilts her head to the side. “Are you?”
I shrug. She’s paranoid and defensive, and I’m kind of enjoying it.
“Boy,” she says, shaking her head, “you sure know how to hold a grudge.”
“I’m not holding a grudge,” I tell her. “I’d just like some answers.”
“What do you want to know, Hunter?” she asks. “Why we didn’t work out?”
“Didn’t work out,” I scoff. “You didn’t even give us a chance.”
“Jesus! How big is your ego? Is it so unbelievable to you that a woman might break up with you? Might not want to date you?”
“No,” I say. “It isn’t. There are plenty of women who wouldn’t be interested in me, and I’m cool with that. But it’s unbelievable to me that you wouldn’t want to date me, because we actually had something, and connecting with someone the way we did isn’t an everyday thing. It’s rare. It’s special. And you threw it away.”
“Oh my god with the drama. It wasn’t all that.”
“I think it was.”
“You’re delusional. It was just some semi-decent sex!”
Semi-decent? Ouch. That hurts.
“It was way better than ‘semi-decent,’ and you know it.”
“Do I?” she asks. “That’s presumptuous. You think you’re some kind of a sex god, Hunter?”
“No. I never said—”
“We had one hot weekend. We exchanged a few hot texts afterward. Big deal. I wasn’t the love of your life, and you certainly weren’t the love of mine.”
I recoil like she’s slapped me across the face, and honestly, in a manner of speaking, it feels like she has. Her words hurt me, and it pisses me off that she has that power over my heart.
“Got it,” I say, my cheeks flushing as I look back down at the piles of paper on Kit’s and my work table. “I was hoping for real answers, but if that’s the version of the truth you want to go with, I can’t do anything about it.”
“So you’ll leave us alone? Me and Beto? You won’t sabotage us or embarrass us or anything?”
“The way I see it,” I say, “you don’t have much of a right to ask me for anything. I’m just some guy in your rearview mirror with whom you had mediocre sex and never cared about.”
“Give me a break! I didn’t say that.”
“I don’t have time for any more of your games.” I gesture to the table. “I have work to do.”
“Your brother’s married to my best friend,” she says, her tone softening for the first time since she approached me. “Come on, Hunter. Truce? Please?”
I dart my eyes back to her face, feeling my expression turn frigid. “Whatever.”
She sighs. “So that’s it?”
I sit back down in my chair feeling disappointed by this entire exchange. “I have work to do.”
Without looking up at her, I find the phone number of the Fortress of the Bear and dial it. When I look up again, she’s gone.
***
Isabella and I sit at separate tables at the Welcome Dinner—she sits with her cousin and three other teams—while I’m seated with coworkers on production.
But I’m still mulling over our short and unpleasant confrontation.
I was certain that even though she’d broken things off, she must acknowledge in her heart, as I did, that we’d stumbled across something special in each other. I’d never felt such an instantaneous connection or known such a rush of excitement and possibility. I don’t know why she dumped me, but it hurt badly because I’d started hoping for something real, something amazing, something that would last forever. And I thought my hopes were justified.
But now I have to reconsider my feelings and wishes, and perhaps most of all, my assumptions. Was it possible she didn’t feel as I did? That in her eyes—as she clearly stated earlier today—we’d shared nothing more than semi-decent sex and a few hot texts? If so, what an idiot I’d been pining after her, then indulging in a storm of scorn. Was it possible that I’d been raging in a vacuum all this time?
It was embarrassing. Pitiful.
I lean my elbow on the table and listen to Nat Keegan listing his career accomplishments and assuring the first cast of The Astonishing Race: Alaska that we are all on the precipice of something great, and joining a venerable television family. And it all sounds like bullshit to my ears.
Sliding my glance around the room, I find one of the Barbies appraising me with a slight smile from three tables away. When I notice her, she raises her eyebrows and widens her grin. Remembering that contestant/crew fraternization is discouraged, I shift my gaze away from her and find myself being ogled by one of the set designers. Clara or Cara? I can’t remember her name, but she sat beside me at our afternoon meeting, and her elbow brushed mine more than once. She’s cute enough, but she’s from Los Angeles, only up here to work on the show before heading home. She winks at me, and I roll my eyes in Nat’s direction before grinning back at her. She giggles silently. Potential fling material? Maybe.
I skim my eyes to the left, continuing my slow journey across the room, when they slam, without intention, into Isabella’s. From her expression, I can tell she’s been watching me, and for whatever unknown reason, appears annoyed by the glances I just shared with Barbie and Clara/Cara. As if she has any right to judge who I look at and where and why and when.
“What’s the deal with you two?” whispers Kit, who’s caught our exchange.
“Water under the bridge,” I say.
“Muddy fucking water, Hunter.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“You were together?”
“Briefly.”
“When? How long ago?”
“Last summer.”
“What happened?” she murmurs.
“We had an awesome weekend…hooked up, rocked each other’s worlds, etcetera. I live in Skagway. She went back to Seattle. Anyway, we called and texted non-stop for a few weeks, and then, out of nowhere, she broke it off.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean? What did she say?”
“Not much. She said it was just a fling and that she didn’t do long-distance and that we should break it off before someone gets hurt.”
“Well, there you go.”
“What do you mean?”
“Shhhh!”
One of the admins at our table looks over at us, giving us a “shut the fuck up” look. Kit raises her middle finger and snarls, “Eat me.” The PA looks shocked, then offended. I try not to chuckle as Kit, totally unbothered by the exchange, turns back to me.
“My guess? She’s got a history with long-distance relationships, and it ain’t good. I’m thinking she got hurt at some point,” whispers Kit. “Bet you anything.”
“Nah. She would’ve mentioned that. Explained.”
And if she had, at least I’d have had a reason I could sink my teeth into. Maybe I could have even convinced her that we weren’t fated to end up like whatever previous long-distance disaster had jaded her.
“During your long weekend of hot sex? Or while you were exchanging sexy texts?”
“I begged her to give me a reason—to give me a chance—to tell me why things had to end. She didn’t. She wouldn’t.”
“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have one, dummy. It just means it’s a reason that’s important to her…or painful.”“You think?”
“I know,” whispers Kit. “I’m a lesbian, Hunter. Understanding women is my superpower.” She stares at Isabella for a second, then nods. “Ask her.”
“I intend to,” I say. “And then I’m moving on.”
***
Isabella
“Beto, tomorrow’s challenge is all you,” I call to my cousin, who’s in the bathroom changing into his swimsuit.
“You know it!” he exclaims. “A crab boat challenge? I can’t believe we got that lucky!”
I asked him to hang out with me in the room tonight so we could discuss strategy, but he was invited to meet Team Soul Sisters in the hot tub, and trying to keep him from going will just result in another fight between us. So, he’s getting ready to go, and I’m determined not to make him feel bad about it.
“Any advice for me?” I ask him. “I’ve never been on a crabbing boat.”
“If it’s a one-person challenge, I’ll handle it,” he says, emerging from the tiny lavatory wearing an aqua swimsuit patterned with black palm trees. He’s in good shape, my cousin. With his brawn and my brains, we could be a formidable team. We just have to figure out how to get along. “If we have to work together, follow my lead, okay? Do what I say. I know you think you’re the brain trust of this team, but I’m not dumb, Iz.”
“I know you’re not,” I say, feeling sheepish because that’s exactly what I was thinking.
“If we’re with other teams, I’ll speak in Spanish when I don’t want them to know what we’re doing.”
“Hey! That’s a good idea!”
“I just told you…I’m not an idiot, bruh,” he says, messing up his thick, black hair in the mirror. “I have ideas.”
I didn’t realize until now how transparent I’ve been in my feelings toward him. It makes me feel ashamed of myself. It makes me want to do better, to be better.
“Of course you’re not an idiot,” I say. “You know, your dad’s really proud of you.”
He catches my eye in the mirror. “He is?”
“Definitely. He was bragging to all of us about his ‘Crab Boat Kid’ and how you two would have an edge on the race. It killed him that he couldn’t do this with you. It’s a big part of why I said yes. He believes in you.” I pause for a second, then add: “I do, too.”
“That’s cool, cuz. Thanks for sharing that with me.”
“So…” I say, grinning at him. “Which of the soul sisters are you interested in?”
“They’re twins,” he says, waggling his eyebrows at me. “Both!”
“Gross,” I say with a chuckle, shaking my head at him. “Have fun, okay? Be safe?”
“Siempre,” he promises, heading for the door. “Catch you later.”
Left alone in my room, I consider taking a shower and getting into my pajamas, but I’m a mix of excited and jittery about starting the race tomorrow and decide that a drink might take the edge off.
I change out of the dress I was wearing at dinner to a pair of skinny jeans and a white tank top; the former shows off my ass and the latter my tan skin and ample cleavage. I have a voluptuous Latina body, and I’m proud of it. I may as well flaunt it.
Heading down the hall to the lounge, I find it bustling with teams and staff alike, clusters of people sitting in sofa groups together, and a crowd around one side of the bar. I gravitate to the other, quieter side of the bar and slide onto a barstool.
“What can I get you?” asks a bartender.
“White wine?”
“Sure,” he says. “Chardonnay, Pinot Grigio, or Riesling?”
“Whatever’s sweetest,” I say.
“Riesling it is.”
He pours me a large glass, then sidles away to help someone else. As I reach for my wine, I hear a familiar voice from beside me.
“This seat open?”
Hunter gestures to the empty stool beside me.
“Not if you’re going to be mean to me.”
“Hey! I wasn’t the one who came at you with guns loaded today.”
“But you were a bundle of sheer warmth and joy at McKenna and Tanner’s wedding.”
“Fair enough.” He holds up both his hands in a gesture of peace. “I just want to talk.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Okay.” He rolls his eyes, backing away from me. “Fine. I’ll go.”
“No!” I say. “No. Calm down. Take a seat.”
He sighs, pulling out the stool and perching on top of it. He places his half-empty beer bottle on the bar next to my glass and turns to me. “I don’t like being at odds with the people in my life.”
“All evidence to the contrary.”
He sighs. “It hurt when you broke things off between us.”
“I know. I’m sorry for that.”
“I don’t understand what happened. I don’t understand why.”
“I told you at the time—”
“I know what you told me. You don’t do long-distance relationships. You didn’t want anyone to get hurt. I guess I need more than that,” he says. “Why don’t youdo long-distance?”
I really don’t want to discuss this, and honestly, I don’t feel like I owe him some big explanation. But whether I like it or not, because of McKenna and Tanner’s marriage, we’ll likely be in one another’s orbit forever. Not to mention, if we lose the million because I didn’t “make nice” with Hunter, Beto will never forgive me. It’s probably in my best interest to clear the slate with him.
“Long-distance relationships aren’t practical,” I say, sharing the basics of my philosophy for relationship success. “Two people who want to create and sustain a relationship will have a lot more success if they live in close proximity to one another. I mean, that’s not rocket science, is it?” He continues to stare at me, so I keep talking. “I live in Seattle. That’s where my home is…my family, my friends, my church, my job, my volunteer work. Everything I know—everything important to me—is there. So, in my opinion, that’s where I need to find my happiness. That’s where I need to build my life. In Seattle, with someone else who lives in Seattle.”
“I guess that makes sense,” he says. “What you’re saying is logical, at least in theory. But here’s where it doesn’t work for me: the heart is fundamentally illogical. What if you meet someone amazing who isn’t from Seattle?”“You already know the answer to that question,” I say, trying to keep my voice gentle. “No matter how amazing they are, that person isn’t going to be part of my life. Not in any real way.”
“What about McKenna?”
“She’s a friend.”
“Oh. So, you have no problem with long-distance friendships?” he asks.
“I love McKenna. I miss having her nearby, but I don’t need to see her on a daily basis, the way I would a romantic partner.”
“I understand.” He cocks his head to the side. “But isn’t your whole attitude a little narrow-minded?”
“Maybe,” I say. “But it’s a lot safer and more practical.”
“Practical, I get. But safer? You don’t strike me as someone who always plays it safe. You take risks. I know it. I’ve seen it.”
“When? When I hooked up with you last summer? That wasn’t a risk, Hunter. You were available and hot. I was attracted to you. You were attracted to me. We hooked up. We had fun. We stayed in touch for a little while afterward. It was good while it lasted. Where was the risk?”
“The risk was that by spending that sort of intimate time together, it laid the groundwork for us to fall for each other.”
“Only if we had let that happen.”
“I’d argue that we did,” he says.
He’s right. Whatever I felt for Hunter Stewart last summer came pretty close to love. But confessing I once had feelings for him that went beyond attraction would just confuse things now, and it’s far more important for me to clear up whatever confusion and disappointment lies between us. We both need to move on.
“I’m not romantic like that,” I tell him. “I don’t believe in soul mates. I don’t believe there’s only one special someone for everyone on earth. There are four million people in Seattle. Roughly two million of them are men. I’m confident that one of them will be a perfectly suitable partner for me, and we will build—”
“Perfectly suitable…” He stares at me, his mouth open and eyes wide. “Are you being serious right now?”
“Yeah. A hundred percent.”
“But what about love? What about falling? What about magic? What about—”
“I’m going to stop you there,” I say, taking a big gulp of wine. “You’re using fairy tale language, and life isn’t a fairy tale.”
“It can be.”
“No,” I say. “Empirically, it’s not. And forgive me, but it doesn’t do you any favors to put those kinds of expectations on your future. No one can live up to that. As far as I’m concerned, ‘falling in love’ is a figure of speech, not a state of being. Perfection doesn’t exist. Fate is a myth. And as for magic—”
“You don’t believe that.” His voice is breathless, and his expression is dumbfounded.
“I absolutely do. I’m being serious.”
He reaches for my arm, then draws back his hand, rubbing his index finger against his lips in frustration.
“But didn’t you feel it?” he asks. “Last summer?”
“Feel what?”
“Magic,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with awe. I sense he doesn’t want to smile, but his lips don’t comply. They turn up anyway. His eyes sparkle, suddenly alight with memories. “Between us.”
“No,” I say, averting my eyes.
“Come on, Isabella!”
“I’m telling the truth. I didn’t feel…magic.” I shrug, trying to sell this as best I can. “I won’t deny that it was fun. Super fun. The sex—contrary to what I said earlier today; I was just being mean—was much better than average. Libidos were met. Endorphins were released. Fun conversations were had. My best friend was forming strong feelings for your brother, which probably heightened things between us. And for a while, I was still able to catch that high over texts…but then, I wasn’t.”
“It got harder.”
“Yeah,” I say, remembering the negative ways my life was changing at the time.
“Because long-distance is impossible.”
I think about my family and friends, about my job, and church, and the volunteer work that’s so important to me. I think about the student I let down because I canceled a review session right before her exam. I never want to be that person again.
“You’re making my argument for me now,” I tell him.
He stares at me for a long moment, his expression angry, then pained. When he speaks, I hear something new in his voice. If I’m not mistaken, it’s pity, and I don’t like it one bit.
“If that’s really how you feel…really who you are…I’m sorry for you, Isabella. I think it might be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” he says gently, picking at the label on his empty beer bottle. “I mean, there isn’t much genuine magic left in the world when you get to our age. Sunsets and snowfalls can feel magical for the moment you witness them, but the rush you get is fleeting.” He tilts his head to the side, his blue eyes locked with my brown. “But falling in love with someone? The magic of your heart choosing theirs and their heart choosing yours? The reflection of your feelings in their eyes? That’s…enchanting. Spellbinding. Miraculous, even. And it’s available to anyone—anyone whose heart is open enough to let it in, to let it happen.”
I can’t lie. His words are a little bit mesmerizing. I love the hope in them. The absolute belief in them. I find myself staring at his lips as he speaks and wishing I had the courage to give a long-distance relationship with him a try.
But then, suddenly and without warning, I have a brief and sudden memory of myself at sixteen, sun-kissed and salt-rubbed, running on the beach, hand in hand with Santos. My laughter echoes through the warm Mexican air as he pulls me behind him. I’d follow you anywhere. Everywhere. Forever.
“Isabella?”
I blink. “What?”
“Where’d you go?”
To Mexico.
“Nowhere,” I say, reaching for my wine. There’s still half a glass left, but I’m eager to finish it and get back to my cabin. I don’t like this conversation anymore. I don’t like the way it’s making me feel. I gulp down the rest of the glass and place it back on the cocktail napkin.
“I have to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.” I slide off the stool, feeling a little wobbly. When my feet are planted, I look up at Hunter. “I really would like to be friends.”
“I’m still attracted to you,” he says.
And I’m still attracted to you.
“I don’t think you can be friends with someone when you want them the way I want you,” he continues softly. “I’m pretty sure you can’t.”
I don’t want these words to turn me on so hard, but they do. My heart skips a beat. My stomach clenches with the memories of our weekend together. I want him as badly as he wants me. Honestly, I can’t imagine a day when I won’t. Our attraction is as hot and magnetic as ever.
“But I’ll get over it,” he promises me, his eyes filled with pity. “Take care of yourself, Isabella. I’ll guess I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah. Okay,” I say, watching him walk away. “Sure.”
But something weird is happening in my head and my heart as I watch him walk away. Although I shouldfeel relieved that it appears we’ve finally managed to put last summer behind us, I don’t.
I fell for you, too!I want to yell. And it scared the shit out of me.
But saying that will only confuse things further, which leaves me feeling sad, frustrated, and disappointed. With confusion filling my heart and tears burning my eyes, I place a tip on the bar and hurry back to the safety of my room.