CHAPTER NINE #3
What does Petra see in this cliché performance art disaster? The thought sends an uncomfortable jolt through my system. Is this her type? Theatrical, boundaryless, and clinically delusional?
He throws his head back and releases a howl that resembles a wounded coyote mating with a kazoo.
What a tool.
That’s the thing about the one percent. They don’t want to be told what’s good. They prefer to hear about what’s expensive. What’s scarce . What’s coveted . So they can scramble after it, bid on it, then flaunt that they got it first .
Echo. What a name. Who dreams up a pompous jackass name like that anyway? I bet his driver’s license says “Brandon” or “Kyle.”
I dab my forehead with my pocket square, which is pulling double duty as a sponge.
He suddenly springs away, sketchbook in hand. “I hear you! I must follow her siren song into nature’s throbbing core!”
Petra doesn’t waste a second. She slips out the opposite door of the observatory, her Chanel-clad figure disappearing into the emerald maze with surprising speed for someone wearing four-inch heels.
Decision time.
I push through the entrance, and—holy merciful air conditioning. The climate-controlled sanctuary envelops me in its refrigerated embrace. Goosebumps erupt across my overheated skin as the sweat cools on my body.
But Petra is getting away.
With physical pain, I burst through the far door, plunging back into nature’s sauna. The humidity hits like a wet mattress to the face.
The path slopes downward, narrowing between towering ferns and hanging vines. I catch glimpses of Petra’s blue outfit ahead.
“Unleash your root chakra! Let the trees enter your spirit hole!”
I have no idea what that means, and I’m sure I’ll be angrier once I figure it out.
I shift my weight, trying to find footing on the uneven slope, when I step on a branch shaped like a damn baguette.
CRACK!
The sound echoes ( FYI, that’s how you properly use the word, you self-absorbed hack) as if I fired a weapon. Birds scatter.
Petra stops. Whips around.
Shit.
I raise my hands in surrender. “I can explain.”
She stomps right up to me, poking me in the chest. “Are you stalking me? This is harassment! I know my rights!”
Echo moans somewhere up ahead. “Nature is wet with revelation! She offers herself to us, moist and pulsating with ancient longing!”
Her mouth opens, closes, then opens again. “Whatever. I don’t have time for this.”
She spins on her heel and plunges off the path deeper into the wild.
Without hesitation, I pursue her into the green chaos.
I dodge one branch, then another. My blazer sleeve snags on a thorny, overachieving plant.
There’s sweat pooling in my shoes… Inside them.
I trudge onward as my designer loafers squish with every step.
“So… this is your type? Guys who hump tree trunks and yell about chlorophyll?”
“You just can’t leave me alone, can you?” she teases. “No need for jealousy, Moneybags. I do not find Echo and his woodland orgy charming. My gut is telling me he and Fiona have a secret. I’m guessing affair .”
“I know you aren’t exactly a Fiona fan—”
“Understatement of the decade.”
“Do you really think she’d do something to hurt Gavin?”
Petra stops so abruptly, I nearly crash into her. She turns, eyes blazing. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”
She drops into a crouch behind a massive fern and yanks me down with surprising strength. A cloud of tiny insects scatter into the air as my knees connect with the jungle floor. I groan as I slam my arm down to avoid faceplanting into the mud.
“Shh,” she hisses, raising the binoculars. “If you’re going to spy with me, Moneybags, be quiet. ”
I don’t respond because my brain is melting— literally melting —inside my skull. If Satan opened a sauna in the ninth circle of hell, it would be ten degrees cooler than this Mexican jungle.
Why does Petra have two heads?
I blink hard, trying to clear my vision, but that simply redirects rivers of sweat directly into my eyeballs.
Through the salty sting, I see Echo—or what I’m increasingly convinced is a heat-induced hallucination—standing in a clearing ahead.
“I must release my artistic spirit from these fabric prisons!” he bellows.
Then he growls and rips open his mesh shirt. He quickly shimmies out of his pants and is now fully nude—twirling in the mud like a twerking caterpillar.
He flops to the ground. Rolls. Stretches his arms wide.
“The earth accepts me as its lover,” he moans, thrusting his hips against the ground. “I become blank canvas. I become vessel. I become—”
“AHHH! MOTHERFUCKER! MY BALLS!” He leaps to his feet, slapping wildly at his groin. “FUCKING ANTS! THEY’RE BITING MY DICK!”
I slap a hand to my mouth to keep from snorting.
Echo takes off sprinting down the path toward the house, bare buttocks clenched in terror, abandoning his clothes and sketchpad.
“Jackpot,” Petra says, eyes lighting up. “If there’s anything shady between him and Fiona, it’s going to be in that notebook.”
She scrambles down to the path where Echo’s belongings lay scattered.
I make an effort to follow, but my whole body is moving in slow motion.
My vision fractures into a kaleidoscope—one Petra becomes three, then six, before merging back into a single figure as she snatches up the abandoned sketchbook.
“Got it!” she announces, waving it triumphantly. “Let’s peek inside the twisted mind of a tree-humper.”
The ground feels unstable. Wobbly. Like it’s breathing.
And then the jungle starts to blur at the edges.
My knees buckle.
Everything.
Goes.
BLACK…
…
…
… somewhere above me, a voice.
There’s wind. Blessed wind. Where’s it coming from? Heaven?
Am I dead?
Is this what the afterlife feels like? Sweaty, confusing, and vaguely arousing?
My eyes flicker open, but things are fuzzy.
Light. Leaves. Boobs.
There’s a face. Hovering. Lips. Red, shiny, moving. Loud. Definitely loud .
Petra.
On top of me.
Breathless. Frantic. Shouting.
Oh.
OHHHH.
Is this sex? Are we having jungle sex ?
It has to be. I’m flat on my back. She’s straddling my thighs—yelling my name. She’s sweating. I’m sweating. And there’s jiggling.
“Bryce?! Bryce—oh God, oh God, stay with me!”
Yup. Definitely sex.
Focus, Sterling. Jungle sex requires active participation.
I attempt to form words. What emerges is: “Flubbity gubwah sexyboobs?”
Nailed it.
“FUCK. Fuck fuck FUCK!” she shouts, red-faced and desperate.
Yup. She’s into it.
I want to taste her.
No—I need to taste her.
Now. Take control. Show her Bryce Sterling understands how to please a woman.
I lift my arm—barely functional—grip her waist, and pull.
“What the—!”
She pitches forward, and the moment her chest hits mine…
I kiss her.
Hard. Messy. Greedy.
I kiss her like it’s a command, a question, and an apology all at once. Her mouth opens. She makes a noise—something in the back of her throat that’s half gasp, half don’t stop.
Then her lips move. She kisses me back. Her fingers grab my shirt. Her body sways.
Ohhh yes.
My hands slide down, over her curves, guiding her to where I need her most. My hips thrust upward, grinding against her core.
She moans into my mouth .
I do it again.
If this is my last act on earth, I will die doing whatever it takes to make Petra Brinkman come in the jungle.
The kiss goes molten. Then—
SLAP.
Pain detonates across my cheek.
“What the fuck, Bryce?!” she yells, scrambling off me.
I blink. “Did you orgasm?”
She looks like she might slap me again. And enjoy it.
I think I might enjoy it too.
My brain struggles to catch up. Not sex? Not sex. But she was… and I was… and we were…
“You were straddling me,” I explain, as if this clarifies everything.
“To SAVE you, not SEDUCE you!”
“But you were shouting my name.”
“Because you. Were. Unconscious! I can’t believe you kissed me!”
Oh.
Well.
This is awkward.
“Listen up, overdressed billionaire. Either drink this or die dramatically. Your call.”
I weakly raise a finger. “Water, please.”
She huffs, leans down, and unscrews her travel bottle, shoving it at me like hydration is a personal insult. I drink it down in three gulps.
“In my defense, your mouth was making very sexy emergency noises.”
Her eyes narrow. “Don’t move. I’m going for help. And don’t kiss anything while I’m gone. ”
Easy for her to say. She gets to strut off, while I’m left whispering sweet nothings to my overly enthusiastic erection and still convinced she moaned into my mouth on purpose.
That kiss lit a fuse I can’t put out. But unless I want to blow up everything with Gavin… I need to find a damn fire extinguisher.