Chapter Three
Isla had recognized her immediately. The most kissable lips she had ever seen, and cowboy boots.
Eyes the color of coffee and cheekbones like those of a model.
At first, Isla had thought she’d imagined it, or the late morning heat had somehow produced a mirage the exact same shape and size as the woman who’d absolutely derailed her in Mallory’s peony-infested powder room six months ago.
But no, apparently not. Tamsyn Lott was here in the flesh, and Isla could hardly breathe.
She pulled hot air into her lungs and focused on the two people dressed in black, who were organizing camera equipment.
One woman, with her hair up in a ponytail, had just uncoiled the black cables while the other was sipping on a sweating bottle of water that Isla could easily down in one thirsty sip.
Two other camerawomen, whom Isla didn’t recognize, stood several yards away with shoulder-mounted rigs trained on all the contestants.
Apart from the cluster of production gear and the temporary shade tents staked into the ground over a silver water cooler, there was nothing but rust-colored ridges stretching outward in every direction.
Isla concentrated on the ridges until they blurred.
“And that’s a blue stone for Dominique,” Vivian said. “Agatha, you’re up next.”
Agatha, also known as Aggie, from Season Three, walked up to the stand, but Isla barely noticed.
Which was huge considering Aggie’s hair was dyed such an electric blue it probably could’ve been spotted from the International Space Station.
But Isla was just too focused on trying not to look sideways.
Which wasn’t just hard, it was nearly fucking impossible.
The urge to look at Tamsyn standing over by the Contenders, next to a copper-haired woman in a lilac tank and a brunette in yellow Chuck Taylors, felt like driving past a car accident and not slowing down.
Her eyes were burning to look. Her body itched.
She had no idea how long before she combusted into flames.
“Orange,” Vivian said brightly. “Petra, come on up.”
Petra, with her long black hair plaited down her back and frayed jean shorts, and a faded red Fleetwood Mac T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, walked casually forward.
Isla had long admired Petra’s game in Season Three, which had included starting a fake feud with her own pair, Dani Klawers, as a distraction tactic.
Petra and Dani had gotten to the top three before they were voted off on a double-pair elimination advantage.
It had been a sad goodbye. Isla had really rooted for her.
Now, Isla concentrated on Petra’s sun-bleached tan Blundstone boots as she walked toward Vivian and tried not to think about the one-in-six chance that she might get paired up with Tamsyn. The thought was so terrifying she felt her stomach flip. Then flip again.
On the third flip, she recalled several moments in the past six months where she had thought about Tamsyn Lott.
All three had happened when she was home alone after a particularly unpleasant shoot and needed to decompress.
The routine had been predictable yet satisfying: a lavender-scented bath, dimmed lights, a generous glass of Pinot Noir, usually from the Willamette Valley.
She usually added in the memory of that night: Tamsyn kneeling on the black marble tiles, looking up at her.
With that image and the gentle press of her own two fingers, she usually felt a fair amount better.
Whatever had happened in that powder room was destined never to repeat itself because Tamsyn had flown back to Santa Monica.
Isla only knew this because Mallory had informed her of her colleague David’s choice of long-distance fling with Mikey.
Isla hadn’t expected to see Tamsyn ever again, which was why spotting her out here, in Australia, on Season Five of Outlast Her was not only deeply inconvenient but also somehow extremely offensive.
It was as if the universe had gone out of its way to reopen a chapter Isla had deliberately filed under one-night occurrences.
“Green for Petra,” Vivian announced. “We’ve got three stones left for the Legends. Isla, you’re up next.”
At the sound of her name, Isla stepped forward.
Her white VEJA sneakers were already dusted red, and her daisy-printed pastel yellow socks were caked with a fine powder that clung like chalk to everything, including her skin.
She wanted daisies to be her trademark this season.
New beginnings and all that. She didn’t look sideways, and she didn’t look back.
She kept her gaze firmly on Vivian, who smiled like an old friend when Isla slipped her hand inside.
Three smooth stones the size of a quail’s egg felt cool against her fingers.
The last time she’d played, she’d picked purple.
A strong color in her opinion. The color of royalty.
The color of bruised sunsets and lavender fields.
She rolled a stone between her thumb and forefinger, delaying the inevitable for half a second longer, then pulled it free.
Yellow. The color of buttercups, of caution lights, of lemon rind, of school buses, and sun-bleached grass. The color of luck.
Which had to be a sign, right? If luck were on her side, she’d be paired up with any of the other five contestants.
All of them perfectly nice-looking women with whom she’d never shared a torrid powder-room encounter or any other questionable decisions about women.
Anyone, literally anyone, would make a better Outlast Her partner than Tamsyn Lott.
Isla held the stone up briefly so Vivian could see, then she closed her fist around it and walked back to the Legends. Her eyes were on her sneakers the whole time, even though she could feel Tamsyn’s gaze drilling into her soul.
“Isla has picked yellow,” Vivian said cheerily. “Two left. Come on up, Kendall.”
Kendall jogged forward. She was a marathon runner with a willowy frame and a short black pixie cut.
She used to run along the beach every morning during her season, which the viewers found endearing, but her fellow contestants had not.
She had a golden-retriever energy that was both motivating and deeply exhausting.
Isla expected the latter from her this season.
Kendall picked red. Then it was Janelle from the same season.
Rumor had it the two of them had snuck off behind a wind-bent casuarina tree to do a little getting to know each other on day six, but who knew how much truth was in that. She picked purple.
“And that’s our Legends,” Vivian said, turning toward the other bag. “Contenders, let’s find your matches.”
Isla suddenly felt sick. And it had nothing to do with the heat. Or that run. Or the fact that she’d devoured a Big Brekkie—eggs, bacon, sausage, tomato, and mushrooms—this morning. Tamsyn Lott would soon choose her stone, and thereafter the game would begin.
There would be no avoiding her forever.
One by one, the Contenders approached. Vivian called out their names in what seemed like alphabetical order because Abigail “Abi” went first and chose red, then Barbara, who went by Barracuda or Barra for short, picked out a blue stone.
By the time Nadine stepped forward and picked green, Isla pressed her own stone deeper into her palm as if she could somehow grind the possibility of being paired with Tamsyn down into dust.
“Tamsyn,” Vivian called. “Come on up and choose your stone.”
Isla closed her eyes briefly and muttered a silent, desperate prayer to the Rainbow Serpent of the Flinders Ranges.
She’d read up on Akura, a great serpent spirit said to live in the mountains and waterholes, who had once upon a time helped to shape the land.
She was really pulling at straws here, but just maybe Akura concerned itself with desperate people.
And Isla Stone was desperate. She opened her eyes just as Tamsyn reached into the bag and pulled out a stone.
Yellow.
Isla’s stomach dropped and flipped at the same time, like an elevator cable snapping before free-falling fifty stories only to crash at the bottom.
She nearly groaned but somehow managed to keep her tongue.
Petra, who was standing beside her, leaned close enough to whisper, “Lucky you. I was hoping to get cowboy boots girl.”
“You can have her,” Isla muttered back. But she knew the rules, and the rules firmly stated no swapping.
Petra laughed and then snapped her mouth shut when Janelle eyed her. Janelle was such a stickler for rules, including the explicit instruction not to talk. This was the reason Isla struggled to believe the rumor. But then again, even the brightest halo can slip.
Two more Contenders went. Josie, a plump woman with curves head to toe and a glossy brown bob that bounced when she walked, picked an orange stone. Frankie, who reminded Isla uncannily of Sara Ramirez’s character in And Just Like That, picked purple.
Then Vivian clapped her hands once, clearly delighted, and said, “Legends and Contenders, meet your partners.”
The clearing filled with movement as people crossed the red dirt toward each other, stones held up like proof of identity.
There were a few contestants who hugged immediately, and some who first extended a hand before deciding that was lame and ultimately ended up hugging.
And finally, because avoiding Tamsyn was no longer an option, Isla allowed herself to look at her.
Really look at her. Tan leather jacket with fringe running down the sleeves.
Long, braided hair extensions falling over her shoulders, and eyes that looked right through her soul in the exact same way as they did six months ago.
Tamsyn walked over to her with long dark legs sticking out over chestnut cowboy boots.
The toes were pointed and scuffed. Her black denim shorts were frayed, and beneath the leather jacket was a tank top.
Isla knew that if the strap were to shift slightly to the left, one could see a tattoo of a crescent moon.
The thought made her pulse sprint.
“Hi,” Tamsyn said, sticking out her hand when she reached Isla. “I can’t believe—”
But Isla’s brain moved fast. Faster than it had ever moved in her life. “Hi,” she said, interrupting Tamsyn before she could recall that night six months ago and make some sort of incriminating comment that should break the ice but wouldn’t. “I’m Isla Stone from Season One. It’s nice to meet you.”
The look on Tamsyn’s face was of pure horror.
For half a second, she looked like someone who’d climbed into the wrong car thinking it was theirs, only to come face to face with whoever was sitting in the passenger seat.
Then she awkwardly dropped her hand back to her side and plastered on what could only be the most unconvincing smile in the history of smiles.
Isla had almost expected Tamsyn to laugh out loud and ask if she was pulling her leg.
She’d even braced for her to bring up that night; the one Isla hadn’t managed to forget despite multiple rendezvous with strangers in foreign places. But she didn’t.
Were they really going to pretend like they didn’t know each other?
Yes. It seemed they were.
“I’m Tamsyn. It’s nice to meet you too.” She lifted her hand again, this time to swipe a bead of sweat from her forehead.
Isla could barely look at Tamsyn’s hand without thinking about what it had done to her, but then she also couldn’t help herself.
A thin gold ring caught her eye. It was curled around Tamsyn’s middle finger.
It was a cresting wave that wrapped once around itself, and at the peak of the curl sat a tiny aquamarine.
Isla remembered the ring but not the stone.
She nearly asked and almost blew her cover, but then thankfully Vivian whistled.
“Pairs, head this way, please. We’ll be going straight into a reward challenge,” she announced, gesturing toward a track that sloped down toward a ribbon of water.