Chapter Twenty-Six
In some ways, it’s our first kiss. It starts slow, tentative, like a question, and then it gets deeper, more searching.
Our bodies melt into each other, as he hooks his arm around my low back, keeping me afloat.
I feel something unfurl deep within me. Kei’s naked body pressing into mine and the hard proof of his desire has ignited a fire in my centre stronger than I’ve ever felt.
Kei pulls me, still kissing me, toward the shore, where we stumble onto the rocks. I remember that I’m naked, but I don’t care. I want him to see all of me, to know all of me. We stop kissing long enough to grab our clothes, and then we run, hand in hand, back to the path on which we came.
Kei whoops into the night, which makes me laugh.
I feel like a kid—carefree, giddy with excitement and possibility.
A tiny, niggling worry lodges in my consciousness that maybe this isn’t the best idea, maybe we should put our clothes on and make decisions using what’s in our skulls, not what’s between our legs.
But that just feels like such a bummer. I just want to have fun.
And I deserve it. And it’s just sex! I’m perfectly capable of sleeping with someone and keeping my head on straight.
Maybe this will be good for us—maybe it will dissolve some of the sexual tension and actually make it easier.
Back at the Treehouse, I scramble up the ladder first, and it occurs to me that I should feel self-conscious, until below me Kei lets out a low moan of appreciation of the view, and suddenly, I’ve never felt sexier.
He emerges into the Treehouse and I pull him into me, kissing him frantically, our bodies still wet from the lake.
We stumble backward onto the bed, where he lands on top of me, and it takes all of my restraint not to scream from desire. I want to devour him.
But he stops, panting, and looks into my eyes. He props himself up on one elbow, and traces his finger lightly across my jaw, my lips. I nip his finger, and a smile spreads across his face.
“You’re sure?” he breathes.
I nod. “Are you?”
He kisses me, long and deep, first on the mouth, and then on my neck.
His hand trails down, grazing my breast, and my breath hitches in my throat.
He stops and looks at me, his eyes searching, his lips parted.
He slides his hand down, crushingly slowly, to my hip, to the tender skin of my inner thigh. A soft sigh escapes my lips.
“You,” he says, dragging his fingers closer and closer to where I need them to go, “are the surest bet I’ve ever made.”
When I wake up the next morning, Kei is gone. I have one brief, blurry moment of confusion, and then it all comes flooding back, a play-by-play of the night before.
Kei’s body bumping against mine as we walked the path to the beach.
The sound he made when he splashed into the cold water.
His profile illuminated by moonlight. And then, the freedom I felt bounding naked into the lake.
The stars twinkling their ancient light.
The feeling of his breath on my face right before he kissed me.
Oh, the kiss. The memory of it is so visceral I can almost feel his body twisting into mine under the water. The heat of his skin in contrast to the cold of the lake.
Running hand-in-hand down the beach path. Our slick bodies tangled together under the bedsheets, moving together, until we both collapsed in waves of pleasure. Him covering my face in kisses.
Oh no.
My intellectual brain suddenly clues in to what a catastrophic mistake it all was, and fear, cold and ruthless, grips me, yanking me back into reality. I sit up, fumbling for Harmony’s lingerie, wishing I could cover myself so fully that I would just disappear.
A crush is one thing, but this? How could I have been so stupid?
“Knock, knock.” Kei’s head appears at the top of the ladder.
“I noticed some wild blueberry bushes on the path last night, so I picked us some breakfast.” He holds up a bowl of shiny berries, which he sets down on the bedside table.
“Strangest thing, the bell hasn’t rung yet, and from the position of the sun, I’d say it’s after ten. But whatever, more time for us.”
He leans in to kiss me, but I turn my head. He stands back, his beautiful face twisted in confusion. And then it slips quickly into sad resignation. He sees I’ve already retreated. My heart, momentarily open, has coiled tightly up, reinforcing itself against another breach.
“Cleo—”
I can’t hear him say anything nice right now, so I interrupt. “I’m so sorry about last night. Can we just go back to how things were?”
He tilts his head. “You’re sorry?”
“It was a mistake. We just got carried away. It was nothing.” I inject as much conviction as I can muster in my words, but they still sound flat. It was nothing. It had to be nothing.
He opens his mouth to speak, but then closes it again.
“We’ve been faking it for so long, I think we just got confused.”
He turns his back to me, pulls on the pyjama shirt.
“Kei,” I start, but I don’t even know what else to say.
“We should get going,” he says, handing me Harmony’s robe. Our eyes meet.
“I’m sorry, I—”
He shakes his head. “Forget about it. It was nothing, like you said.” He starts to lower himself down the ladder.
“But we’ll still stick to our plan, though, right?” I’m suddenly struck by how deeply I may have messed this up, how there’s so much on the line, and I could lose it all.
I clamber down the ladder after him.
“We’ll stick to the plan, right?”
He gives me a grim smile. “Sure.”
I swallow back a lump that has inconveniently appeared in my throat. This is for the best.
We don’t say much on the walk back to camp. As the clearing comes into view, we loop our mics over our heads.
“Let’s do this,” he says, with more resignation than enthusiasm. I reach my hand out for his, and he hesitates.
“I thought you didn’t want—” He trails off.
“I don’t want to be with you, but I still want to win.” I don’t mean for it to sound so callous. I’m such an asshole. His mouth sets in a firm line. “Come on,” I say, softening my tone. “Eyes on the prize. We can still win this.”
He looks at my hand, and finally takes it, his reluctance painfully apparent.
At this time of the morning, camp is normally busy.
The campers are usually working out in the makeshift gym, cuddling in the hammocks, or gossiping in the lounge.
The producers and crew are usually milling about, updating the Chore Board or setting up for the day’s challenge.
But today, the field is empty. It’s totally quiet—no movement, no sound. Just vacant stillness.
“Where is everybody?” Kei says, frowning.
“I don’t know. Maybe they’re letting everyone sleep in?”
“Huh.”
“Or maybe they’re down at the beach,” I say, reaching for an explanation.
Kei looks toward the beach path. “Maybe,” he says, sounding unconvinced.
We slow our pace. In the absence of all other noise, the sound of our footsteps crunching on the gravel is crisp and loud.
The trash can outside the Arts & Rec cabin has been overturned, and the ground is littered with empty beer cans and wine bottles.
The door of the Mess Hall is slightly ajar, but there are no shadows inside, no signs of life at all.
It’s like we’re the only two people left.
At the Bunkhouse, Kei hesitates as he reaches out to pull open the screen door. I look at him, holding my breath. I’m steeling myself for something—I’m not sure what, but something feels very wrong. A bird flies overhead, and we flinch at the sound of its flapping wings.
He clears his throat, then laughs nervously. “Come on,” he says, pulling the door open. “It’s fine.” I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince me or himself.
Inside the Bunkhouse, the silence is like a vacuum. The air is warm and still, but a shiver travels through me. I squint into the darkness.
“Hey, look who’s back.” Damian’s sleepy voice makes me jump. I put my hand on my chest and feel my heart thumping back against it. As the shapes of our fellow campers begin to emerge, relief washes over me.
“Hey babe, how was your night?” Harmony asks, stretching her arms over her head.
I glance at Kei. “It was good. Great!” My heart pounds. Harmony will see right through my forced enthusiasm. I double down, looping my arm through Kei’s and resting my head on his shoulder. His body tenses at my touch.
“Go away, the bell hasn’t rung yet,” Sue-Ellen moans from her bunk. Isa is sound asleep beside her.
“Yeah, what’s with that?” Kei asks, extracting himself from my grip. He sits down on our bunk, leaving me standing alone. “Was there a change to the morning schedule?”
Damian sits up and reaches for the mic hanging by his bedside. “Say what?”
“It’s like, ten thirty, and there’s no one around.”
“Maybe they stayed up even later than we did,” Giovanni says, hoisting himself up. His eyes look sunken, and his face is pale.
“I’m never drinking again,” Sid groans from Trina’s bunk.
“Until tonight,” Valeria teases, as she pads by on her way to the bathroom.
As everyone starts their morning routines, things start to feel more normal. At the Mess Hall, we cobble together some breakfast from the ever-diminishing supply of groceries.
“Ugh, this show is a farce,” Sue-Ellen says, picking at her dry white bread.
“I’ve never seen a more disorganized production team.
Like, there are ten people here who need to eat.
If they’re too cheap to hire craft services, then the least they could do is keep the fridge stocked. It’s not rocket science.”
In any other universe, I’d wholeheartedly agree with Sue-Ellen, but here, under the watchful eye of the camera, I say, “They’re just working out the kinks.
It’s only the second week. Cut them some slack.
” I imagine Tyler and Gabby watching this scene back, nodding at one another, like they’re so grateful I’m here.
Sue-Ellen glares at me but doesn’t shoot back.