16
JOEL
We settle into the Home of the Redwoods campground for the night. A few miles from Desert Willow, this campground is truly made for families, with pools and trampolines and playground equipment nearby. Children whiz through sites on bicycles despite the setting sun. Their squeals remind me of Seth and that I should call him tonight.
But only after I’ve calmed down.
I’m cleaning up what’s left of dinner—a campfire pizza Victoria made from supplies we grabbed at a store in town—piling up paper plates and napkins, crushing soda cans for recycling. I clean off the picnic table, scratching off sticky pieces of leftover food, though it’s probably not ours, all in an attempt to chill me the fuck out.
I’m still seething. How dare she? How dare Victoria take my words and repeat them as if they were her own? Sure, she couched them in between some of her thoughts, but the bulk of the impression of the food? Mine. For all intents and purposes, what she did was plagiarism. No, I never coined the phrases; I didn’t tell her that she couldn’t use my words. There’s nothing proprietary about what I said.
But they were my words, and she has opened up the wound, the feeling that this job should have been mine to begin with.
The salt in the wound? I had tapped into this fragile bond Victoria and I had. There was a certain trust there. I assumed I was in safe waters with her. Those moments before the interview were simply ours. I took the time and gave her a few hints. But this situation is exactly like everything else in this industry—pure competition.
“Joel, you gonna join us or not?” Tara shouts from behind me. She’s sitting in a camp chair around a fire ring, along with the rest of the crew. “I’ve got a s’more with your name on it.”
“Be right there.” I stuff the garbage into the can and trudge down to the fire and sink into a chair. Feeling everyone’s gaze, I pretend to busy myself by making a s’more.
Smoke billows from the campfire contained within a ring of large rocks. It rises to the sky, peeking through the redwoods. It’s gorgeous here, with enough space between RV spots that we don’t hear the other campers’ conversations. Our tents are beyond a line of trees—peaks of orange and yellow among the brown and green of the forest.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Tara says to me as Victoria and Adrian chat. A giggle flitters from their side of the fire, and through the shadows Victoria’s smile gleams. “More quiet than usual.”
“It’s been a long day.”
“Hm. Sure it doesn’t have anything to do with your sore feelings?”
I avoid her eyes. “I don’t have any such thing.”
She tucks her head deeper into her hood and leans back in her chair. “Okay. Well, then I guess you’ll be happy that the network loved the first cut we sent today. And the feedback from the audience so far is unanimously positive. Victoria did a great job.”
“Good for her.”
“Good for us, too. Remember: it’s a team effort.”
The marshmallow sizzles, and I pull it out of the flames as it catches fire, charring the exterior. I blow on it.
“Here you go.” Tara hands me a graham cracker, then a square of Hershey’s chocolate.
The marshmallow and chocolate melt, turning my fingers sticky as I make the s’more. “Thanks. And I know it’s a team effort.”
“Awesome. Then I can count on you to get over yourself when she does something you can’t stand because you think you can do better.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Okay, whatever. Ignore me—I’m a middle-aged lady who can’t see what’s so obvious and in my face.” Over the fire, Tara raises her voice. “Hey, let’s do a final game before we tucker out.”
Adrian groans, and I sigh into my s’more.
“Let’s do a Truth and a Lie,” Tara says.
“Oh, God. This should be interesting.” Victoria sits up in her chair.
That catches my attention. This woman is an open book and incapable of lying. An easy win for me. “But isn’t it Two Truths and a Lie?” I ask.
“Takes too long. I’ve got a cot with my name on it.” Tara points across the fire. “Adrian. You first.”
Adrian rubs his chin, ponders a moment. “I once walked into a police station while drunk and asked to use their bathroom. And . . . I’ve jumped out of a moving car, and it wasn’t part of a scene.”
Seconds pass. “Seeing that you just told me you did some stunt work a few years ago, I’m going to guess that the second is the truth.” Victoria grins. “Because who’d do something so stupid as to walk into a police station while drunk?”
Adrian sneeze-says, “Me.”
We all laugh, and I ease into my chair. “You were a stunt double?”
“One day I’ll have to show you all my battle wounds. Impresses the ladies.”
Tara rolls her eyes. “Oh dear. The ego is inflating, I see.” She winks at Adrian and pulls the hood off her head. “My turn. I once scored front-row seats to see Sting. And . . . I’ve rappelled off a mountain, face-first.”
“Shit. I would be very impressed if either one of those is true,” Adrian says. “But I’m gonna say the lie is Sting.”
Tara nods.
“So you’ve rappelled face-first?” Victoria shakes her head. “That is freaking scary. Then again, I’m scared of heights.”
“After you take the first step, and trust your hold on the rope, it’s not as scary as it is an adrenaline rush. Your turn, Victoria.”
She presses her lips together, gazes into the flame. Deep in thought, her voice comes out threadbare. “Oh, I’ve got nothing interesting.”
“Aw, c’mon!” Adrian teases. “Give us something . . . don’t hold back, on the lie as well as the truth. We’re your crew; there’s no judgment here.”
She focuses on the fire, then nods. “I went to see this guy I was dating and found out he was totally and completely fake.” As if waking up, she grins and clears her throat. “And . . . I traveled two thousand miles for work this year, all in my car.”
Adrian snickers. “I’m gonna say that the first is a lie, because being catfished? That’s a fucking mess to come back from.”
“Yeah . . . yeah . . . you’re absolutely right.” Victoria sits back, looking down into her lap. “The first is a lie. I logged in two thousand miles all right.”
I know Victoria’s tells: fingers wringing together, cheek caved in because she’s biting it. Eyes still focused on the fire despite the others’ questions about her travel blog—her baby and business. And two thousand miles? It’s only September, and she spent most of her summer at Paraiso.
No. She’s lying. The first is the truth. Which means . . .
Victoria was catfished?
The memory of walking her home, of her being torn up, floods me. In Vegas—how she was so sure about having a no-strings relationship. How she didn’t text me back right away.
Anger runs up my spine, because I know exactly how she feels after being fooled.
Victoria interrupts my thoughts. “Okay, who’s next?”
“Mr. Camera Guy.” Adrian bares a sly smile.
I will my body to relax and try to break the heavy vibe. “Pass.”
“Sorry. This isn’t Scrabble.” Tara cackles.
I rub my beard and ponder. “I didn’t get a driver’s license until I was nineteen. And . . . this scar right here? It’s from the graze of shrapnel.”
Everyone leans closer to me as I expected they would, and I stifle a laugh. Tara even stands and bends to examine the scar across my face.
“I’m scared to even ask.” Concern plays across her face. “Is . . . is the second the truth? Did you get hit with shrapnel?”
“Nope. I have a sister who loves to drive, and when I was in the Army, I lived on post and didn’t need to.”
“Your sister drove you around? Didn’t you find that embarrassing?”
“I always seek to work smarter, not harder, you know?”
The vibe lightens, and laughter filters through our group. Victoria eyes me. “So, how did you get that scar on your face?”
“Ah, that’s not part of the game.” I stand. “And that is the cue for bedtime.”
Adrian and Victoria protest by booing. I shake my head. Shit, I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ve had this scar for a decade, and I forget people want to know details. Tonight, however, isn’t my night for stories. It’s Victoria’s I want to know.
Thank God Tara hefts herself to her feet, saving me. “Good idea. We have an early start tomorrow. Anyone want to come to the restrooms with me? The line looks pretty long from here.”
Despite the RV having its own bathroom, we try not to use it, but from the bodies congregating outside of the restroom cabin, the rest of the campground had the same idea. People pass us with their towels and bags of toiletries.
Adrian raises his hand. “I’ve had a piece of meat stuck in between my teeth all afternoon. Time to floss.”
“Oh man, TMI.” Vic grabs the sticks from the campfire.
“Hey. What did you expect living with people?” Adrian folds up his chair. “For better and for worse, my friend.”
Victoria and I bag up the rest of our garbage and I walk it to the Dumpster. When I arrive back at our plot, Vic is by the fire, smothering it with dirt. The glow on her face dims, but not before she looks up to see me.
“Joel.” She strides toward me, a hand up. “I’m sorry, okay?”
This time, I don’t turn away, a question leaping off my tongue before I can stop it. “Were you really catfished?”
“I—” This close, the only thing discernible in the dark is the outline of her nose and lips, but I swear I can see the hesitation in her eyes. “I don’t know what possessed me to talk about that. I convinced myself earlier that I couldn’t let the past touch me anymore, but the truth kind of . . . plopped out.” Her head shakes. “Yes, it’s true, and it was shitty. But it is what it is, and I want to move on.”
A waterfall of questions overloads my brain. Does her sister know? Were there signs? How could Victoria not have been suspicious?
They’re the kind of questions I’ve asked myself.
“Joel”—she grabs my elbow, as if to keep the both of us focused—“I’m sorry about the segment today. I don’t know what else I can say. I panicked because I had—I have—no great opinion about barbecue. It’s not an excuse, and I own it. It won’t happen again.”
I should stay pissed. What she did was completely unacceptable. But with her hand sliding down my arm, I remember that this woman isn’t conniving. She was the one positive person at Paraiso. She supported her sister at the worst time of her life, even as, I now realize, she herself was experiencing heartbreak. Victoria’s behavior today was errant but rare.
My head nods as if it is its own master. I catch her hand in mine and squeeze it. She steps in and leans into my chest for a hug. I wrap my arms loosely around her, looking down at her as she continues to speak.
“I’m trying to approach this job with an open mind. The next festival is six hours from here and I’ll be ready. Now that I know what to expect, how the segment’s going to flow, I can prepare. Surely, I can’t be the only host to cover food they don’t love, right? Thank you for not staying mad.” She gets on her tiptoes, catching me by surprise, and a kiss that I assume was supposed to land on my cheek winds up squarely on my lips.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I . . .” She gasps but doesn’t fall back on her heels. Compelled by the rush of blood through my veins, I place my hands on her waist. Do I push her away or pull her toward me? Pick up where we left off in Vegas? Or do I keep her at arm’s length? Not only did she take my job, but she took my words. I work with this woman. This is fraternization.
But we have six more days in close quarters. Six. After that, I may never see her again.
Fuck it.
My need for her rises above my conscience. I pull her toward me and lower my face, lips catching hers hungrily. She claws the back of my shirt as I ravage her with my mouth. I sweep my tongue into her mouth as if her lips only belong to me, and she sucks on mine with a ferocity that turns my volume from high to maximum.
She wants this, too, as much as I do.
Victoria tastes so good, like chocolate and cinnamon. So rich and divine that I want to lick all of her, everywhere.
“You were saying?” I ask into her mouth, as I push her against the RV. My hand reaches for the door handle, but I can’t find the damn thing, lost in the lust that has overcome me. When she hitches her leg up, I give up on the task altogether and instead grab her by the underside of her thigh and grind against her.
Vic moans. “I . . . nothing. Don’t stop.”
“Oh, I won’t.” I slam one last kiss into her, and then finally tear myself away. “Let’s go inside.” With a concerted effort I find the handle and open the door. Light spills down from the rig, a beam that makes me shut my eyes briefly. It’s enough to wake me from my trance. I glance back at Vic, and she’s giving me a sly smile. “Okay?”
“Yes.”
I breathe a quiet sigh of relief when I make way for her to enter the RV ahead of me. She takes the first step up. I’m ready to close in behind her when the crunch of quick footsteps sound behind me. “Hey, thanks for putting out the fire.”
Tara.
Shit. Where’s my fucking brain? That’s right, all the blood has rushed out of it.
I hang back, taking a breath to slow down my galloping heart rate. “Yeah, no worries.”
“Line went quicker than I thought. You headed back to your tent?”
Stealing a glance at Victoria, I see she’s wiping down the counters of the kitchen and washing her hands. “Yup, finishing the cleanup, and then I’ll be on my way.”
Tara climbs into the RV, obviously intending to stay. I start to sweat while Victoria flashes a sheepish smile. With her bun skewed out of place and the neckline of her shirt wrinkled, she looks properly disheveled.
And utterly fuckable.
Tara’s eyeballs dart between me and Vic. “Okay, what’s going on here? You guys can quit it now.”
Shock flashes in Vic’s eyes, but she recovers and an innocent face replaces it. Which is good, because my voice is suddenly stuck in my throat. Did Tara see us?
“You.” Tara waggles a finger at me. “And you, come here.” She gestures for Victoria to sit on one of the dinette benches. I take the bench across from her. “We can’t do this, you know.”
I find my voice. “We weren’t—I mean, excuse me?”
Tara gestures to me and then to Vic. “You two. What you’re doing. You don’t think I can see it? The vibe is so thick we can cut it with a knife.”
The color drains from Vic’s face. “Look, Tara, whatever you think—”
“Quiet. There’s a reason why they send me out for these projects, right? Because I don’t take any crap. One iota of it.”
Fuck. I look at my hands. I’m going to get fired. When I glance back up, Vic’s giving me a similar look of panic.
“He and I didn’t—”
I shake my head at Vic. Don’t give anything away is what I convey through mental telepathy. Luckily, she shuts up.
“You are both in an awkward situation. Joel, you’re upset she got the job, especially since you already knew each other. On top of that, Victoria isn’t a barbecue expert. And Victoria, you took advantage of your friendship with Joel today. The material you came up with wasn’t your own. But you can both recover from this, and we can still make this experience pretty awesome and end up with a great product for people to watch. But for the sake of this project, both of you can’t keep avoiding one another. We are a team. This vibe you guys have? We feel it, too. And while your segment today was pretty dang good for your first one, Vic, if you both can’t fix this thing between you, it will show on the screen. Got it?”
I wait for more, an admonishment, a punishment for fraternizing, but when I look up at Tara, she’s smiling, almost placating.
“So shake hands now. Let’s be friends. Let’s be here for one another. Say it, Vic.”
“Oh . . . okay.” Vic’s voice is hoarse, and she stretches her hand out for me to shake it. “I’m here for you, Joel.”
I take her hand in mine, stifling a grin. “I’m here for you, too.”
“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Tara smiles.
“Nope,” I say.
“Good, let’s head back to the tents. Night, Vic.”
“Night to you, too.” Victoria stands to see us out.
And as we walk away from the RV, Tara’s chatty and seemingly satisfied with my supposed truce with Victoria.
I turn for a final look at the RV.
Victoria’s leaning against the doorjamb, arms across her chest, with what I can only imagine is a sexy smile on her face.