Chapter Twenty

The moment we reach the soft sand, I see the canoe by the water’s edge. It wasn’t there when I arrived on the island, but it is now.

Headaches: They’re something I rarely experience, but right now, my head pounds excessively, and it makes me feel like throwing up. I’m putting the dull ache which has turned into drumming against my skull down to the champagne I had on the way over here. Champagne and my brain never mix well.

“Are you okay?” Arlie asks.

I rub my fingers against my temple. "Hmm.”

“A headache?”

“A little one. I’m probably a bit dehydrated.”

“Do you want to get some paracetamol?”

“No, no, it’s okay. We’ve already reached the beach. No point turning back.”

“Do you want to wait a bit before heading out? Wait for the headache to die down?”

“Yes. Can I just sit here for a bit and drink some water? Do we have time?"

“Sure. I might go for a swim. Unless you want me to stay with you.”

“No, you go swim, and when you get out, we’ll get the task over and done with.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay,” he says, placing the backpack and his hat beside me. “Be back soon.”

I nod.

Every step he takes has the tattoo on his calf drawing my attention. I don’t know what it is about, but I like looking at it. In fact, I love it. It suits him. Maybe I should get a tattoo. What would I get? Where would I even put it?

Arlie dives under the water and disappears for a moment.

“It’s lovely,” he yells when he resurfaces.

I give him a thumbs up before placing two fingertips against my temple and rolling them around in a small circle. I feel sick, and I still can’t figure out if I should get a tattoo or not.

Water. More water. I’m so thirsty I drink from one of the bottles Arlie packed until my belly is as full as a camel’s would be when taking to the desert. The more I drink, the less pain I experience.

Note to self: Drink more H20 to prevent future headaches.

No sooner do I think this than I see Arlie swimming back into shore. I jet my head in every direction, looking for the cameraman I expect to see down by the shoreline—after all, we’ve left the house—but he’s nowhere I can see him.

It’s strange. Everything about this beach feels bizarre to me at this moment. That is, until I scan the water’s edge and see a man with a camera standing there. Where did he come from?

Arlie stands. His tanned skin glistens. Good God, he’s gorgeous.

Arlie runs his hand through his hair, and my eyes glue to his bulging bicep. He must work out a lot to have arms like tree trunks. I watch as he looks towards the camera I’d not long ago spotted myself. I pull the sunglasses down the bridge of my nose, tipping my chin slightly before peering through a small gap. Just because I’ve put limits on where our time together can go doesn’t mean I can’t perv. I’m human, after all.

Every step Arlie takes has me drooling because he’s the best type of eye candy imaginable. The waistband of his boardies appear, then a little more material creeps out from the water as it sinks farther down the tops of his legs. Yeah, baby, work it, I think, right before I burst into a fit of laughter at the sight of his very defined buffalo. Arlie’s pants have wedged so far up his front, the seam has split his balls into two defined bulges, one on each side.

I snort, then cough, then fall to my side. The camel toe for men. Who knew it was a thing that happened?

By the time Arlie reaches me, I’m crying and laughing at the same time.

“What’s so funny, you?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” I continue my laughter not able to look up at him. After a minute or two, I rein in my amusement. “You know how my flying trapeze vibrator is going to make it into every single lounge room across Australia?”

There’s a slight chuckle coming from above me.

“Well, now your buffalo is too.”

“What?” He screeches, causing me to laugh again. “I knew I shouldn’t have packed these fucking shorts because they have a habit of riding my junk.”

My laughter grows until I’m crying again.

“Oh, this is really funny to you, isn’t it?”

I nod.

A piercing squeal explodes from my mouth when he wraps his arms around my waist, and he lifts me until my pointed toes can’t touch the ground. “Let me go,” I squawk.

“Yeah, no. Not until you stop laughing at me.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” I choke out.

Slowly, my body is lowered until I’m flat-footed and held against his cold chest.

“You see, I don’t embarrass easy …” His lips are close to mine. His eyes narrow and appear more serious in reflection. “I don’t care if I was sporting a man toe for the world to see.” Arlie steps away.

“Okay,” I whisper, finding myself mesmerised by the colour change in Arlie’s eyes, so much brighter, darker in colour than they were before he set off for a swim. There’s something about the way his eyes change to different shades of blue and grey under differing circumstances … I find this fascinating. My eyes don’t do such a thing, so why do his?

“Are you ready to get this task completed yet?”

“Yes.” I’m all breathy and absent of thought.

“Good. Get your kit off, and let’s head out.”

Take my dress off? I’m not taking it off. I’m heading out as I am.

“What’s wrong?” He must sense my sudden change of heart.

“Nothing. I’m ready to go.”

“Okay, rip your dress off, and tuck it in the bag.”

“No, no. I’m wearing it out.”

“What?”

“I’m wearing it. We’re going in a canoe. I’m not going to get wet.”

“Yes, you will. Trust me, the less you wear, the better. Plus, you’ll need the traction your skin offers to keep you seated securely as we row.”

“What? Why?”

“Because the canoe is fibreglass, and the material of your dress will have you slip-sliding out of your seat.”

What the hell? “Okay,” I say, turning my back to Arlie. One deep breath has my hands reaching for the bottom of the material. Another deep breath has me sliding it up my stomach. A hesitant and shaky breath has the dress ripped over my head.

Then it hits me—if he’s wearing boardshorts, won’t he slip and slide too?

“Hang on. You’re wearing …” I rip my body around to face Arlie, who has the cheekiest smile lifting his lips.

“Yellow’s a good colour on you. You shouldn’t believe everything you’re told. Now, let’s go before we’re shark bait.”

What an arse hat. I totally fell for Arlie's cock-a-bull story.

***

My arms are burning when we come to a stop out in the middle of the sea. The shoreline is only just visible, the island much too far away for my liking. My stomach becomes awash with nerves as I rotate my head and look at the mountains, which appear so close I feel as though I could swim the distance remaining between them and us. We’re not alone out here, though, because there’s a speedboat hovering not far away.

Arlie points at a microphone attached to the canoe with his outstretched finger.

“I guess this is how they hear us,” he says, matter-of-factly.

“Do you keep forgetting there are cameras around and then suddenly remember, like I do?”

“Yep. I took a step back when I saw old mate on the beach.”

There’s a moment of silence between us. The only noise I hear is the shutting down of a boat engine.

“At least the water is calm out here,” Arlie says.

“Eerily.” I shiver.

“Okay, I’m going to say this before you think it.”

Think what?

“I’m trying hard not to stare at your boobs right now, but I’m a man, and your boobs are, you know, boobs.”

A smile touches my lips as my face warms, and I know I’m blushing.

“Boobs,” he says again, childishly.

“I get it, and it’s okay.”

“Good.” And without even blinking, his eyes roam from my face to my tits. “Thank you, God,” he whispers so softly I almost don’t catch it.

I giggle. It seems we pray in the same way. I’ll mark that in the ‘pro’ column of my time with Arlie Blight. He’s open and honest, and doesn’t hide how he feels. I’ll add that to my list, too. “Do you want to go first with these three truths, or should I?”

“What would you like?”

“I’d like you to go first.”

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

Arlie crosses his hands over his lap. His vision remains on my bust until he lifts his chin and stares into my eyes.

“I was once engaged to a woman named Elissa Samuels. It didn’t work out because she cheated on me with my best friend. I haven’t had a serious relationship since. Betrayal is my least favourite word, and I have trust issues because of the situation. It’s one of the reasons I came on the show. The other reason is that by admitting this in front of the whole world, I can’t hide from it anymore. I hope it’ll mean I’m more comfortable with dating again.”

Holy fuck. That’s a huge fucking truth. “I’m sorry that happened to you. Can I ask some questions about it, or would you prefer not to discuss it any further?”

His eyes narrow, his lips pinched together, and then he crosses his arms over his chest. I can see he doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s likely hurting, so maybe it’s still raw. “Sure, ask whatever you’d like, but if I don’t want to answer something, can I say pass and you’ll move on?”

I nod.

Closing my eyes, I ask myself if it’s best to drop the twenty questions and move on, sparing him any further discomfort, but I want to know. I want to know Arlie Blight, and the good, the bad, and the ugly that comes with him. “How long were you together?” I say, opening my eyes and looking down at my legs tucked to the side.

“Ten years.”

“Holy ffff …” I mush my lips together to prevent myself from completing the word. Not in front of my parents.

“A long time. I thought we were going to get married. It turns out she’d been screwing my best friend for the past four years we were together. I should have seen it, but I was blind, naïve, and stupid.”

“No, no, I’m sure you weren’t.” I lift my head and reach out my arm until I place my hand against his leg.

“I was, but that’s love. Sometimes, it’s blinding.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Can I ask how long you’ve been apart?”

“Five years.”

I try to do the math to figure out how old Arlie is. I conclude he must be in his late twenties.

“I’m thirty-one, Melinda.” It’s like he reads my mind. “We were high school sweethearts. We started officially dating when we were sixteen but had been friends from the age of twelve.”

Double holy fuck. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I know. Nobody does.” He pauses. “Any more questions?”

I have a million, but I can hear the annoyance and sadness in his tone, so I decide to drop it before I ask too much of him. “No, none. Thank you for sharing with me.”

He nods.

“My turn?”

He nods again.

“Okay, here goes.” I’m nervous to share, but after what Arlie’s admitted, I feel comfortable to offer something of myself that I haven’t told anyone apart from Chris. “I’ve never been engaged or married, but I’ve also never dated. Well, that’s technically a lie. I’ve been on two dates with two different guys, but I never went on to date them afterwards.”

Arlie’s posture completely changes from down in the dumps and slumped at the midsection to curious, intrigued, and seated upright. “Who did you date?”

“Alec. I was sixteen.”

“And?”

“And the blind date from the night I bumped into you at the Chinese shop, but he turned out to be a cat-killing psycho, so—”

“Cat-killing psycho?”

“You don’t even want to know.”

“But I do.”

There are a lot of laughs between the both of us as I explain the ordeal of the evening before I made it to the Chinese restaurant and subsequently ended up eating a meal with the man seated across from me now.

“He was crazy,” Arlie says.

“Told you.”

“And the Alec fellow?”

“Well, that one stung a lot. Alec and his friends humiliated me. He was the popular boy. I wasn’t popular at all, and the date was a prank.”

“That’s sad.”

“Yeah, but the weird part is it wasn’t because of the date, I don’t think, that I never went on to date again in my life. I think it’s because I find myself nervous around men, and my brain-to-mouth functionality falters a lot.”

“You talk to me just fine.”

“I know, which is weird for me, if I'm honest.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I smile, then nod.

“So, does this mean you’ve never had a boyfriend or a partner?”

“You are correct,” I say, drawing a big invisible tick in the air.

Arlie’s eyes grow wide. His eyebrows lift high on his forehead. “Melinda, are you a virgin?”

I didn’t see the question coming because I hadn’t put all the pieces of what we discussed together. Of course, Arlie would get such an impression. “No, no, no! Nooooo! I’m not a virgin. I’ve been involved like that.”

Arlie's eyebrows dip. His lips narrow. “With?”

And then it dawns on me. Strange men when I’m drunk. I can’t say that out loud. “Pass.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry. Too far.”

I place each hand on the opposing arm, creating a cross of protection across my chest. I’m a floozy. A skanky floozy.

“My turn again,” Arlie says.

“Please.”

Arlie lets out a long sigh. “The worst thing that’s ever happened to me is my mother dying. She was mugged in a train station late at night. It was my fault because I had a project due for school I hadn’t told her about until right before it needed to be handed in. My mother, being the type of person she was, went into town to get supplies so she could make it while I slept. If only I’d done the damn project, she wouldn’t have been killed. Maybe then she’d have been around to stop my sister from getting knocked up so young, and I wouldn’t have gone off the rails and rebelled against everything for the next year of my life.”

My heart hammers in my chest. Arlie has had some horrible things happen to him, yet he seems so reasonable, not whiny and all ‘woe is me’ like I tend to do when things aren’t going right in my life.

“Arlie, I’m so sorry.” I slowly try to stand.

“I wouldn’t do that, Melinda,” he warns.

I don’t listen. I need to hug him. I need to do something. His mother was murdered in a subway station.

“Melinda,” he says my name louder and with more dominance.

I crouch down due to his tone.

“Camel toe.” A twinge of humour lines his voice, causing me to shoot right back to my feet before turning my eyes down to Miss Priscilla. I don’t have a camel toe. What’s he talking about?

The canoe wobbles. I throw out my arms to regain balance, but before I get a chance to sit back down the canoe rocks and then overturns, throwing both Arlie and me into the cold water below.

“Oh, shit,” I say when my head bobs above the surface.

Arlie’s laughing.

I tread water to stay afloat as I glare in Arlie’s direction. It’s like a thousand knives suddenly stab into my skin from my shoulder to my navel. Somethings biting me. A jellyfish? “Ouch, oh God, ouch. Fuck!” I scream. I can no longer hear the deep chuckles coming from Arlie. All I can listen to is my pulse beating in my head.

His arm curls under my legs, his other arm around my back.

“It stings. It frickin’ stings.” Tears roll down my cheeks as I clench my teeth and hiss out my pain.

“Help! Help!” Arlie yells.

The sound of a boat engine starting brings with it the sensation that my body is being pushed through the water.

“It’s okay. I’ll get us on the boat.”

I don’t feel anything bar the searing heat through my midsection when I find myself lying on the boat with Arlie hunched over the top of me.

“Jellyfish,” he yells. “Take the fucking camera off her now.” Instant anger.

“Get the stingers off. Get them off,” I hiss.

“They are. The tentacles are gone. Lie still.” Arlie’s incredibly calm. His touch is gentle. His presence is helpful.

I close my eyes and groan, one long sound. “My heart hurts. My arm hurts too. My stomach is burning like acid.”

“I’ve got you.” Arlie’s tone is confident.

It feels like forever until I hear the engine beginning to slow. A different warmth, unlike the fires of hell previously spreading across my skin, takes over. I open one eye. “What the fuck? Arlie, no!” I choke out.

“It’ll stop it. I promise.” His pants are no longer around his waist. Part of his penis fills my vision. A forceful stream of pee is flowing from its tip.

Arlie is fucking peeing on me.

“Stop!” I cry. “Stop peeing on me.”

Of course. The old story that peeing on a jellyfish sting will make the pain go away. Arlie doesn’t reply, and he doesn’t stop either.

Oh my God, just let me die.