Page 57 of Charlie and Her Sweet Escape
Theonesleeping bag.
The one mostly normal-sized sleeping bag the show had sent for us to share. I’d unrolled it to find a small bar of dark chocolate nestled inside, along with a heart-shaped note that read:For the cozy lovebirds!
The crew must have taken one of our sleeping bags back onto the boat when we weren’t paying attention. I knew we had two when we were initially dropped on shore. They liked to play these games with the contestants—create obstacles, leave behind small rewards. I should have expected something like this to happen.
But I hadn’t.
“So, tomorrow …” Charlie’s glance cut to the side—to the sleeping bag?— then back to me quickly. “I think we need to focus on finding food and building our shelter.”
“Agreed.” I finished off the last of my berries, and my stomach still growled in hunger. We were going to need to hunt or fish. There was an abundance of berries where we were dropped, but they’d only go so far. Especially when we were working from sunup to sundown and burning a ton of calories.
Charlie split the chocolate bar in half, and we ate our portions.
The rain had continued to steadily fall all afternoon, and now there was a gusting wind that whistled through the opening in our shelter, flinging icy rain at our exposed faces. The tarp flapped ominously, and our fire flickered. I buried my face into my scarf, waiting for it to go out and leave us completely without warmth.
Well, not completely without warmth.
We both glanced at the sleeping bag again, realized we were doing it, looked at each other, and then scrambled to our feet as the awkwardness became too much to bear.
“I’m going to change into my?—”
“I need to find a nice tree?—”
Neither of us finished as we both rushed to our separate tasks.
I finished my business at the tree, then rested a hand against it and let my head hang down while a light stream of rain, filtered through the thick pine boughs I stood under, fell on my hair and exposed neck.
Here were the facts:
Charlie and I were married.
We were on camera at pretty much all times.
If we both slept in that sleeping bag, there wouldn’t be a single breath of air between us. All of Charlie—sweet, delicious,not meant for me in any way Charlie—would be pressed up against all of me. Legs tangled in legs. Backs snug against chests. Mouths pressed dangerously close to necks.
I titled my head up to let the cold rain fall over my face. I needed to shock those thoughts out of my system.
Okay. Okay.
If wedidn’tboth sleep in that sleeping bag, people would wonder why there was trouble in paradise already. And not the good, drama kind of wonder. No, the kind where the show would create a challenge intended to get us eliminated before we had a chance to earn enough money for Charlie’s mom.
We had our marching orders. Exaggerate everything. Be a freaking functional adult about this.
I returned to the shelter, where Charlie stood with her back to me. My eyes traced the delicate curve of her spine peeking through her loosened hair, followed it until it dropped into the waistband of her gray briefs. All thoughts were erased from my head.
Every single one.
Gone.
Functioning adult? Ha. Not a single brain cell was functioning.
I must have made some sort of noise, because she peered over her shoulder, her eyes wide. “Bennett!”
I choked out an apology as she flung her shirt over her head. I turned my back to her and busied myself with the pot, like that had been my intention all along. Washing that pot was going to take all my attention. Every last bit. It was the most fascinating cast-iron pot I’d ever seen, actually. We were so lucky to have it.
A newlywed wouldn’t turn around, but the show was just going to have to edit this out.
“Hey,” Charlie said. “Are you going to get changed too?”
