Poor Patty.
"What about the other two teams?" The camera-man asked.
I thought, and shrugged. "I wasn't there long enough to get a good impression of them. Just that the red team was a hot mess, and they'll probably fall apart on themselves...which is exactly what they deserve."
"Bitter much, Luna?" the cameraman laughed.
I pinched my fingers and grinned, indicating that I might be bitter just a little.
I'D HAD THREE DAYS OF peace and quiet all to myself. Three days of cozying up by the fireside with a magazine and a cup of hot chocolate. Three days of doing yoga in the main cabin of the lodge, taking long, hot bubble baths, and blocking out my next horror movie script while I relaxed. I had three relaxing days of snowy hikes in the woods surrounding the lodge, and three days of enjoying all the foods that the show's personal chef created for the crew.
It was heaven.
It was bound to come crashing down, of course.
The night of the next vote off, I had a bowl of ice cream in my hands and paced the lodge, waiting for the next arrival. To be perfectly honest, I liked having the place to myself, but I was ready for someone new to talk to. The crew wasn't really supposed to talk with the contestants, which left me on my own. It wasn’t so bad for a day or two, but going on day three, I was ready for some conversation other than the ones in my head.
Plus, I was curious how badly my terrible tribe was self-destructing.
The car pulled up to the lodge drive and I clutched my bowl to my chest, more excited than I thought. Okay, despite my big talk, I was really interested in what was going on in the game. Was Owen running things with an iron fist? Did everyone hate his guts? Did they lose spectacularly at the challenge? I felt a weird sense of glee at the thought.
Since they hadn't liked me, and they'd ruined my game...I wanted them to suck at their game. I was totally cheering for the red team lose and lose big. And if that made me a little bitter, well then, Luna Collins was totally fine with being bitter about being the first loser of Endurance Island: Alaska. I figured I'd won the right to be a bit of a bitch about it.
I peered out the frosted windows of the lodge. It was chilly outside, a fresh layer of snow on the ground. I wondered how the others were doing with the fact that it was winter in Alaska and they were forced to camp outside. The show wouldn't let them freeze to death, but that didn't mean the circumstances couldn't be totally miserable otherwise.
It was dark outside, but I could make out a red parka.
Yesss, I thought gleefully. Those jerks deserved to lose. I peered at the person, the hood pulled tight over his - or her - face. I couldn't tell who it was, but the person jogging up the steps looked bigger than Patty.
So my friend had made it another round. Good for her. Was it Gary, then? Or Pat-the-guy? I stepped backward a little so I could get a good look at whoever came in.
The door opened and the newest member of the Loser Lodge threw his hood back as one of the camera-crew hovered nearby, filming everything.
I stopped in shock.
There was no mistaking the strong, square jaw despite the fact that it was clenched in anger, or the brilliant amber eyes. There was a fine layer of dirt on Owen's face, but he was unmistakable all the same.
Owen.
They'd voted out motherfucking Owen.
"Ha!" I yelled out, and pointed at his face with my spoon. "Ha!"
He swiped at my spoon as he pushed into the lodge, his bag on his shoulder. "Get that out of my face, Luna," he said in a not-so patient voice. "I'm not in the mood."
Just because I knew it would piss him off, I simply said "Ha!" again, and trotted behind him.
He shook his head and rolled his eyes at my glee, pushing past me and heading to the kitchen of the gorgeous lodge. "Do me a favor and leave me alone."
"Aww, what's the matter with Owen?" I said in a mocking baby voice. I followed him into the kitchen, because how could I resist rubbing a bit of salt in the wound? "How's it feel to get the boot this early, huh? Guess the team didn't like you any more than they liked me."
He ignored my jibes, heading across the lodge and into the enormous, open kitchen. Once in there, he slung his bag to the ground and headed to the industrial-sized refrigerator and opened it, staring in.
I drummed my fingers on my ice cream bowl, delighted by how pissed he was. "Not going to talk about how things went down? Since we both seem to be the first losers?"
He ignored me, grabbing a package of cold cuts and tossing it onto the counter. Next was mustard, then cheese. It was obvious he was making himself a sandwich...just as it was obvious that he was going to ignore me.
I tapped my spoon on my chin, pretending to think and ignoring the fact that his silence was a huge red flag of DO NOT ENGAGE.
I was totally going to engage. This was my moment of glory.
So I didn't let up. "Gosh, Owen, if you're not volunteering information, I guess I'll just have to figure it out on my own, then. Let me think. You seemed to think Clarissa was pretty hot when we were there, but I'm guessing she doesn't fall for the Neanderthal type." I studied his impassive face a moment longer, and then guessed, "You hit on her, and she took it so badly that the others voted you out to spare her from your passive aggressive terrible flirting? No? Is that not it?"
He shot me a seething look, tossing more stuff onto the counter.
"Maybe it wasn't Clarissa after all? Maybe you were caught groping the wrong person in the group shelter? Actually, it wasn't really a shelter, was it? Because when I left, it still didn't have a roof--"