Page 23 of Uncharted Desires
“Seriously?” He flexed his biceps to make it clear who had the muscle power to throw the makeshift spear.
“You’ve been at it for over an hour. How about I try, and you go do your little friction thing.” She rubbed her hands together.
“No, I think I can catch the fish.”
“You made the spear. Don’t worry, you’re still just as manly if you make the fire.”
West hadn’t been paying attention, and before he knew it, she grabbed the makeshift spear from him.
He held on to it. It was a matter of pride now. “No, Katy, go make the fire.” He said, using the name he knew she hated to distract her.
But she wasn’t giving up. He knew it must hurt her hands and he was being an ass, but she could end this by just letting go.
“No, you tried, let me catch the fish.” She pulled hard on the spear, frustration on her face.
“Stop, you’re going to hurt your hands more.”
“Then let go!”
“That’s horrible logic. You let go.”
His face was inches from hers, the tension between them palpable. He had to end this. With a swift movement of his leg, he unbalanced her, making her stumble backward into the water.
But she still refused to let go, and in an act of stubbornness, he kept his grip on it too. They both fell into the water. Her warm, pliant body was under him as he tried not to crush her. She pushed him to the side, grabbing the spear. Sitting up he used one hand to wipe the water out of his eyes; the other was still locked onto the spear’s handle with a death grip.
“Exceptional work, genius.” She stared daggers at him. “Now I’m wet and the sun is setting.”
His eyes hooded as he watched her get up. “I can think of better ways to make you wet,” he said under his breath.
A slight blush crept up her face, but otherwise, she made no sign that she had heard his comment.
“All the more reason to get a fire going,” he said more loudly.
“West, please just let me try. Fifteen minutes, and if we both suck, we’ll switch back.” Her eyes glowed golden, and for the briefest moment, West stood still, utterly entranced, before looking away.
It wasn’t the worst idea. He knew he wouldn’t get a fire started in fifteen minutes, especially now that he was wet, and there was no way she was going to catch a fish. He suspected it would be a waste of time, but if it would stop their fighting he’d give in to her.
He stood up out of the water, dropping the spear. “Fine, we have no clock, so whatever fifteen minutes means, I’ll be back.”
He walked back to the rocky beach to find some tinder and a dry stick. Looking out of the corner of his eye he saw Kat as she pranced around the waves, searching for a fish. A few were swimming around in the shallow waters, but the spear was a crude instrument, and it didn’t glide through the water like a true metal spear. He had struggled with brute strength; he had no idea how she would pull it off.
The stick was taller than her as she attempted to throw it like a javelin. It bobbled in her hands and fell into the water. He held back a laugh as she tripped, almost falling backward.
“Don’t”—she yelled at him, putting up one of her hands as if to stay his reaction—“even say anything.”
He held his hands up and clamped his mouth shut with effort. It wasn’t as easy to spear a fish as they made it look on those survival shows on TV. West knew all about the smoke and mirrors Hollywood used when filming so-called “reality” TV shows.
He remembered when MTV had shot an episode of Cribs in his dad’s house and they’d wanted them to look as natural as possible, without looking natural at all. They didn’t go into West’s room, and they felt his dad’s cars weren’t edgy enough for a rock star, so they had brought in a couple of classic cars to put in the garage.
His father hadn’t cared all that much. MTV had been a big part of making his career so he didn’t fight them. Now the channel was useless and did nothing for musicians, but back in the eighties and nineties it had been everything, and Tommy Monroe knew who not to piss off. It was a big part of why his career was a success. He had passed that on to West.
“The most talented musician can be singing in the subway tunnels,” he would say to him. “It’s about who can play the game.”
The whole thing made West sick to his stomach most days, and Dec had taken care of the business side. He had played the game, let the label control his music, and it had morphed into something he didn’t want to do anymore. Now, he saw that was a mistake. Taking the hands-off approach hurt not only his career, but Kat’s too.
Shit, he had no music career left, and he didn’t know what he was going to do next. He could do the whole acting thing, but deep down he couldn’t decide if he was doing it because it finally removed him from his dad’s shadow, or because he really wanted to try something new.
None of it mattered if they never got of this island.