Page 65 of Ex Marks the Spot
Okay then.
“I’d like to go on record and say this is the last time I forge anything,” I say two hours later. Court and I are drenched in sweat, I have a blister on my thumb, and we’re only halfway finished with this damn knife blade.
“I’m trying to remind myself that we’re not even making the whole thing but it’s not helping much,” he says.
During our demo, the team of bladesmiths showed us how to chisel the basic shape of the kukri blade from a piece of flat steel and then pound it with a six-pound hammer, all while making regular trips to the charcoal oven that’s approximately a bajillion degrees to keep the steel hot. Once we’re done with that, we’ll hand it over to the bladesmiths so they can finish the knife-making process and they’ll give us our next clue.
There’s just one problem.
“What does it mean when you can’t feel your arms?” It’s my turn to wield the hammer while Court mans the metal tongs, except I’ve missed the last three times I’ve aimed for the blade.
“It means it’s time for a break.”
“Fabulous.” The hammer falls to the packed dirt floor with a soft thud and I plop down beside it.
Court makes a quick detour to our backpacks to retrieve our water, then joins me, uncapping my bottle. “Can you hold this?”
“I think so.” It takes a few seconds to get my fingers to cooperate, but I’m eventually able to down about half of the bottle while Court drains the rest of his.
“It’s a good thing we didn’t come to Nepal first,” he says, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth in a move that’s entirely too sexy given our current circumstances.
“Why’s that?”
He draws his legs up and rests his arms on his knees. “Because this place is filled with knives, fires, and sledgehammers. You could’ve killed me three different ways in a matter of minutes.”
“Damn,” I say, fighting a smile. “Such a missed opportunity.”
“You’ll have to file a complaint with the production team when we get home.”
Despite his lighthearted tone, his comment takes me back to day one and the scathing email I planned on sending to the casting team after the race ended. How was that only ten days ago? And if what Alexis said is true, why did Court let me think the worst of him this whole time? It’s almost as if...
“You did the same thing as the Bombshells.”
“I what?” Court asks, brows pushed together.
Shit. Do I ignore the fact that we’re wearing mics and talk to him now or wait for tonight? Except there’s no guarantee we’ll be in a hotel room tonight, let alone in the same room, and maybe the rest of America will want to hear this too.
I take a fortifying breath and shift to face him.
“You let me use my assumption as the truth. The Bombshells did it as part of their strategy for the race, but I haven’t figured out why you’d want to do the same thing.”
His brows remain in place. “I’m not quite following you.”
“Last night in the pool bathroom, Alexis said you didn’t cheat on me and told me to ask you who the woman was at the gallery.”
“Damn traitors,” Court mutters to himself, though his small smile tells me there’s no heat behind his words. “And I’m guessing this is what you wanted to talk about this morning?”
I nod. “That’s why I couldn’t sleep last night.” Well, one of the reasons, but America doesn’t need to know about my fantasy about Court in his swim trunks. “At first, I struggled with whether to believe her because they constantly flirted with you. It doesn’t make sense that they’d want us to smooth things over if they were trying to get in your pants.”
“So what made you believe her?”
“When I was drawing in my notebook at the Sydney airport, they mentioned the idea of you not being over me. When I look back, I realized that’s around the time they stopped flirting. I guess it felt like they respected the possibility of us calling a truce and being friends and didn’t want to get in the way of that.”
It’s Court’s turn to nod. “Gianna talked to me about the breakup on theflight to Japan while you were sleeping. She said I should tell you the full story about Gallery Night.”
“So why haven’t you yet?” Of all the questions that have run through my head, this is the one I can’t figure out. At any point, he could’ve set the record straight instead of allowing the first week and a half of the race to be unnecessarily miserable.
Court stares at the ground for several moments before checking his watch. “We should get back to work. Do you think you can hold the tongs?”