Seven Exes Are Eight Too Many

by Heather Wardell

  Kent handed in his clipboard, and Peter said, "The first question for both of you was, 'Which of your exes would not want to date you again?' Prince, you named Jody, Kayla, and Tara." He paused and cleared his throat. "Princess, you said none of them want to date you."

  I nodded.

  "Prince, four of your Ladies said they wouldn't date you again, including Jody and Kayla, so you receive two points." Another pause. "Princess, you are correct, for seven points."

  My mouth fell open. Not one of them wanted me back?

  And so it went. Kent lost the contest, and I received a near-perfect score and a shattered self-image.

  *****

  When I stepped onto our shore, my fury left me stomping around camp trying to dissipate the worst of the awful buzzing energy. The guys hovered nearby but I ignored them. I couldn't believe the words still ricocheting through my mind. Cold, secretive, over-cautious...

  Aaron brought me a canteen, but I pushed him aside. "How could you guys say stuff like that? I was so not that bad." After an awkward few seconds, I said, "Don't all talk at once. I wasn't, and you know it."

  I turned on Michael, whose attention was focused on his feet. "We spent over a year together. How well did you say you knew me?"

  "Twenty to forty," he muttered, sounding both apologetic and defiant.

  I made it to a rock before my knees gave way. "Really?"

  He nodded.

  Staring into the wet remains of the previous day's fire, I hardly felt the rain beating down on me. How had they all known so little about me, gotten me so wrong?

  Could they all be wrong?

  I raised my head and looked at Aaron. I didn't speak, because I had no idea what to say.

  Something softened in his face, and he said, "You're not easy to get to know, MC," his voice gentle. The others nodded and he went on. "I know you don't like to let it all hang out, so to speak, but you've got it locked up so tight Fort Knox should hire you."

  He crouched in front of me. "There's a lot going on in there, baby, and you don't let anyone see it. Maybe you could think about being even a little more open? Letting people in?"

  I shook my head slowly, feeling lost and dejected and hopeless. "I don't know how."

  Greg said, "I think you started today when you yelled at us."

  I pressed my fingers into my temples. "Come on, that was pathetic."

  "Maybe a little." He smiled at me. "But still, you said what you thought, what you felt."

  "I guess." Did I need to go through life yelling at people to have a man? "I'll try." I would try. I didn't think it would work, but I'd try.

  I looked at Michael to see if he agreed, but when our eyes met my heart skipped a beat at the pain and fear in his, like an animal in a trap it can't see and can't escape.

  He looked away without a word.

  Despite my relief a few hours later when the rain finally stopped, Michael's silence wore away at me until I couldn't take it any more. He headed to the shore to catch our supper and I went after him, wading out slowly in case my knees complained then swimming to his side when they didn't mind the salt too much.

  He didn't speak, so after a minute I said, "What's going on?"

  "Nothing."

  "Doesn't seem like it."

  "I'm fine. Nothing's wrong."

  I licked my lips, tasting the salt of the water. "Then why aren't you talking?"

  "What do you want me to say?" He turned to look at me and I wished he hadn't. His eyes blazed with such fury I paddled myself backward away from him but he followed, driving me away from the shore. "Should I say I wish we'd lost today so you could exile me?"

  "You want to quit?"

  "I want to get away from you."

  My mouth fell open, enough for water to pour in. I coughed and sputtered then got my air back. "Because of... of Melvin?"

  He sank beneath the surface of the ocean for a long moment. When he finally reappeared, the anger had faded from his eyes but the pain was worse. "I feel brutal. I told you that, and then Paige came here and..." He shook his head. "I did mean it, MC. I know you think I didn't. But I did. And I still do. But I love Paige so much. And I hate this."

  "What do you want me to do?" I kept my voice gentle, not wanting to sound sarcastic.

  "Exile me the next time you get a chance. Please."

  I looked at him, at the face I'd loved, and had a flash of not wanting to do it. He'd been great for me. We'd been great together. If I kept him, maybe we could--

  Could cheat on his wife together? Lovely idea.

  "I will," I said, and swam past him and back to shore.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Peter smiled at Kent and his team. "You enjoyed your ice cream sandwiches yesterday?"

  "Amazing," Summer said. "Almost worth what I had to do to win them."

  "I feel insulted somehow," Aaron said, and she shot him a wink.

  Kent and I had each picked one ex to do the arm-wrestling contest with us. I'd beaten Summer, barely, but Kent's construction-trained arm had made short work of my software developer one even though he'd probably taken it easy on me. My hand had retained the sensation of his hand wrapped around it for ages.

  Aaron had also lost to Kent, although it had been a much harder-fought battle, and then Summer, inches from defeat, had leaned across and kissed Aaron full on the mouth, stealing her victory in his moment of surprise. Only a moment, then he'd slid his other hand into her hair and held her in place, not breaking the kiss until well after Peter informed us the contest was over.

  If it had been an exile contest, I'd have complained, but it wasn't worth it for ice cream. I'd felt a flicker of jealousy at his dazed expression, though: I'd never affected a man that much with one kiss.

  "Well, folks, today is your fourteenth day." Peter paused to accommodate our mingled cheers and groans. "What's wrong? Are you getting tired of your camp mates?"

  "Getting tired?"

  Aaron slapped my arm lightly in response, and I returned the favor.

  Peter smiled at me. "Let's add some excitement, then. Prince, Princess, come here."

  Once we were beside him, one on each side, he said, "Prince, pick one of the Courtiers."

  Kent put on a whiny voice. "They're not really my type."

  "That's too bad. Pick."

  Aaron suddenly paled, then flushed a blotchy red when Kent said, "Fine, I'll take Aaron."

  "Over here," Peter said to Aaron, jerking his head toward Kent.

  "I... do I have to?"

  He didn't sound whiny or jokey. He sounded terrified.

  "You do," Peter said, no expression in his voice.

  Aaron walked to Kent, looking like he was going to his death. What had him so upset?

  "Princess, pick one of the Ladies."

  Hmm, who did I not particularly want hanging around Kent and Aaron? "Summer."

  Once Kent and I each had three of our own exes and two of the other's, Peter said, "All right. Take a good look at your new team mates."

  Our what? I stared at him, Summer burst out laughing, and various people gasped.

  Peter paused, looking innocent and surprised, then added, "Until tomorrow, that is."

  Aaron rapped his knuckles against his own chest. "It's okay, you can start beating now," he said, real relief in his voice.

  My heart squeezed. He'd been afraid of leaving me alone. I went over, threw my arms around his neck, and whispered, "You're the best."

  He hugged me back then said, "Okay, enough mushy stuff," gently setting me aside. He winked at me, though, before I returned to my new team.

  Peter smiled and continued. "You will compete against each other for rewards you can use tonight and tomorrow, like first choice of camp site."

  Summer said, "We need a team name. How about the Spectacular Six?"

  "Six?" Peter said, raising his eyebrows.

  She ran her eyes over us. "I count six. No?"

  "Ah, but the Princess won't be with you tonight."

  "W
here will I be?" I said, feeling a burst of hope. Was I finally going to get time alone?

  Not quite.

  *****

  "No cameras, right?"

  Peter chuckled. "Of course not."

  "Not hidden ones?" I said, afraid I was missing some loophole.

  "I promise, we won't film your showers. There are no cameras anywhere in the cabins."

  Kent looked down at his arm. "I'll risk it. Even my filth has filth on it."

  "Okay, fine," I said. "But if I end up on some nasty web site I'll get you, Peter."

  "Understood." He smiled at me. "Your suitcases will be here in about half an hour, so don't rush through your shower."

  "Not a chance," I said, returning his smile. Moving carefully with the rocking of the houseboat Peter had brought us to after the 'contest', which had already taken us on a slow tour of the nearby islands, I turned toward the door marked 'Princess'.

  "MC."

  I looked back at Kent, surprised by the urgency in his voice.

  "I... uh... enjoy your shower."

  I blushed. "Thanks, you too."

  I closed the door behind me and took several slow deep breaths. Alone. Alone and off-camera for the first time in fourteen days. Bliss. The cabin's bed looked so comfortable I wanted to curl up and sleep for days, but the lure of a shower drew me onward.

  The bathroom was small but elegant. I hardly noticed its decor, though, because I saw myself in the mirror and knew what Kent had wanted to say instead of 'enjoy your shower'.

  Why had they told me my face was okay?

  The bruising, purple with greenish-yellow at the edges, reached a good inch below my cheekbone and spilled into my eye socket, and the scrape's dry scabs stood out sharply against my discolored skin. No wonder the visitors had been so shocked at my appearance.

  I eventually tore my eyes from my poor face, stripped off my filthy clothes, and gave the rest of me a quick look. I'd definitely lost weight, weight I hadn't needed to lose. I bore a billion bug bites and minor cuts and scratches, and the dirt! My attempts at hygiene had been futile. Even the knees I'd been faithfully disinfecting didn't exactly look clean.

  A note on the counter next to a tray of assorted beauty products advised me to put my dirty clothes outside the bathroom door, so I did and then climbed into the shower. When the water hit me, I couldn't hold back a gasp. So long without hot water!

  Once I'd watched the dirt run down the drain for a bit, I washed my hair three times and drenched it with conditioner. When I put shower gel to work on my skin, it loosed even more dirt and showed me how desperately I needed to shave my legs.

  I found razors on the tray and set about making myself less of a wild creature, carefully avoiding my knees. With any luck, the newly forming scabs would hide the hair. Finished, I rinsed my hair, washed my face, and stood under the spray unable to bring myself to get out. Even if they took me right back to camp, this had already been amazing.

  And it got better.

  When the water cooled, I reluctantly left the shower. I spent a good five minutes getting my hair detangled and smooth down my back, applied enough lotion to moisturize a dehydrated crocodile, and went in search of clothes.

  The stuff I'd left outside the door was gone, and my suitcase lay on the bed, looking even dirtier than I remembered, with a black garbage bag peeking out of it. Puzzled, I looked into the bag, to find my clothes neatly folded.

  Washed and neatly folded.

  The clothes I'd washed in the ocean hadn't been anywhere close to clean. They'd only been cleaner. Now, everything smelled of fabric softener. The scent actually choked me up for a second before I pulled myself together.

  They must have washed everything while we were at the contest and then cruising around on the houseboat. The thought of people handling my things still bothered me, but nowhere near as much, and having clean clothes made it seem worth it.

  What to wear? I didn't like fabric touching my shredded knees, so a long skirt was out. Maybe something I wouldn't wear for contests, maybe even something pretty? After much effort, I picked a white skirt and a hot pink t-shirt, then touched my lips with a pink gloss from the bathroom tray and brushed out my hair. There, ready to go.

  Taking a seat on the bed, I began re-packing my suitcase, taking my time. When it was zipped shut, I actually considered cleaning the shower stall before leaving.

  What was I doing? Was I afraid to see Kent? Of course not. He'd been nothing but nice to me. Not possible. Time to leave.

  Two feet from the door, my outfit seemed like the worst idea I'd ever had, so I opened the suitcase again and dug through, making a surprising mess pulling out everything. After a flurry of attempted pairings, I decided the white skirt and pink top were fine after all.

  I made sure every piece of clothing was properly arranged in the suitcase again. Then, out of excuses, I took a deep breath and left the room.

  *****

  We'd been given a private island for the night, and a hilltop camp site with stunning surroundings: wide-open ocean past a cliff in front and lush tropical trees and flowers all around. Our space was probably twice the size of my camp, and dominated by a four-poster bed with duvet, linens, and elaborate canopy in pristine white.

  And Kent and I were there alone.

  No camera crew.

  I'd asked Peter about it before he left, and he said, "We do have hidden cameras and microphones, but we thought it might be nicer if you were here by yourselves." Then he smiled and walked away.

  Nicer? Try terrifying. I hadn't been alone with Kent since the day we broke up, and the silence of our little world was so pervasive I couldn't think of anything to say.

  Kent cleared his throat. He wore a dark green polo shirt and tan shorts, he was clean-shaven, and he looked good enough to eat. "How was your shower?"

  "Best of my life, I think. You?"

  "Amazing. And then after--"

  "The clean clothes!"

  We laughed, and he said, "Hungry?"

  "Starving."

  He opened the picnic basket and I helped him lay out the food on the white wrought iron table. Roast chicken and potato salad and rolls and green salad... and ice cream sandwiches.

  Kent laughed when he found them. "You shouldn't get one, you guys lost that contest."

  "Oh, yeah, we lost fair and square," I said, rolling my eyes.

  "What, you don't think so?" He blinked in apparent surprise, and laughed again at my mock-indignant expression.

  We didn't speak for a while, working our way through the food, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. More of a peaceful one. Eventually, he said, "More chicken?"

  "I can't. I'd explode."

  "All over my nice clean clothes? You'd better not," he said, and we smiled at each other then put away the little food we had left.

  At his suggestion, we staggered over to the two lounge chairs set up near the cliff overlooking the ocean. I stared out at the water, beautiful and serene, and gave a deep sigh.

  "I couldn't agree more," he said, a smile in his voice. "It's gorgeous. Did you hear Peter say they picked this spot because it was voted the world's most beautiful view on some travel web site?"

  I nodded, said, "And I believe it," and leaned my head against the chair's cushioned back. The fullness of my stomach and the warmth of the breeze lulled me, and I closed my eyes.

  When I awoke, Kent was clearly asleep, and I sat studying him. He'd been good for me: I'd had a much more interesting life when we'd been together. Maybe this show was a chance to shake things up. When I won the money, I'd be able to do so many things.

  He shifted and I looked away, afraid he'd wake up and catch me staring. When he'd settled again, I slipped out of my chair and went to the picnic basket for another glass of lemonade. I wandered around, looking at the view from all possible angles and feeling myself relaxing in the silence and solitude, until I heard him say, "Sorry, I think I fell asleep."

  I turned back to see him peering around the side
of his chair. "Yeah, me too. Hard not to." I returned to my chair, then said, "Oh, sorry, do you want a drink?"

  He shook his head. "I'm good."

  We smiled, then both spoke at once.

  "Go ahead."

  "No, you first."

  "I insist."

  "Kent!"

  He laughed. "Okay. You probably saw Lily whisper something to me before we left?"

  I had; he'd grinned and said, "I'll try," and I'd wondered what she'd asked but hadn't expected to find out. I nodded, and he said, "What's the deal with Greg? Lily thought he was really interested in her at that etiquette lunch, but then she found out he'd been the same with Summer at the private lunch thing. Is he like that with every woman?"

  "Yeah, pretty much. He really wants to be married, and I'm not sure he cares who he marries. He does like Lily, though. Can't stop talking about her."

  Kent raised his eyebrows. "She thinks he's a good catch. Teacher's hours, nice regular schedule... they ended up on the same team for tonight, right?"

  I thought back then nodded. "They're probably engaged by now."

  We laughed, and he said, "He's that anxious to get married, huh?"

  I nodded.

  "Are you?"

  The bluntness of the question startled me. "I... I want to, yes, but not to the first halfway eligible man to come along. Greg didn't think getting to know each other first mattered."

  "Yeah, you definitely need to know each other," he said. "Can't work otherwise."

  Was that why he and Summer had split? I wanted to know so badly, but I couldn't ask. There was no reason I could give for my curiosity.

  "What were you going to say before?"

  I blinked. "I have no idea."

  He smiled. "Liar. What was it?"

  "I'm not a liar," I said, laughing but rattled by the affection in his tone. "I'm forgetful."

  He started to respond, but I cut him off with, "I remember now."

  "Okay, go for it. I guess you're not a liar after all."

  "Told you I wasn't." I felt myself blushing but tried to ignore it. How was I going to word this? "I wanted to thank you again for letting us see our visitors."