Page 24 of The Wrong Sister
King stretches his open hand, silently ordering me to hand him my phone. It’s not like I can do anything with it now, so I pass it to him. Maybe he can breathe some magic battery life into it, I don’t know.
He carefully takes it with two fingers from my hand like it’s used underwear and brings it up to eye level.
“What the fuck is that?”
“It’s a phone,” I explain slowly. “People use it to call other people.”
“This is a piece of shit.” He opens it and starts pressing buttons. “Of course,” he groans. “Nothing works on this fucking dinosaur.”
“Hey!” I stand up and pry my phone away from his big,dirty hands. “It’s all I can afford now after you got me fired without the last paycheck. Leave it alone.” I push it into the back pocket of my shorts.
“Igot you fired?” he asks, raisingbothof his brows. I meet him with a death stare, hoping he’ll get a clue to drop this subject.
“What are you going to do with it anyway?” He clearly gets the hint.
“I’ll put it in rice when I’m back to the land where they, well,” I shrug, “have rice.”
He snorts. “Unbelievable. How old are you if you still believe in this crap?”
“None of your business.” I purse my lips and crawl back to the lake to drink. When I make a boat with my hands to get some water, another hand suddenly swats mine, making me drop all the water. “What’s your problem?” I yell into his face.
“We don’t know how clean the water is here,” he replies gruffly.
“We just both drank the same water over there,” I point at the waterfall, “just fine. I didn’t see you slamming your face in the stone.”
“Yes, the running water.” He points at the waterfall and then at the pond at the bottom. “We don’t know how long this has been here. Might have grown bacteria in it, and I don’t fancy dragging your half-conscious ass around.”
I jump to my feet and place my hands on my waist. “I wasn’t asking you to drag my ass anywhere.”
The pose I’m striking would be very intimidating if my face wasn’t staring at his chest. I lift my head up to face him, but the damn sun is behind him like a halo.
I take a step back just so I can see it, and lo and behold, this man is fine. And I meanthisman. The man who appears in front of me is changed. All angular and rough, likeunpolished canvas with raw strokes of masculinity. He was annoyingly pretty back in real life, with his perfectly styled hair and unblemished skin.
Today, he looks different. There’s something wild on his face I haven’t noticed before. Maybe it’s his slightly pink cheeks from the blistering sun. Or his disarrayed hair. Or his rolled to the elbows sleeves. No matter what it is, I can’t stop staring.
Dark, straight brows sit low on his brown eyes, making him look like a hawk on a hunt. Thick lashes leave shadows on his already dark under eyes. Looks like the man hasn’t slept in years. The pink covering his milky cheeks—a clear indication that he’s an office rat and hasn’t seen sun in about the same number of years he hasn’t slept.
He undid two buttons on his shirt, baring his thick, corded neck before me. Free of restraints and free for me to ogle. I’ve never been known to be a neck person, but I’m slowly being converted as we speak.
He places his hands on his hips, mimicking my pose, and somehow, he looks more intimidating than me. Maybe it’s his well over six-foot height talking, or maybe it’s his linebacker shoulders. Might also be his sharp eyes that are currently making me super uncomfortable.
“I dragged your ass from the ocean yesterday,” he reminds me.
“And I thank you for that,” I reply sincerely in a gentle voice, shoving my attitude deep inside for a moment. “Now, I shall set you free. Bye.” With that, I turn away and start walking.
“Where are you going?” he yells to my back.
“To take full advantage of no people around,” I yell in response without turning back.
I’m grateful to him for saving my life, but I’m ready to embrace my Robinson Crusoe life. I’m broke and could use afew extra days before I have to crawl back to my family, kissing their ass and asking for help. As I see the situation now, it’s free land, free food—if I find it—and free swimming sessions whenever I want. It’s not ideal, but it’s much better than what I had in New York for the most part.
First, I need to explore the island to be sure it’s really uninhabited. He might have been lying. He didn’t look too willing to wait for rescue to arrive. My only issue is that I can’t venture too far from the water source since I don’t have a bottle or anything to carry it with.
I glance around and notice tons of coconuts on the trees but no means to open them. When I was a kid and we used to travel to tropical places, I once saw how a local boy was opening a coconut. But I don’t think I can replicate it. He did it with a machete, and all I got are nails and teeth. I guess after a long starvation, I might have to figure out how to use them. But I’m not there yet, so the coconuts move aside for now.
Carefully looking around, I start exploring the island, memorizing the path back to the water. To my horror, it doesn’t take long to make a full walk around—the island is truly small and not inhabited. All I saw were chickens and a bunch of other small animals, too fast for me to even recognize them.
As I’m nearing the waterfall, a loud cracking sound makes me pause. I tilt my head, trying to find the source of it, and follow it. On the beach, King is snapping thin palm trees and putting logs together, creating a shelter. With his bare hands. And I mean bare. He ditched his shirt, and now he’s wearing his white undershirt that clings to his body more than a white T-shirt in a wet T-shirt contest.
