Page 14 of The Rival in South Africa
* * *
Fifteen minutes later,we emerged from the tent after having gulped our hot teas down and polished off the morning biscuits even faster. Alex wore a pair of my leggings under his shorts, and, well…he looked ridiculous.
Who knew his thighs were so muscular?
A guide with a lamp was on the path and guided us in the dark to the Jeep.
“Right, climb on in. There’s blankets and hot water bottles in the seats ready for you.”
We launched ourselves in and piled the blankets over us, tucking in corners and wedging the hot water bottles in places where I never would have thought I would desire a water bottle.
Alex fidgeted next to me. “I think I should have taken off my boxers.”
“You are NOT going commando in my leggings.”
The drive was glorious. Rex had a big torch up front with him and swept patterns out ahead of us. We spotted all kinds of nocturnal wildlife before the sky started to brighten. Our truck lumbered up to a dry creek bed just as the sun peeked over the horizon, and, in the blissfully warmer air, we unloaded from the Jeep for a short walk.
Colorful birds flitted about in the morning, feasting on bugs. Rex pointed them out and gave us their names: bee-eaters, rollers, sunbirds.
Alex asked thoughtful questions about migration patterns and mating habits and conservation efforts while I clicked away with my camera. He was so engrossed in learning. I wondered if there would be a pop quiz later.
When we returned to the Jeep, Thomas had laid out a light breakfast of pastries and fruit. The four of us made plates and took our seats.
“How did you get into photography, Nikki?” Olivia asked.
“Yes,” Alex swallowed his bite, “howdidyou get the photography bug?” His tone had a hint of humor in it like he knew I didn’t want to answer.
Olivia looked at me expectantly, ready for some amusing anecdote.
I wilted. “I don’t have a photography bug. I’m not very good at it.”
“Oh, nonsense,” Olivia waved a hand at me. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t good at it.”
I cast about for something to say, anything other than talking about my camera. The last thing I wanted was to get Alex too interested in it.
“Did you know the African wild dogs regurgitate their food to feed their young like birds do?”
Olivia froze, the mini quiche halfway to her mouth.
“How fascinating,” she said dryly.
Alex snorted.
* * *
I steppedthrough the entrance of our tent after returning from the drive and immediately froze.
Uh-oh.
Alex bumped into me from behind and put his hands on my shoulders to keep us from tumbling over. “What’s wrong…oh.”
Even standing behind me, Alex was tall enough to see the mess of our tent. Various items were scattered about: a tube of toothpaste here, a small glass bottle there, a smear of something creamy and beige over by the desk—on the concrete, thankfully.
“Did you put your toiletries in the trunk this morning?”
“Clearly not.” When we’d been given the tour of our tent, our guide had told us to put things away in a locked trunk during the day to prevent curious monkeys from wrecking things. A reminder I clearly hadn’t heeded well enough. “Fuck.”
Alex squeezed around me into the tent, and I set myself in motion too. I grabbed a flannel from the washroom and wet it, wrung it out, and applied it to the big splotch of what was clearly my tinted moisturizer. Alex picked up items off the floor and tossed them on the bed.
