Partner Games

by Jessica Clare

  By the time we made our way to Flores itself, it was near dark the next day. We hadn’t seen a single other team in our three connecting flights, so I could only hope that others had been stuck with the frustratingly long layovers as well. From Georgie’s conversations with the airline flight attendants, it was the norm.

  “It’s going to be fine,” Georgie assured me. “We’ll catch up. Don’t you worry. I bet we’re right on their tails.”

  We caught a taxi out to Tikal, parceling out a few precious dollars for a bite to eat at the airport as we left.

  By the time we got to Tikal, it was dark. We got to the visitor’s center and my heart dropped. “They close at six.” I looked at a nearby clock. “It’s eight. Shit. Georgie, we’re too late!”

  She put an arm around my shoulders. “It’s okay, Clemmy. We’ll stay in a hotel overnight and catch up. It’s no big deal. We’ve got this.”

  ~~ * * * ~~

  Yeah. We didn’t have it, after all. We didn’t catch up.

  The next morning, we were at the gates of Tikal at six a.m. to get our clue. It turned out that the team challenge for this round was to climb the ruins and find the ‘correct’ clue. Fakes were stationed everywhere, but only one would be the legit clue. With a lot of huffing and puffing and stair climbing, we managed to find our clue in about an hour, and raced off to the next destination, Flores.

  There, we split up. Georgie took the food challenge this time, and I took the other. My challenge was to drive a tuktuk on a course and make it under a certain time limit. Georgie’s challenge was to run a street-food vendor cart and make a hundred quetzals before receiving her clue.

  Georgie did utterly spectacularly. She was a people person, and it didn’t matter if she made people the shittiest tacos possible. She smiled and flirted her way to the money in a matter of minutes.

  Me? I had to run the course three times before I could beat the time limit, my tuktuk flying around orange cones and obstacles.

  We had our clues and we’d finished before noon. The final destination for Flores was at Hotel Isla de Flores, near the beach. When we arrived at the mat on the sand, sweaty and exhausted, we had to wait for the production crew to reassemble the other teams, because we were ten hours behind them.

  Ten freaking hours.

  It didn’t matter how fast we’d run through our challenges in Guatemala. We were so far behind that we’d never catch up. I gritted my teeth as the sleepy teams assembled, watching us with sympathy in their eyes. In the lead again were Plate and Swift, and they whispered at each other while Georgie and I stood on the mat, defeated.

  “Is everyone here?” Chip asked, running a comb through his hair. “Yes? Good. Okay, let’s start filming, then.” He assumed a somber expression and turned to me and Georgie. “Red team, you are the last to arrive.”

  “We know,” Georgie said, giving me a squeeze on the shoulders. “It’s okay.”

  Oh sure, Georgie was going to pick now to hold herself together? Meanwhile, I was tearing up. Second to last? Were we really going to go out so early? I sniffed. “It was fun,” I said in a wobbly voice. “We enjoyed meeting everyone.”

  “I’m sorry to say that your race ends here,” Chip said in a saccharine voice. “Unless a team chooses to use their Ace now.” He looked over at the black team. “An Ace can save a team about to be eliminated, but it has unforeseen consequences.”

  I watched Swift and Plate exchange a look. We knew what the ‘consequences’ were. In every other season of The World Races that had an Ace, the teams had been mixed. It would mean Plate and Swift would split up, and so would Georgie and I. But would that be better than leaving? It wasn’t our choice to make, either way.

  I didn’t look at the guys, because I didn’t want to influence them. I wanted them to decide on their own. I knew Swift wanted to win, and I knew that if we were out now, it would sting, but we’d get over it.

  “We’re going to use our Ace to save the girls, Chuck,” Plate said, stepping forward.

  “It’s Chip,” the host snapped, annoyed. He held his hand out for the gigantic playing card-decorated envelope that acted as the Ace. “Give me that.”

  Plate handed it to him and winked at Georgie and me. Swift looked less happy, but when I met his gaze, he gave me a small nod, letting me know he was okay with things.

  I gave him a small smile of gratitude. I wouldn’t forget this. I squeezed Georgie’s hand. It seemed like my twin and I were about to be split up, but we’d still be in the race. We could do this.

  Chip ripped open the top part of the Ace envelope and pulled out the contents. He read the instructions aloud. “Teams playing the Ace will be switched, but not in the way you think. This time, teams will only switch places in the race, not team members.” Chip looked over at the black team. “Boys, you are now last. The ladies are in first place.”

  Georgie and I gasped as one.

  Swift looked as if he’d been kicked in the gut. Plate mouthed oh fuck.

  Chip seemed amused at our reactions. “Let’s get the black team on the mat so we can talk to them.” He gestured for Georgie and I to move aside.

  We did, and Georgie squeezed my hand tightly. “We’ve got to do something. This is so not cool.”

  “I know,” I said. I ached for Swift, because the look on his face was nothing short of devastated. They’d gone from first to ten hours behind the last team. How did one possibly catch up? “We’ve got to think of something.”

  “How are you feeling about your generosity now, boys?” Chip asked.

  “Well, Chuck, it sucks a big donkey dick,” Plate said. Swift was silent. His hands were on his hips and he stared at the mat, clearly furious.

  “It’s Chip,” the host said again.

  “Whatever. We’re in last, so I guess you won’t have to hear from us much more, will you?”

  The host’s mouth thinned. “Sounds like you two are going to have a few more hours to kill.” He looked over at us. “Ladies, you have two hours to rest up, and then your next leg starts.”

  Holy crap, two hours? We wouldn’t have time to do more than catch a bite to eat.

  And I wanted desperately to talk to Swift. To apologize. I knew he wanted so badly to win, and now they were essentially hopeless because they’d tried to do a nice thing and save me and Georgie.

  “All right, everyone can scatter. We’re done filming for now,” the production assistant called. She pointed at us. “You two, be back in an hour forty five to prep for your next round.”

  I looked over at Georgie. “I want to talk to Swift.”

  She nodded. “I’ll go find Plate and see if he’s okay, and if there’s anything we can do. And I might hit up the other teams to get the skinny on how everyone’s doing.”

  “Sounds good. Back here in an hour?”

  She gave me a thumbs up and a wink, and we split.

  I trotted through the hotel, thumbs hooked into the straps of my backpack, looking for a familiar black t-shirt and a lean body. We didn’t have much time, and I felt like I desperately needed to talk to him. What if he went back to his room? What could I do?

  I saw Jendan and Annabelle heading up a flight of stairs and flagged them down. “Hey! Guys! Have you seen Swift or Plate?”

  Annabelle pointed down to the lobby. “I think I saw them at the bar. Or at least one of them.”

  I gave her a breathless thanks and headed toward the hotel bar. Sure enough, there was Swift, nursing a bottle of Corona. I moved to sit next to him and felt suddenly awkward when he didn’t look at me.

  “Drinking?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.

  He gave a halfhearted shrug. “Got a few hours to kill. Twelve of ‘em, actually.”

  That was a punch in the gut. “Can we talk somewhere, please?”

  Swift looked at me, then nodded. He downed his beer in one mighty chug and then set it down on the bar, along with a few dollars. “Sure.”

  I walked out of the bar ahead of him, and headed for
the nearest stairwell. It seemed like a quiet spot to talk, at the very least. Swift followed me, and when he shut the door to the stairwell, I took my backpack off and set it down on the steps, and then sat on the second one.

  He sat next to me, but he stared straight ahead.

  I swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Not your fault,” he said. Still didn’t look at me.

  “Georgie and I really tried hard this leg. She didn’t have any meltdowns at all. And we got through our challenges fast. It was just that…our flights ended up too late. When we got to Tikal we had to wait for them to open again.”

  “Tiny,” he said, finally looking over at me. His eyes were flat. “Seriously. It’s o-kay.” He drawled the word out. “It’s not your fault.”

  “I feel like it is,” I told him. “I know you didn’t want to use the Ace. I can see it on your face. I know that money’s super important to you. Will you tell me why?”

  His jaw worked and then he shrugged, back to staring at the door. “Doesn’t everyone want a million dollars?”

  Somehow I sensed that there was more to the issue, but what could I do? If he wasn’t going to talk, I couldn’t make him. But I wanted to ease his unhappiness – he seemed so utterly miserable. “We’re going to fix this, Swift, I promise.”

  “Look,” he said, glancing over at me. “If we have to switch places with a team, I’m glad it’s you girls. We like you. I like you.” My breath hitched at that admission, but he continued. “And you need a break. So I’m glad for you.”

  “We’re going to fix it,” I said stubbornly. “You wait and see. We’re not racing without you guys.” Maybe it was a reckless promise to make, but I didn’t care. It got his attention. He looked up at me, and gave me a half-smile, the wounded look still in his eyes.

  I wished I could help. I thought about my twin. What would Georgie say or do to take that misery out of his expression? She’d…well, she’d give him something else to think about. So I scooted a little closer to him and pressed my mouth to his.

  Chapter Nine

  “Yo. I did not see that coming. Swift’s gonna kill me. All because I’m walking around with a constant chub for Georgie Price.” — Plate, Team One Percent, The World Races

  Swift’s mouth tasted like Corona and lime. I noticed that before anything else. He stiffened against me, clearly surprised that I’d kissed him. Maybe my big distraction plan wasn’t such a good plan after all. I pulled back—

  Only to have his hand go to the back of my neck and pull me in again.

  Then, Swift kissed me, his mouth devouring mine. I gasped and his tongue slicked into my mouth, brushing against my tongue. Then, I moaned and lost myself in the kiss. I forgot about the taste of beer and the stairwell and the stupid race. There was only Swift’s mouth on mine, his lips caressing my own, and the stubble of his jaw brushing against my skin. His mouth conquered mine and I felt like putty, my lips molded and sculpted against his. His tongue flicked against mine, and then he pulled away, gazing at me with heavy-lidded eyes.

  I licked my lips, because I wanted to keep tasting him.

  “Damn, Tiny. Why’d you do that?”

  My confidence shriveled. Why did I kiss him? “I…I’m sorry.”

  He groaned and put his head in his hands. “Don’t be sorry. I just meant…” He gave me an exasperated look. “If we’re going to stay in this race, I need to have my head in the game and now I’m going to be thinking about your mouth.”

  Nervous, I licked my lips again. “I—“

  “And God, stop that.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Licking your lips. Every time you do that, it makes me hard.”

  And just like that, my self-confidence had a resurgence. “I can’t help it. I like the way you taste.”

  He groaned again, then leaned in and captured my mouth in his. His hands went around my waist and he pulled me against him, and then we were kissing furiously all over again, tongues and lips meshed. He broke away a moment later. “And now I’m really going to need a cold shower,” he murmured against my mouth.

  “Sorry,” I whispered again. But I wasn’t really sorry. I wanted to keep kissing him.

  Swift’s lips brushed against mine again, and then he sighed. “I’m going to miss racing alongside you girls. I hope you guys do well with the lead.”

  His defeated words made my heart clench. I reached out and gripped his hands with mine, noticing for the first time that his knuckles were tattooed with the words LIVE on one side and FREE on the other. “You’re not done. I promise I’m going to fix this. Someone’s going to miss a flight and then you’ll be back in this. You just watch.”

  Swift gave me a crooked grin. “It’s a nice thought but you can’t control anyone else’s race or what planes they catch.”

  “Have a little faith in me.” I tilted my chin up. “I can make things happen with the right motivation.”

  “All right, then,” he said, straightening. His gaze flicked to my mouth again. “You fix it for me and the next time, I’ll do more than just give you a few pecks on the mouth.”

  My face turned bright red. I could feel the heat of it scorching my cheeks. “I—I’m not doing this because I want your dick,” I said primly.

  This time Swift was the one that turned red. “That wasn’t what I meant. I meant like, we could help each other out. Get some relief.” At my shocked look, he shook his head. “Not like that! Not help each other out like, masturbation wise, but like, together. Not together, but like teams—“

  I gestured at the door. “You know what? I’m going to go.”

  “Yeah,” he said, and rubbed a hand on his head. “That’s probably a good idea.”

  I stood and then reached out and impulsively squeezed his shoulder. “See you at the next stop.”

  “Yep.” He didn’t sound convinced, though. “You’re twenty minutes ahead of the others. Use it well.”

  ~~ * * * ~~

  Less than an hour later, the production assistant pointed at us, and a camera hovered inches from my face as Georgie and I read our next clue. “Head to the ‘Premier Fliers Travel Agency’ and book a flight to Oslo, Norway.” In smaller print at the bottom of the clue, I read on. “Inside this envelope, you will have one hundred dollars for travel expenses and food. Please note that this leg of the trip involves several layovers. Once your flight is booked, you cannot change it.”

  “There’s an envelope at the bottom of the disk,” Georgie said, and pulled it open. “Money.”

  “Okay,” I said, handing her the money and tucking the disk under my arm. “We need to get a taxi and head to the travel agency.”

  “Let’s do this,” Georgie said, pumping a fist with determination. “Operation: Save Cute Boys is underway.”

  I looked over at my twin as we ran out toward the road. “Cute…boys?”

  “What, you don’t think Plate’s cute?”

  I thought of the big goliath. He had a wide, plain face but a big, easy grin that made everyone instantly comfortable. He also totally didn’t seem like Georgie’s type, either. She usually dated male models, who looked waifish and gothic, not corn-fed and easygoing. “I guess? Just…hands off Swift.”

  “Oh, I’m not touching him. He’s all yours and you’ve got the beard burns on your cheeks to prove it,” my twin teased.

  My hands flew to my cheeks. “Shut up. I do not!”

  “You don’t,” she admitted as we jogged down the sidewalk. “But the fact that you checked tells me everything.”

  “You suck.”

  My twin just smirked.

  A half hour later, we arrived at the travel agency. It was a small, hole in the wall place. Posters of exotic places covered the walls, along with a rack of brochures for local touristy spots. There were two desks in the place, both occupied by old boxy monitors. A man a few years older than us (and about a foot shorter) sat at a desk and stood when we entered.

  “Georgie Price,” he breathed, eyes wide. “¡
Cielos!” His gaze went to me and got even wider. “And a sister.” He sat down in his chair, weak.

  Georgie giggled, apparently used to this sort of thing. “Hi there.”

  “We’re racing in The World Races,” I said, acutely aware of time slipping away. “And we need to book tickets to Oslo.”

  “Of course, of course.” He gestured at the chairs in front of his desk, and then raced around the side to pull them out for us. “Please, please come sit, ladies! You are very beautiful! Both of you!”

  “You’re sweet,” Georgie said.

  “Please, anything I can do for you,” the man said, a reverent look in his eyes. He reached into his desk and pulled out a rather well-paged copy of Sports Illustrated. My twin, naturally, was on the cover in a bikini smaller than anything I owned. “I am the biggest fan,” he said. “My friends will never believe this.”

  “Do you have a camera?” Georgie offered. “I’d be happy to take a picture with you.”

  A look of joy crossed his face. “My phone!”

  An idea occurred to me and I put a hand on Georgie’s arm. “Sir, what’s your name?”

  “Sergio,” he said, fumbling to pull out his phone with shaking fingers. Behind us, our ever-present cameraman zoomed in.

  “Sergio. That’s an awesome name,” Georgie chirped, and I thought Sergio was going to blow a load in his pants right then and there.

  “Sergio, we need help,” I said, making my voice as sweet and persuasive as my twin’s. “There are nine teams that are going to show up, and one is behind all the others, and we don’t think that’s fair. We need to help them catch up.”

  Georgie clasped her hands under her chin and bounced in her chair. “Please, please Sergio, help us? We’ll take all the pictures you want if you can.”

  “For Georgie Price? I will do anything,” Sergio said reverently. “Anything.”

  We clapped our hands in twin expressions of delight. “You are the best, Sergio,” I said, slathering it on thick.