The first time his father hit him was the last time Alec believed that love didn’t come with consequences. That being hurt was the rule, not the exception.
“Alec,” Valerie demanded, pulling at his ankle with her own, “wake up.”
“It’s just a dumb ribbon. I can buy you one.”
“For what?”
He had some ideas. Maybe Best Woman I Ever Tasted . “Whatever, whatever you want to win for. I’ll buy you a room of them if we can run a little slower.”
“Awww,” she played, not letting up on her pace, “is Al out of shape, too many late nights partying?”
“I’m not out of shape,” he said, moving faster, “this is just stupid.” He’d show her how fucking in shape he was when he finally made her come around his cock.
“Then why did you ask to be my partner?”
He didn’t answer, even though it was completely clear to him. He might have been avoiding going back to the room, but he also knew to keep his sanity he had to prove he could be near her without losing his fucking mind. He was trying to get himself to remember this was them. Not what had happened in the room, even though he couldn’t stop thinking about going back there.
They finally reached the next cone, removed the rope, and moved on to the next obstacle—crawling through a set of tubes made out of tent material.
He glanced down at his pants. “I am not dressed for this.” Like everything he owned, his outfit was tight, black, and studded. Clothes made for playing guitar, not playing catch.
“Who packed for you, Marilyn Manson?”
“My stylist,” he admitted. He let him do everything when it came to clothes. Alec was too lazy, too busy to care what he wore.
She rolled her eyes. “Even worse.”
He pulled on the legs of his jeans. “I really can’t bend down in these.”
She shrugged dismissively. “Then take them off.” It was a joke Val would have made hundreds of times before this weekend, but now it froze them. Her cheeks bloomed, her lips pressed together.
He moved closer to her, unable to fight it anymore. “I only do that for dirty girls,” he whispered. “You know any?”
“We have four more obstacles left,” she breathed. Her eyes became all pupils, and he knew he had her.
“You must want that ribbon real bad.” He slid his finger along her bra strap. Her skin was damp with sweat, her heavy breaths going uneven as he continued to play with the satiny fabric. “More than you want anything.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
They were locked in place, the world still moving around them.
“What trumps the ribbon?” He forced himself to let go of her bra strap so he didn’t rip it off of her.
“I think you saw that this morning.”
His abdomen gnashed and roared. Oh, fuck had he ever.
“Besides,” she continued, “if we’re only going to be together once, I figure we shouldn’t rush that.”
“Definitely not.” It was the same thought he’d had, but that thought was falling fast.
A line was forming behind them. People were waiting to get into the next obstacle instead of cutting in front of them. They were watching. He was famous now, and even though they couldn’t hear their conversation, they wanted to see what was going to happen.
He did, too.
“But,” she finally said, “it’s not like we have to wait or anything. That’s not a rule.”
He waved his arm at the gathering crowd. “Go around,” he said, grabbing Val at the waist and guiding her out of the way. “We both have cramps,” he declared, thinking fast.
“I always knew you two were on the same cycle,” Brandon White, ex–high school quarterback, current NFL one, panted, pushing past them. His partner was another ex–football player who didn’t play for an NFL team, and his flabby body showed it.
You’d think the astronomical probability that two famous people had come from the same graduating class would link them somehow, but clearly Brandon wasn’t into