Partner Games
Page 45

I jumped to my feet, too, leaving the covered awning to venture back into the heat. “Is someone coming?”
“All three teams are on their way,” someone called into a walkie-talkie. “Prep the cameras, we’re gonna have a race to the finish.”
People scrambled. Chip resumed his place on the mat and a make-up person arrived to powder his nose. Georgie came to my side and I clutched her arm. “It’s gonna be a race,” I told her. “The guys can beat the others in a footrace, right?”
“Dr. Moms? Absolutely. Team Houston? I don’t know.” She squinted and shielded her eyes against the late afternoon sun, trying to see into the distance. “Do they strike you as runners?” She shrugged. “Does it even matter? They have to camel up to get here, and then race into the courtyard. If they have crappy camels, they’re doomed.”
I clapped a hand over Georgie’s mouth. “Don’t say that! Put positive thoughts out there.”
“I’m positive your hand still smells like camel,” she mumbled behind my fingers. Then she smacked my hand and pointed. “Look! Camels!”
I peered off into the sandy dunes, past the palm trees of the oasis and the buildings surrounding us. Past the golf course. Sure enough, there was a string of camels heading in this direction, and three seemed to be clustered together at the front, three in the back. Ahead, the camel handlers waited to take the reins, and from there, it’d be a race to the finish.
And they were too far away to tell who was in the lead.
I turned my back, biting my knuckle.
“You’re not going to look?” Georgie asked.
“I can’t. What if they’re in the back?”
“Then they’re out and we’re on our own.”
And Swift and Plate would be gone. No running into each other at challenges, no laughing competitions, no cuddling at pit stops, no furtive hand-holding at airports.
No more kissing or exploring what came next. He’d get sent home and I’d go back to waiting to be hired by a university. We’d go our separate ways.
I’d never get to have sex with a hot biker guy who might or might not be in an outlaw gang.
I rubbed my face with my hand. It was my mehndi one; we’d managed to smear our ‘art’ despite the protective baggy we’d worn and both Georgie and I looked like we had a muddy rash instead of a pretty design. I’d wanted to show Swift and have a good laugh about it.
Now there wasn’t much to laugh about.
“Someone’s coming in,” Georgie said. “I think it’s…oh my God.”
 
 
Chapter Twenty-Nine
 

“I never want to see a camel ever, ever again. Ever. Ever.” – Swift, Team One Percent, The World Races  
 
At Georgie’s uttered ‘Oh my God’ I couldn’t stand it any longer. I turned around, thinking to see the worst.
There were six dark blobs in the distance. I squinted and then pulled out my janky monocle and held it to my eye. Six camels came into view, snaking across the dunes. My heart sank when I saw the bright teal t-shirt of Team Houston out in front.
Next, though, there were two reddish-brown shirts. Far, far behind were the two yellow Dr Moms, and even further behind was the last teal shirt, the camel dancing and wandering all over the place.
Where were Plate and Swift?
“Look at them,” Georgie gasped, her hand going to her mouth. “What happened?”
I peered harder through my broken glasses and then gasped. The reddish-brown shirts were them after all. Plate was in front, and his arm was hanging against his chest in a makeshift sling. He had a fierce frown on his big, broad face. Behind him was Swift, with what looked like a major bruise on one side of his face. Both were covered head to toe in the reddish sand.
They looked pissed, too. “They look like they fought the camels and the camels won,” I told her.
“And they’re in second. What happens if half of Team Houston hits the mat first?” Georgie looked over at me, concerned.
“I don’t know.”
The cameramen swarmed, moving closer to the finish line as Tony from Team Houston led his galloping camel into the courtyard. He quickly dismounted and then sprinted for the finish line.
Georgie clutched at my hand.
Tony stomped on the mat and then looked expectantly at Chip Brubaker, who was regarding him with a cool stare, his makeup perfect despite the heat of the day.
“Tony,” Chip said in a grave voice. “You are the fifth team to arrive.”
Tony’s grin split his face as he realized he was still in the game. Georgie’s fingers gripped mine in a stranglehold.
“However,” Chip continued. “I cannot check you in until your partner can join you on the mat.”
Tony’s expression darkened. Georgie made a muffled squeal and began to jump up and down. She flung her arms around me and bounced, making me drop my crappy monocle. It didn’t matter, though. If I squinted, I could see the far edge of the courtyard, and past where the cameramen hovered, the two men were dismounting from their camels and jogging forward. Even without my glasses, I knew it was Swift and Plate.
They were still in this.
Georgie and I clung to each other as the men sprinted up to the mat. I released my twin and bent down to grab my monocle again so I could see their expressions. Raising it to my eye, I noticed that neither guy seemed happy. In fact, both seemed pretty darn angry.
“Please step aside, Tony,” Chip said, gesturing that Swift and Plate should move forward.
Tony swore and stormed away a couple of feet, his hands on his hips. “Helen!” he shouted at the far-away camels. “Fucking hurry up! HELEN!”
“I feel sorry for Helen,” murmured Georgie. “Someone’s about to get a tongue-lashing.”
“Shhh,” I said as the guys stepped onto the mat. My heart hammered.
“Swift and Plate,” Chip said in a grave voice. “You are the sixth team to arrive on the mat.”
The two men exchanged a look.
“However,” Chip continued.
“HELEN!” Tony bellowed. “DAMN IT! COME ON! WHIP THE CAMEL!”
“They really, really don’t like being whipped,” Plate said, touching his arm. “Just a heads up.”
“However,” Chip said in a louder voice, glaring at everyone for interrupting him. “Because Team Houston cannot be checked in until both are on the mat, you are officially team number five. Congratulations, men, you are still in the game.”
Georgie gave a whoop and I clapped from the sidelines, but there was no response from Swift and Plate. Instead, they just looked at each other and nodded.
“We’re now down to five teams,” Chip said. “Good luck on the next leg.”
Together, the black team stepped off the mat and looked over at us, where we were waiting by the cluster of tents near the golf course. I shoved my monocle in my pocket and stepped forward at the same time Georgie did.
A moment later, a very dirty, camel-y smelling Swift threw his arms around me and hugged me close. “Swift? You okay?”
“I just need to hold you for a moment,” he said, breath fanning against my neck. He buried his face against me and I awkwardly held him as the yellow team – the Doctor Moms – limped to the finish line.