Partner Games, Page 2

  It was a guy, dressed totally in black. No biker beard. Instead, he was incredibly fit and rather gorgeous. His chest said Swift. Oh damn. That was one of the bikers?

  His mouth curled up in a smile and he gave an imperceptible nod in my direction.

  Chapter Two

  “What can I say? I’ve got a thing for girls that rock the nerd look. She’s fucking cute. What? No cussing? Shit. Sorry.” — Swift, The One Percenters Team, Pre-Game Interview, The World Races

  Holy crap, the hot biker guy was staring at me.

  I didn’t know how to handle that. All my life, Georgie’s been the one that everyone looks at. She’s the pretty one, where I’m the almost-but-not-quite-there one. I’ve got big nerd glasses and I’m not as svelte – or famous – as my twin. Shouldn’t he be looking at her?

  I tried to act all casual. Fixed my hair. Looked around. Then I sneaked another peek at the biker guy. His dark hair was a little shaggy, brushing against his neck as he turned to watch the next team come in. I saw a flash of orange move past, and then the cute biker guy looked my way again.

  He winked at me, clearly thinking I was checking him out.

  I blushed and looked away, focusing on the team that had just arrived. Orange. Their shirts read Jendan and Annabelle and they were holding hands and cheering.

  They were the last team. Everyone was here.

  We’d been lined up inside the center ring of the big top. In the distance, I saw a long area that had been cordoned off with more of the striped tent material. My guess was that it was some sort of challenge that we weren’t supposed to see yet.

  “Is everyone in their places?” someone in production yelled out, and another person rushed down the line, counting heads.

  After a moment, he looked over at one of the headset-wearing people and gave a thumbs up. “We’re good!”

  “Let’s bring in the host.”

  My stomach fluttered nervously. At my side, Georgie grabbed my hand and squeezed it.

  The lights went down and two spotlights began to whizz back and forth through the big top. Circus music began to play, and then the two spotlights both narrowed in on a door at the back. My gaze went there, and I’m pretty sure everyone else’s did, too.

  With a loud blare of music, the curtains went up, and Chip Brubaker, the host of Endurance Island, The World Races, and a bevy of other reality TV shows appeared, his arms thrust into the air. He was dressed as the Ringmaster of the circus, a big top hat on his head and wearing a tailed tuxedo.

  “Welcome to this season’s round of The World Races! I’ll be your host, Chip Brubaker. This year, you’re going to journey thousands of miles, by plane, by train, by automobile, and go to countries all over the world. One by one, each team will be picked off until only one remains. That team will win The World Races and the grand prize of a million dollars. Are you ready to play?”

  Everyone whooped and cheered, clapping their hands. Even I managed a timid sort of applause.

  Chip turned, scanning each team as if sizing us up. Then, he continued. “This year, we’ll be bringing back the Game Ace, which you can use to save an ally team…if you so choose. But be warned that if you choose to use the ace, there could be unforeseen consequences. Now, are you guys ready to play?”

  More cheering. Of course we were ready. At my side, Georgie twitched with nervous energy.

  Chip gestured to the far side of the arena. With perfect timing, the striped curtain fell away, revealing dozens of neatly lined up tables. Each one was covered with dozens of fluffy white whip cream pies.

  I could guess how this was going to go.

  “Here’s how this first challenge is going to work,” Chip said, an evil grin on his face. “Your first clue is hidden somewhere on the bottom of one of those pie pans. When I say go, you’ll grab a pie. The only thing you can do with that pie is throw it in your partner’s face.”

  Georgie and I exchanged looks. I rubbed my hands together gleefully at the thought of throwing a pie in my twin’s face.

  Chip continued. “When the pie is out of the tin, check the bottom. Some pies will have a clue at the bottom, and some will have nothing. You must keep pie-ing your partner in the face until you find a clue. Once you have your clue, you can proceed to the first location. Does everyone understand? Good!”

  We readied, tension vibrating through our bodies. I wasn’t the most competitive person and even I was feeling pumped about this. Throw a pie in Georgie’s face? I was so ready to do that.

  “And…go!”

  Everyone rushed forward, including Georgie. I grabbed her arm, holding her back as she tried to surge ahead with the group. “Wait,” I told her. “Give me your bag. Let’s make sure they don’t get wrecked.”

  Her eyes widened and she nodded at me, waiting.

  I unzipped one of the bags and pulled out a towel, then tossed her backpack on top of mine. They were both super heavy together, but I could handle it. I gave Georgie the towel. “Tuck this over them. We’re going to be grateful later when we’re not pulling out whip creamed passports.”

  She nodded and shoved it over the bags, and then we rushed into the pie fest (okay, I more ‘waddled forward’ than rushed, considering I was carrying both bags). The challenge area was pure chaos. Backpack-laden players rushed back and forth, scrambling for pies. Ahead, Jen pegged Alicia in the face, and both of them hooted with laughter. I received side-splatter from another team and cringed, pulling off my glasses and tucking them into my bra so they wouldn’t get wrecked.

  “Just grab a pie, Clemmy,” Georgia called at me. “I don’t know that it matters what kind.”

  I headed to the nearest table, spotting a promising looking pie. As soon as I headed for it, though, someone swiped it off of the table ahead of me. I rushed further down, watching pies disappear as quick as teams could grab them. Jesus, this challenge was a mess. My sneakers slipped and skidded on whip cream covering the floor.

  Finally, I ran to a table a few paces down from the main crowd, grabbed two pies, and rushed back to my partner –

  Only to be splatted in the face.

  “That one’s chocolate cream,” Georgie squealed. “Gross!”

  I awkwardly wiped at my eyes with my arm (since my hands were full) and when I could see, I tossed my pie in Georgie’s perfectly made-up face. Lemon. She squealed again and danced in place, clearly grossed out as she mopped her face clean with her fingers. As she did, I smacked another pie in her face, eliciting another bellow.

  Okay, this was fun.

  I checked the tins, my eyes stinging. Both of mine said ‘Try again’ at the bottom. So did Georgie’s.

  “Got one,” someone cried out, and all heads turned to them. One of the married teams – teal – was splattered heavily but waving a pie tin in the air. They raced out of the tent, away from the others, and I watched as another team – the green hot guys – cut out quietly behind them and followed, a pie tin in hand.

  “We need to work faster, Georgie,” I told my twin, racing back to another table. “Let’s do this. Get two pies. We’ll double up.”

  We both grabbed more pies, and as quickly as I turned around, Georgie was shoving another in my face. I had lemon meringue in my nostrils. Georgie got another pie in the face for that.

  “Gross! Coconut!”

  On the fourth pie, Georgie grabbed her tin and swept aside the chocolate pudding and crust. “I think this says something!”

  I hushed her and pulled her aside, and both of us used our fingers to clean the bottom of the tin. Instead of the big ‘Try Again’ that was normally written at the bottom, this one had a lot of tiny type and the World Races logo. I squinted at it, and realized my glasses were still in my shirt, so I handed it to Georgie. “You read, but whisper.”

  She leaned in and began to read in a low voice. “You and your partner are going to Cusco, Peru. Take a taxi to LAX and get on one of the designated flights to Lima, Peru. From there, you will take one of two charter flights to the city
of Cusco. Look for Pa-Pa-,” she frowned and struggled over the word. “—Pachacutec. There you will receive your next clue.” She looked over at me, glee written on her whip-cream smeared face. “I’ve been there,” she said. “They’re sending us to Machu Picchu. I had a shoot there two years ago.”

  “Let’s go to the airport, then,” I said, clawing at my back to reach the towel. I grabbed it, shook it free of the worst splatters, and then flipped it over to the clean side and wiped my face, then handed it to Georgie. “Come on, let’s go get a taxi.”

  She nodded, wiping her face, and I dragged my glasses out of my shirt and put them back on, peering at the big top as we ran toward the exit. There were still five teams there, and I noticed the bikers, the pink team, and the two girl BFFs still smacking each other in the face with pies and guffawing loudly.

  We weren’t last. Things were off to a good start.

  ~~ * * * ~~

  We made it to the airport and got in line behind the green team, the two guys. I read their names on the backs of their shirts — Drew and Foster.

  Foster turned around and smiled at us. “Hey, ladies. Nice to meet you.” He gave us a winning smile but I noticed his gaze centered firmly on my twin, who was wiping at her face with a wet-knap and still managed to look beautiful despite the sticky mess. I was pretty sure I looked like hell.

  “Hi,” Georgie said cheerfully. “What do you guys do? You bodybuilders?”

  I held back my snort. Already, Georgie was working the men. I could practically see them preen under her compliment. “We’re cops.”

  “Oh wow,” Georgie said, her eyes going wide with pleased (fake) surprise. “That’s awesome. This is my sister Clementine.” She put an arm around my shoulders before I could shrink away. “She’s running this race with me.”

  I gave them an awkward smile as the second cop turned to look over at me. “Hi.”

  “You guys find a good flight?” Georgie asked. “We haven’t researched yet, just ran straight to the airport.” And I was pretty sure she batted her lashes at them.

  I wanted to glare at Georgie. Why would you tell another team we didn’t know what we were looking for? But the bigger cop, Foster, puffed up even bigger. He leaned towards Georgie. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” he said. “We found a flight that gets to Cusco at 5 pm. That’s the earliest.”

  “Oooh, what airline?”

  Clever Georgie.

  We got the airline information from the cops, and I wrote everything down at the bottom of our clue. Georgie continued to laugh and flirt while I waited silently, watching the airport for other arriving teams. Sure enough, the black team came in through the airport gates as I gazed in that direction. One of them pointed at me and they both trotted in this direction.

  “Here comes another team,” I murmured to Georgie as we stepped up to the ticket counter.”

  “Keep it secret,” Foster warned us. “We don’t want more teams on the flight.”

  “We promise,” I said, and Georgie pretended to zip her lips and throw away the key.

  “How exactly are we going to keep that promise when they can just overhear us?” I asked my twin as we stepped forward.

  She shrugged. “We’ll figure something out.” She beamed at the counter attendant. “We need two more on the flight they just got, please?”

  The attendant typed away, and then said, “There are only two seats left on this flight, and they’re not together.”

  Georgie looked over at me, uncertain. She knew I wasn’t a big traveler.

  “That’s fine, we’ll take them,” I told her even as the black team stepped in line behind us.

  “Hi, ladies,” one of them said. Georgie was talking to the ticket lady so I figured I should reply.

  I turned around and it was the pretty biker guy. Oh lordy. I stared at his pie-spattered shirt to get his name. Swift. Right. “The flight’s full,” I blurted. “You can’t get on.”

  He looked at me in surprise.

  Ugh. Why did I say that? Why couldn’t I keep my big stupid mouth shut? I wished the ground would swallow me whole. A hot guy showed up to talk to me and I shut him down before he could say a word.

  Clearly, I was an idiot.

  Chapter Three

  “It is clear to me that Tiny doesn’t like me one little bit. Doesn’t bother me. I’m not here to hold hands and sing songs. I need a million bucks.” — Swift, Team One Percent, The World Races

  Swift seemed to take my bitchy shut-down well.

  “Thanks,” he said dryly. He turned to his partner and I saw that there was a small tattoo at the base of his throat, just where his shirt opened. His buddy shrugged, and Swift looked back at me. “I guess we arrived too late.”

  “I guess,” I said blankly. I was so freaking uncomfortable. Where was my twin? Why was Georgie still talking to the other team, darn it? Why wasn’t she handling these men? I looked up at Swift’s partner. He was a huge lummox of a guy, bigger than Swift and a lot wider, with a broad face. He was also staring at Georgie openly.

  “Goddamn, is that Georgie Price?” he murmured in an awed voice. “She’s been my spank material of choice for years.”

  I gasped. “That’s my sister,” I snapped back. “And I’d prefer not to hear that.”

  “I’m Swift,” said the hot one. He gestured with his chin at his partner. “This here’s Plate.”

  “I can read your shirts.” Inwardly, I winced at the bitchiness of my tone, but I couldn’t take it back, could I? And I didn’t particularly want to, not with the big lunk talking about beating off to my sister. I was really hoping they’d go away, because if the cop team saw us talking to the black team, they’d get pissy and think we were sharing secrets.

  But the bikers didn’t seem to get the hint. “Clementine,” drawled Swift, and he was staring at my breasts, right where my name was emblazoned. “Like the little juicy oranges?”

  Ugh, he was smiling as he said that. “Something like that.” I looked back at my twin desperately.

  As if she could hear my pleading, Georgie turned, tickets in hand. “Come on, Clemmy. We’re boarding soon.”

  “Clemmy?” Swift asked, looking me up and down. He was still smiling. “Not Tiny?”

  I resisted the urge to flip him off. I was five foot eleven. I wasn’t tiny. “We have to go,” I said politely.

  “Hi,” Georgie said, waving at them. Her face lit up in a friendly smile. “It’s nice to meet you guys!”

  “No, it’s not,” I told her. I grabbed her arm and dragged her away. “Trust me on that.”

  ~~ * * * ~~

  Georgie and I were the last ones on the flight to Cuzco. The teams on the flight with us were the Green Machine (as we were calling the cops), the Doctor Moms, and married couple Helen and Tony, who were calling themselves the Houston Hustlers. All other teams would be behind us.

  Georgie and I were on opposite ends of the plane – she was in a middle seat toward the front of the plane. She was one row away from the other teams so I noticed her chatting and talking with them. That was fine with me – let Georgie make friends. I flipped through an in-flight magazine and watched bad movies. I was in the very back row, where the plane roared and was so bumpy that I felt like I was riding an endless roller coaster. The plane had three stopovers on the way to Peru, just enough time for us to stretch our legs and get back on.

  It was the longest, most miserable plane ride ever, but it was finally over. When the plane taxied up to the jetway, everyone stood up, and I pushed my way to the aisle so I could grab my carry-on. Georgie was doing the same, and I saw the other teams shoving their way forward. Nearby, a cameraman readied his equipment so he could film us when we got off the plane.

  The captain began to speak, thanking us for the flight, and we shuffled out the door like impatient sardines. I checked my watch as we did – our flight landed ten minutes earlier than anticipated. Score!

  With aching muscles, we surged off of the plane and when I ran down
the ramp to the arrival gate, Georgie was there waiting for me. She extended her hand and I clasped it, and then we were racing again.

  “We need to get to Aguas Calientes,” she told me. “The guy I sat next to on the plane suggested a train, so I think we should head that way.”

  “Lead on,” I told her.

  We ran to the taxi stand and saw the married couple (I was not about to call them Houston Hustlers) get in and quickly drive away.

  “Do you speak English?” Georgie asked the driver in the first cab.

  He rattled off something in Spanish. That was a no.

  My twin shot me a despairing look. She glanced around, but there were no other cabs waiting.

  “Aguas Calientes?” I asked our driver. “Train? Choo choo?” I made a hand gesture, indicating I was pulling on a whistle. I didn’t even know if trains still had whistles, but it seemed like a good idea.

  “Si, si, choo choo,” he said, nodding and gesturing for us to get in.

  “Let’s do it,” I said to Georgie as we piled in. “I see the Green Machine.” Sure enough, the cops were flagging down a taxi that pulled up. They got into a car behind us and as we pulled away, I saw them pointing at our cab. “They’re just going to follow us. Jerks.”

  “Let them,” Georgie said confidently. “We don’t need them.”

  We counted out the envelope of money that the producers had given us for the first leg of the race. We had five hundred and seventy nine Peruvian Nuevo Sol. I had no idea how much that was.

  “It’s almost three to one dollar,” Georgie told me. “I think. Or it was when I visited last year.”

  “Estacion de Poroy,” the cab driver said after about a half hour of driving. “Choo choo.”

  “Si,” Georgie and I said happily. “Gracias.”

  We bailed out of the cab after paying the man and bought tickets at the train station to Aguas Calientes. To my surprise, the trains only left four times a day, and all four were in the morning. Since it was currently afternoon, we’d be stuck at the train station all night.