Day 9
Still in shockover how last night went down, I stare at this week’s schedule and try to figure out my next move without cringing. I’m not the most athletic person on the planet, but I’m not weak. I enjoy running, so I have stamina. I’m coordinated as long as I’m not in heels. In high school, I played a variety of sports, or at least I tried.
Cut from the basketball team because I missed more shots than I made.
Cut from volleyball because I couldn’t seem to direct the ball anywhere close to where I needed to.
I played two years of soccer but never on the varsity team. I wasn’t good enough.
Softball was my favorite. As long as I wasn’t up to bat, I was having a good time. When it came to the hand-eye coordination you need for the bat to hit the ball... well, I didn’t exactly possess that skill.
So, with the mock Olympics this week, I’m going to have to figure out a strategy of how I plan to win so I’m not eliminated.
Today’s event: the three-legged race.
My partner: Milo.
We’re given two hours before the “games begin” to strategize with our team member. It’s a date, of sorts. At least that’s how they make it sound.
Spend two hours together, practice for the event, and get to know each other. I get it. The more I know about him, his strengths and weaknesses, the better our chances of working well together.
Which means he’s going to have to get to know me as well. So I’m pulling out all the stops. Nothing is off the table. I’m about to make reality TV even more interesting.
By the end of the week, I’m going to have every single one of those guys eating out of the palm of my hand, right along with viewers. No one’s going to want to vote me off.
Glancing at the time on my phone, I smile to myself. It’s time to put my plan in motion.
Milo’s waiting for me in the garden when I step through the gates. He’s pacing back and forth, shifting his weight, staring at the ground. He looks ridiculous, but I get what he’s trying to do. He’s focusing on weight distribution for the race.
“Practicing without me I see,” I holler as I approach.
“Something like that,” he says without looking up. “When I was in middle school, we went to my dad’s company picnic, and I remember there being a three-legged race. Half the people fell down within ten feet of the starting line. I’m trying to decide if we can lean into each other to help keep our balance.”
Without asking permission, I slip my arm around his waist, pressing our thighs together, and lean into him. I steal a glance at Milo. His smirk slowly grows as he wraps his arm around me and tugs me closer.
“I think I’m going to like this race.”
“Oh yeah?” I tease. “Why’s that?”
“If you keep rubbing your body against mine, I’ll show you.”
Playfully slapping him on his firm chest, Milo lets out a low growl. With my hand still over his heart, Milo dips me in his arms and hovers his lips close to mine.
“Do that again and I’m going to attack you the same way Gage did, only you’ll enjoy it,” he threatens with a glimmer in his eyes before righting me.
We spent an hour practicing walking around the garden, our legs tied together. Counting each step. Our arms wrapped around each other. We fell, a lot. A few of those times, I made sure to roll on top of him. Others, it happened naturally. The last time we fell, I called time out.
“What’s wrong?” Milo asks as he attempts to catch his breath.
We had decided to run the last lap in case we needed to catch up to anyone. We were doing well until we tried to turn too sharply.
“Nothing, I just need a break. Plus, I think we’re ready. We’ve got this. Unless someone tries to cheat and carry their partner, there’s no way anyone is going to beat us.”
“I swear if I see anyone lifted off the ground, I’m calling them out. That’s bullshit. I read the rules.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you could read,” I joke as I untie our legs.
Leaning back on my elbows, I enjoy the feel of the grass against my bare legs. It’s cool to the touch even though it’s close to ninety degrees outside today.