“Don’t even joke about that.” I shuddered. “I’m going to need therapy.”
“Or just more sex,” she teased and then blushed. “Sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”
“Oh? You don’t?” I pulled the blankets off me.
“Whoa there, careful where you point that thing.” She turned away like she hadn’t just seen me naked a few hours before.
“Not my fault. Lying next to you…affects me. Hey, that’s where men and women aren’t equal!”
“Tread carefully, Mark, very carefully,” she warned as she put on an old Black Tie sweatshirt.
“All I’m saying is that it’s super easy for you to know I’m turned on or that I want you, and all girls have is this impressive way of staring right through you and making you feel the need to guess at their feelings and surprise-surprise, if you’re wrong, castrated!”
“You’re not castrated.”
“I’m never wrong.” I grinned, only to earn a smack in the shoulder from her before she walked by. “Hurry up, Mark, games to win, men to conquer.”
I made a face after her.
“Saw that!”
I begrudgingly grabbed my sweats, pulled them up, and then reached for a vintage shirt and trailed after her as I shrugged into it.
She already had a box on the table and was opening it. “Got any old sports injuries, Mark?”
“Why am I afraid of this question?” I wondered out loud. “And yeah, two knee surgeries after a failed soccer career my first year of college.”
She frowned down at the box then looked up. “I didn’t know you were a collegiate athlete.”
My eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. “You never asked.”
“But you—” I frowned. “Were you good?”
“I was there on a full-ride, so yes?” I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter anymore, though. It may have been one of the many dumb reasons I decided that in order to feel better, I needed to have sex with a lot of girls and party my way through the rest of the year, though it only lasted about two months before my dad threatened to kick my ass.”
“And that was enough for you to stop being dumb?”
“Have you seen my dad?” I laughed. “The guy’s huge.”
“Bigger than you?”
I smirked. “So many ways to answer that question, Olivia, so many interesting ways.”
“Spare me the trauma.” I held up my hands. “All right, so this box has matching Spartan uniforms, both red. I get spandex, so yay me. You, at least, get normal shorts.” She held them up.
“Where the hell does my dick go?” I snatched them out of her hands and looked inside. “Half of me is going to be waving as I run past people!”
“There’s a fun visual, your penis dangling from your legs as parents cover their children’s eyes and scream, ‘it wasn’t supposed to be that sort of show!’”
I glared. “Your sensitivity toward my plight makes me warm inside.”
“Always here for ya, big guy.” I tossed him the full uniform and then grabbed the instructions. “All right, so big shock, today we’re competing in an Emory Games favorite physical challenge called I am Sparta.”
“So we die?” I choked. “Have you seen The Three Hundred?”
Olivia chewed her lower lip. “Look, it’s probably going to be against all these Emory Hotel employees who sit all day and have forgotten the joy of a nice long run!”
“Do you run? Because I find zero joy when I run. I lift. Heavy things. Like…b-boulders.”
“Did you stutter?”
I raked a hand through my thick hair. “I’m just a little worried after yesterday’s games, and it only seems to be getting worse. Might I remind you of the snake meat?”
She scrunched up her nose. “Agreed, that was weird.”
“It’s all a test,” I muttered. “I’m convinced of it.” I walked over to her and looked inside the box. Okay, so it was more of an I’m just gonna peer over and make sure nothing terrifying jumps out and bites my neck.
Thankfully, it was empty.
I frowned. “That’s it? That’s all they gave us?”
“Oh, that and a call time.” She slammed the paper against my shirt.
We had to show up at night. “Does it worry you that we’re going to be competing in all things physical fitness at eight p.m.?”
“I mean…” She pulled out one of the barstools and sat. “He’s eccentric…”
“We keep using that as an excuse.”
“True.” She yawned. “It’s fine, let’s just do the rest of our normal intern work and grade the master bedroom and add suggestions for…” She cleared her throat. “C-comfort.”
“I think,” I said as I casually traced my fingers down her shoulder to her neck. “I preferred the master bath. You?”
Goosebumps broke out across her exposed skin. She swatted my hand away. “Knock it off. We need to work.”
“Yes.” I sat next to her. “Because we both need this job.”
“Yup.” She still hadn’t opened her score sheet or the notebook. Instead, she stared down at it like it was going to come alive, then whispered. “I liked the master bath too.”