Partner Games
Page 28
I nodded and forced a smile to my face despite my tears. “Go and race,” I whispered.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head. I did not want to talk about it. Not now. Maybe not ever.
He gave me one last anguished look, then pressed a kiss on my lips and sprinted back to the mat.
“And filming!” The producer said the moment his feet touched the mat, and the race was on again.
~~ * * * ~~
Georgie and I had to wait around, since we were once again the team in last place. We said goodbye to each team as they headed onto the mat, our hands locked in a tight grip of solidarity. Georgie, for her part, was handling her confession a lot better than I was. She was all smiles, her expression light and happy. Maybe because she’d finally shared her burden, she felt free of it.
I felt as if all the weight had been transferred to my shoulders.
I couldn’t even be mad about that. How could I? I was more upset that it had taken Georgie so long to confess to me. My heart was broken on her behalf.
When it was our turn, the sun was setting into the mountains, and the producer waved us forward. Everyone looked tired, and we hadn’t even touched the mat yet. It was going to be a long night.
Georgie squeezed my hand as we strode forward to our spot. “You going to be able to do this?”
I nodded. She wanted to win, so I’d do my best to win for her. To show her she could be a winner. To help her rebuild her fragile confidence.
I tried not to think about the fact that Swift was trying to win the money for his cancer-stricken father’s medical bills. We all needed the money, right? So that couldn’t be a factor.
But I still thought about it. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“And go,” the production assistant said, and pointed at us. They’d started filming, which was our clue to jump into action.
Georgie looked at me.
I nodded again and she flipped over the clue. Then, we both bent over it and began to read.
“Drive yourselves to Fribourg with the car provided. There, you will be given your individual tasks. Search for the Bern Bridge and look for your next clue. Good luck!”
Georgie tucked the disk under her arm and reached for my hand. “Ready to go?”
“Born ready,” I said, faking determination. The last thing Georgie needed was for me to be a sad, mopey sack while she was trying to keep her chin up. “Let’s do this.”
Our packs on our shoulders, we started down the trail back to Gstaad Palace in the dark and in last place once more.
Chapter Eighteen
“Man, I hope he gets laid. Like, a hundred times. Because at the rate we’re going? We sure aren’t getting the million.” — Plate, Team One Percent, World Races
By the time we arrived in Fribourg, it was almost three in the morning, the streets were empty, and we were both yawning. Georgie drove, since she was the one with the stick-shift prowess, and I read the map by the light of a teeny-weeny flashlight.
“We took exit 7, right?” I asked for what felt like the tenth time in a row in the last few minutes. “It should be just up ahead.”
Georgie peered through the windshield. It was drizzling and the wipers were flicking back and forth. Add that to the dark and both of us were on edge. There was a cameraman in the car with us, but he offered no help, just creepily filmed the entire time and occasionally belched and forced me to roll down a window.
“There!” Georgie said, pulling over to the side of the road and slamming into park. “I see it!”
I clutched the seat in front of me, bouncing. “Jesus, Georgie!”
“Sorry, not sorry,” she yelled as she sprung out of the car, all excitement. “Come on! We need to make up some time!”
I raced out of the car with her. Sure enough, there was a bridge ahead, but it was tinier than I’d expected. Kinda looked like the small wooden bridge the couple had died on in the movie Beetlejuice. Great, that was a fun thought to have at 3 AM in the drizzling rain. I scooted after Georgie, who was bouncing up and down in front of a shivering Swiss lederhosen-wearing man who handed us a disk.
“Good luck,” he said, and stifled a yawn.
I still had my tiny flashlight in hand, so I shone it on the disk. “Your individual tasks await. One of you cuts the cheese, and one of you will strum a chord. Pick your task.” At the bottom of the disk was the envelope with individual instructions.
“Which do you want to do?” I asked Georgie. She was the one struggling with tasks. I’d let her pick whichever sounded easiest so she wouldn’t flip out on me.
She considered for a moment, and then pointed at the first task. “Cutting the cheese…probably Swiss cheese, right? Surely it can’t be about farting?”
I giggled at the thought of Georgie having to fart on command. “I’m pretty sure that’s not it, no.”
“Well, if it’s rolling cheese or serving cheese or even making cheese, I can do that. The other one sounds like music and you know I’m tone deaf.”
She was. I grimaced at the thought. “Yeah, I’d better take the musical one.”
We divvied up instructions and then parked the car in the designated race spot. There were several other cars there, but I wasn’t sure if that meant they were still doing the challenge, or if they’d just left their cars there and headed on to the next task.
My instructions were to head down one of the cobbled streets of Fribourg, looking for a guitar shop. Once there, I’d be given my next clue.
Despite the late hour, I was able to find the shop pretty easily. The instructions were super specific, and I sent up a silent prayer that Georgie’s had been, as well. The guitar shop had a cute little wooden hanging sign and was tucked between two other quaint looking buildings. I raced up to the front of the building where the clue disks were stacked and shone my flashlight to read it.
Did you know that the city of Fribourg hosts an international guitar festival every year? Inside, you will find several guitars of all different makes, along with a sheet of music and an instructor. You must learn to play a portion of the song to the instructor’s satisfaction, and then you will receive your next clue.
Learn to play a few chords on the guitar? Okay, I could do that. No big deal. I’d taken a few music lessons when I was a kid. Granted, they were for the flute, but music was music, right?
I opened the door to the shop…
And paused.
Inside the tiny shop were too many people. In addition to the employees of the shop and the cameramen, I saw four other players. Green Machine’s Drew, Orange Team’s Annabelle, Bingo from Team Daddy (he was the son of the father-son team) and Swift.
Sexy, sexy Swift.
He stood at the front of the room, the guitar slung low on his hips. It looked like an electric guitar, whereas the others were playing more traditional wooden guitars. A quick glance around the room showed that one person was still with his instructor (Bingo), and everyone else was practicing their music. Annabelle had her tongue out as she fingered the guitar, a crease of concentration on her face.
And Swift?
Swift stood at the front of the room and the moment he saw me, he started playing. His fingers moved over the strings and for a weird moment, I felt as if he already knew how to play guitar. A moment later, that was confirmed as he moved expertly into the strains of a song.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head. I did not want to talk about it. Not now. Maybe not ever.
He gave me one last anguished look, then pressed a kiss on my lips and sprinted back to the mat.
“And filming!” The producer said the moment his feet touched the mat, and the race was on again.
~~ * * * ~~
Georgie and I had to wait around, since we were once again the team in last place. We said goodbye to each team as they headed onto the mat, our hands locked in a tight grip of solidarity. Georgie, for her part, was handling her confession a lot better than I was. She was all smiles, her expression light and happy. Maybe because she’d finally shared her burden, she felt free of it.
I felt as if all the weight had been transferred to my shoulders.
I couldn’t even be mad about that. How could I? I was more upset that it had taken Georgie so long to confess to me. My heart was broken on her behalf.
When it was our turn, the sun was setting into the mountains, and the producer waved us forward. Everyone looked tired, and we hadn’t even touched the mat yet. It was going to be a long night.
Georgie squeezed my hand as we strode forward to our spot. “You going to be able to do this?”
I nodded. She wanted to win, so I’d do my best to win for her. To show her she could be a winner. To help her rebuild her fragile confidence.
I tried not to think about the fact that Swift was trying to win the money for his cancer-stricken father’s medical bills. We all needed the money, right? So that couldn’t be a factor.
But I still thought about it. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“And go,” the production assistant said, and pointed at us. They’d started filming, which was our clue to jump into action.
Georgie looked at me.
I nodded again and she flipped over the clue. Then, we both bent over it and began to read.
“Drive yourselves to Fribourg with the car provided. There, you will be given your individual tasks. Search for the Bern Bridge and look for your next clue. Good luck!”
Georgie tucked the disk under her arm and reached for my hand. “Ready to go?”
“Born ready,” I said, faking determination. The last thing Georgie needed was for me to be a sad, mopey sack while she was trying to keep her chin up. “Let’s do this.”
Our packs on our shoulders, we started down the trail back to Gstaad Palace in the dark and in last place once more.
Chapter Eighteen
“Man, I hope he gets laid. Like, a hundred times. Because at the rate we’re going? We sure aren’t getting the million.” — Plate, Team One Percent, World Races
By the time we arrived in Fribourg, it was almost three in the morning, the streets were empty, and we were both yawning. Georgie drove, since she was the one with the stick-shift prowess, and I read the map by the light of a teeny-weeny flashlight.
“We took exit 7, right?” I asked for what felt like the tenth time in a row in the last few minutes. “It should be just up ahead.”
Georgie peered through the windshield. It was drizzling and the wipers were flicking back and forth. Add that to the dark and both of us were on edge. There was a cameraman in the car with us, but he offered no help, just creepily filmed the entire time and occasionally belched and forced me to roll down a window.
“There!” Georgie said, pulling over to the side of the road and slamming into park. “I see it!”
I clutched the seat in front of me, bouncing. “Jesus, Georgie!”
“Sorry, not sorry,” she yelled as she sprung out of the car, all excitement. “Come on! We need to make up some time!”
I raced out of the car with her. Sure enough, there was a bridge ahead, but it was tinier than I’d expected. Kinda looked like the small wooden bridge the couple had died on in the movie Beetlejuice. Great, that was a fun thought to have at 3 AM in the drizzling rain. I scooted after Georgie, who was bouncing up and down in front of a shivering Swiss lederhosen-wearing man who handed us a disk.
“Good luck,” he said, and stifled a yawn.
I still had my tiny flashlight in hand, so I shone it on the disk. “Your individual tasks await. One of you cuts the cheese, and one of you will strum a chord. Pick your task.” At the bottom of the disk was the envelope with individual instructions.
“Which do you want to do?” I asked Georgie. She was the one struggling with tasks. I’d let her pick whichever sounded easiest so she wouldn’t flip out on me.
She considered for a moment, and then pointed at the first task. “Cutting the cheese…probably Swiss cheese, right? Surely it can’t be about farting?”
I giggled at the thought of Georgie having to fart on command. “I’m pretty sure that’s not it, no.”
“Well, if it’s rolling cheese or serving cheese or even making cheese, I can do that. The other one sounds like music and you know I’m tone deaf.”
She was. I grimaced at the thought. “Yeah, I’d better take the musical one.”
We divvied up instructions and then parked the car in the designated race spot. There were several other cars there, but I wasn’t sure if that meant they were still doing the challenge, or if they’d just left their cars there and headed on to the next task.
My instructions were to head down one of the cobbled streets of Fribourg, looking for a guitar shop. Once there, I’d be given my next clue.
Despite the late hour, I was able to find the shop pretty easily. The instructions were super specific, and I sent up a silent prayer that Georgie’s had been, as well. The guitar shop had a cute little wooden hanging sign and was tucked between two other quaint looking buildings. I raced up to the front of the building where the clue disks were stacked and shone my flashlight to read it.
Did you know that the city of Fribourg hosts an international guitar festival every year? Inside, you will find several guitars of all different makes, along with a sheet of music and an instructor. You must learn to play a portion of the song to the instructor’s satisfaction, and then you will receive your next clue.
Learn to play a few chords on the guitar? Okay, I could do that. No big deal. I’d taken a few music lessons when I was a kid. Granted, they were for the flute, but music was music, right?
I opened the door to the shop…
And paused.
Inside the tiny shop were too many people. In addition to the employees of the shop and the cameramen, I saw four other players. Green Machine’s Drew, Orange Team’s Annabelle, Bingo from Team Daddy (he was the son of the father-son team) and Swift.
Sexy, sexy Swift.
He stood at the front of the room, the guitar slung low on his hips. It looked like an electric guitar, whereas the others were playing more traditional wooden guitars. A quick glance around the room showed that one person was still with his instructor (Bingo), and everyone else was practicing their music. Annabelle had her tongue out as she fingered the guitar, a crease of concentration on her face.
And Swift?
Swift stood at the front of the room and the moment he saw me, he started playing. His fingers moved over the strings and for a weird moment, I felt as if he already knew how to play guitar. A moment later, that was confirmed as he moved expertly into the strains of a song.
