by Amy Vansant
She gasped. “Oh my. Right here? Now?”
“Very funny. Do you see anything here?”
“A skinny butt.”
“Seriously. Any marks or bumps?”
She leaned over to get a better view. There was a patch of red dots covering a two-inch portion of his hip, right about where his waistband would sit.
“It’s red.”
“Red? Like how?”
“Like spotty.”
“What does that mean?”
“Like tiny buckshot. Like you’re a McCoy and the Hatfield’s caught you stealing their favorite daughter.”
“That big?”
“Hm. No. Pretend the Hatfields are elves with little tiny guns.”
He stared at her. “There has got to be a better way to describe this to me.”
She shook her head. “Not really. That’s pretty spot on—no pun intended. Tiny buckshot.”
“I told you mosquitos love me.”
“This isn’t mosquitos...” She grimaced, beginning to realize the truth of what she saw.
“What do you mean? It has to be.”
She shook her head. “Even a CIA-trained mosquito black-ops wet team couldn’t have bit you that many times over the course of an evening. And definitely not all in the same spot like this. That would be really weird.”
He scowled. “Spider?”
“I don’t think so. I think it might be chiggers.”
“Chiggers? Can you see them?”
“No.”
“Do you think they’re hiding in my butt?”
Emily laughed. “Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious.”
“No, I don’t think they’re hiding in your butt, but let me check.”
She pretended to pull out a phone, making exaggerated boop-beep noises as she typed on an imaginary keyboard. “Yep. I Googled it and it says here chiggers are known to hide in the anus and then creep out at night to feed—”
“Really?”
She laughed. “No, not really. They don’t hide in your butt. I think I read before that once you see the bites the bugs are long gone.”
He sighed. “I need to take a shower.” He turned and looked at the camera, scratching at his red patch and repeating his request for the man behind it. “I need to take a shower. This itching is unbearable.”
“Don’t talk to the camera.”
Sebastian’s jaw clenched. “You’re useless, you know that?”
The cameraman remained mute.
“What about first aid? If I request first aid you must have to get it for me.”
The cameraman leaned out from behind the camera. “Yeah, but it takes a long time and you’ll end up dead last. Can you make it?”
Sebastian released a growl of frustration. “I don’t know. How many people a year die of chigger infestations? I don’t know if the longer I leave them the deeper they go or something—”
Emily held up a white tube. “Hey, I found some itch cream in our bag.”
“So they’ll give us itch cream for after we’re chewed to pieces but they won’t give us anything to stop the bugs in the first place?”
She nodded and handed him the tube.
He reached out and then reconsidered. “Can you put it on for me?”
“On your butt?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry, But I can’t see my butt and I’m afraid I’ll miss a spot.”
She chuckled and squeezed some onto her finger while he maneuvered his tush away from the view of the camera.
“This is mortifying,” he muttered.
She rubbed the white lotion wherever she spotted a patch of red. “Why do I feel like our relationship just jumped from brand new to the day before our fiftieth wedding anniversary?”
“And we still haven’t had any time alone.”
“Except for applying lotions.”
Marc scrambled from the tent and nodded toward Sebastian. “What kinky stuff are you two up to?”
“Bug bites.”
“I’m putting itch cream on him.”
“At least you’re not blue,” said Kady crawling from the tent. She looked even more like a melting Smurf than she had after being pelted with the paint gun trap.
Marc stretched and yawned. “Hey Seabass, thanks for the help last night with the flag.”
Sebastian pulled his shorts up over his itchy patch. “Don’t call me Seabass.”
Marc looked at his cameraman. “Do we need to bring the flag with us or anything?”
The cameraman shook his head. “That was only important overnight.”
Sebastian watched this exchange and then looked at his own cameraman.
“See how he answered Marc’s question? All helpful-like? Why can’t you be more like him?”
The cameraman remained mute.
They grabbed their things and tromped through the forest again, spotting the occasional tripwire and following signs that pointed them in the right direction. Some of the directional aids were subtle, like sticks and stones arranged in arrow patterns, but every twenty minutes or so they’d spot a white sign nailed to a tree stating how much farther they had to travel and which direction to head.
When they finally emerged into a hollowed cornfield, they found three other couples had beaten them, including Greta and Joe.
“Looks like you have a penalty,” said Nicole, eyeing Kady’s blue splotches. “Your mistake will cost you fifteen minutes before you can officially check in. In addition, a team captured your flag, which will be another fifteen minutes. Remember, the last couple to check in will be eliminated.”
Marc, who had perched himself on a stump, jumped to his feet. “What? No one took our flag.”
“I have it right here.” Nicole held up a red flag with a white dot on it.
“I saw the flag this morning. It was on their tent,” said Emily.
“We all saw it,” added Sebastian.
Nicole shrugged. “One of the other teams turned this into us when they arrived.”
Emily looked at the others. Greta stared back at her, smirking.
Gosh, three guesses who the “other team” who turned in the flag was.
Emily glanced at Joe. He looked beaten, refusing to make eye contact with any of the others.
“This is bull,” said Marc, flopping back down to the log.
They waited for the remaining contestants to arrive.
Nicole pulled Sebastian away to have First Aid tend to his chigger bites. Kady struck up a conversation with the Baltimore chefs. Emily sat on the log next to a pouting Marc and patted him on the back. “You’ll be fine. There are still two teams missing.”
“I’m worried about that, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you notice which teams are missing?”
Emily took a quick head count. “The Harley couple and the twins.”
Marc held out his upturned palms. “See my problem?”
Emily rolled her eyes. “You want to keep the twins in the competition so you can hit on them.”
“Not them. Just Ashlyn. Though now you mention it...” He cocked his head and Emily slapped his arm.
“You’re disgusting.”
A moment later, the motorcycle enthusiasts appeared looking sweaty and irritated.
“No,” yelped Marc.
Nicole approached them. “You have incurred a penalty...”
Marc released a long sigh. “Whew. Fingers crossed.”
Nicole announced that Marc and Kady had served their time and were officially safe. Ten minutes later, the blondes appeared, penalty-free, and Team Motorcycle were sent home with little fanfare.
“Bullet dodged,” said Emily.
Marc nodded before heading straight for Ashlyn.
Chapter Fourteen
They stayed in a hotel that evening, though it was the most confusing hotel Emily had ever seen. It consisted of multiple buildings, and their room was in a structure adjacent to the primary hotel. When the bellhop first
led them out of the main building, Emily nearly burst into tears thinking he was leading them back out to a tent. Luckily, they soon entered the annex and she released a sigh of relief.
Sebastian and Emily agreed to take separate showers, for fear of cameras, falling, and because both wanted to clean embarrassingly well after their time in the jungles of Maryland. Sebastian took his shower first and then left to film another weather report with Nicole.
Emily was nearly redressed when he returned.
“How’d it go?”
He shrugged. “Fine. I saw the female half of the Camo Couple with the first aid guys. She’d bashed her toe into a rock or something.”
“Ouch.”
“She had an interesting story, though. She said they captured the twins’ flag.”
“Is that the metaphor Marc hopes it is?”
He snorted a laugh. “No. They literally took the flag off their tent and gave it to a man who said he was there to collect it.”
Emily scowled. “But Nicole didn’t say the twins had a penalty.”
“Exactly. Just like we know no one took Marc and Kady’s flag.”
She sat on the edge of the bed. “So the whole game is rigged.”
He nodded. “They’re keeping the teams they want to stay in it. Hot twins are a big draw.”
Emily stood to finish dressing. “We’re pretty normal, so we should be kicked off any second and we can go home.”
“That is an upside.”
Sebastian wrapped his arms around Emily and dipped her as if they’d been dancing. He planted a hard kiss on her lips, ending with a loud smacking noise before righting her, leaving her feeling dizzy and breathless.
“What was that?”
He smiled and slipped his hands on either side of her head. “When you said we’d go home soon I thought I could kiss her for saying that.”
“So you decided to do it?”
“Yes. Like making a wish—maybe it will come true.”
She swallowed, leaning into his touch. “Maybe.”
“Maybe I should do it again to be sure.”
He kissed her more slowly this time, keeping his mouth on hers as she sat on the bed again. Together they leaned into the mattress, the feel of his weight making her want him more. She pulled at his shirt and he leaned up to remove it.
There was a knock on the door.
“Meeting at the hotel bar,” called a man in the hall.
“Ten minutes,” Sebastian yelled back.
“Ten? Twenty,” added Emily, trying to draw his attention back to the matter at hand.
“Garrett says he needs you now,” said the stranger.
“Like now now?”
“Like yesterday.”
Sebastian licked the corner of his mouth, slowly shaking his head. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I think I have to go.”
She nodded. “I’ll go with you.”
He pulled his shirt back on and gave her a quick kiss on the lips before answering the door. One of the Minefield staff still stood outside.
“What is it?” asked Sebastian.
“I don’t know. He told me to come get you and that it was an emergency.”
“Where is he?”
“Down at the bar.”
They headed downstairs and to the main building to the hotel bar.
“What do you think it is?” she asked in the elevator.
Sebastian shrugged. “Who knows with him?”
They found Garrett sitting at the large horseshoe-shaped bar, an empty glass in front of him.
Garrett spotted them and raised his hands. “You’re here.”
“Yeah I’m here. Some guy just nearly pounded down our door to get me for your emergency. What’s up?”
“I need someone to drink with. Total emergency.”
Sebastian’s expression darkened and he looked at Emily. “Do you see what I’m dealing with here?”
She laughed and took a seat next to Garrett. “Did you get a head start on us?”
“He didn’t have to wash half of Maryland and a family of chiggers out of his butt,” muttered Sebastian, taking his own seat.
Emily tapped Sebastian’s arm. “Stop it. You’re turning me on.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not allowed to do that for very long, apparently.”
“Yeah, I heard you had First Aid look at your dupa,” said Garrett, holding his empty glass aloft for the bartender to notice.
“Chiggers. I’m covered with chigger bites, you jackass. You are so going to pay for this.”
Emily caught the eye of the bartender and motioned for her as well. “What’s a dupa?”
“It’s Polish for butt. Our mom used to say it all the time.”
Garrett chimed in, “Get your dupa in the car.”
Emily ordered a vodka and soda with a splash of cranberry, the drink known as a Chicken Club back at the dart bar where she and Sebastian met. The drink received its name after someone discovered they could write-off their bar tabs if drinks appeared on their receipts as Chicken Clubs. Food is tax deductible, vodka is not.
“I’ll take a Bull Fighter,” said Garrett.
The bartender scowled. “I don’t know that one.”
“It’s tequila and Red Bull.”
Emily stuck out her tongue. “Gross.”
“What? It’s awesome. Gives me energy. Makes me strong like bull.” He pounded his chest for effect.
Emily shook her head. “Energy drinks taste like someone melted shrieking, writhing gummy bears in acid and then added a cup of sugar. You know how they say you can taste an animal’s anxiety in its meat? Those things taste like Gummy Bear Fear.”
“I’m with her on this one,” agreed Sebastian.
Garrett shrugged. “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”
The bartender returned empty-handed, shaking her head, her auburn curls dancing. “Outta Red Bull. We have Jager?”
Emily thought it odd that the bartender mentioned the alcohol Jagermeister as a substitute for non-alcoholic Red Bull. Jagermeister and Red Bull together made a “Jagerbomb”—a drink young men sometimes used to jump from “responsible citizen” to “arrested in a bar fight” in as little time as possible, but this hotel didn’t look like it pulled the college-age crowd.
Garrett arched an eyebrow in Emily’s direction. “Have any opinions on Jager?”
She nodded. “Jagermeister tastes like melted black crayons and burning rubber.”
“Ha. Okay, I’ll take a tequila and Jager.”
A few people at the bar overheard Garrett’s order and turned to look at him, their expressions belying their horror. The bartender looked at him as if he’d ordered a human head on a stick.
“Are you sure? Tequila and Jager?”
Emily saw a strange expression ripple across Garret’s face and realized he’d misspoke. Nearby, people began to whisper.
Sebastian elbowed his brother. “Just tell her you didn’t mean to say that.”
Garrett’s jaw clenched and Emily knew the awful truth.
He wasn’t going to back down.
He was going to drink tequila and Jager—with a smile on his face.
“Tequila and Jager.” Garret repeated loudly. “In a big glass.”
Heads shook from one end of the bar to the other as the bartender made Garrett the most vile cocktail ever ordered.
Emily had made a similar mistake once. She’d ordered a Captain Morgan’s and Rum on more than one occasion, when she really wanted a Captain and Coke. It never occurred to her then to double down and drink a giant glass of rum and rum.
What kind of crazy person would consider it a point of pride to demand their mistake in a big glass?
The bartender placed Garrett’s drink in front of him—a dark and stormy mess—in a blessedly small glass loaded with ice. The bartender had taken pity on him.
The people at the bar watched, waiting to see what he would do.
Without missing a beat, Garrett sucked down the c
ocktail as if it was mother’s milk.
The watchers gasped. One or two cheered.
Garrett turned his head to hide his grimace and, from what Emily could see, squelch his gag reflex.
Sebastian took a sip of his own cocktail. “Dude, you’ve got issues.”
Garrett nodded. “I do now.”
Sebastian scanned the bar. “Where’s Nicole? I need to talk to her.”
“Didn’t feel like mingling.”
“Because the show is fixed?”
Garrett scowled. “What are you talking about?”
Sebastian told his brother about the flag manipulation. “Do you think Nicole is in on it?”
Garrett’s expression grew grim.
Chapter Fifteen
After reliving the horror of Garrett’s drink choice, Emily headed to the ladies room. On her way back to the bar, she passed Greta and her new best friend, Claire, the female half of the preppy couple. They’d perched themselves in front of a bar-top video gaming machine to play a “spot the difference in the photos” game.
“Wanna play?”
Emily stopped and glanced back to find Greta staring at her, the corner of her mouth curled in a taunting smirk.
It was as if someone was paying her to be awful.
Oh. Right. They probably were.
“No, thanks.” Emily headed on her way again.
That’s when she heard it.
“Chicken.”
She paused again.
Don’t let her suck you in. Don’t do it.
“What’s the matter? Spot the difference isn’t brainy enough for you?”
Emily turned. “Are you under the impression that was a burn?”
Greta sniffed. “Sebastian’s only using you for your house, you know.”
The preppy girl laughed and Emily felt as if she’d been sucked through a wormhole back to high school.
Grown up people didn’t act like petty teens, did they?
She didn’t think so, but now her mind whirred with everything from standard name-calling to I’m rubber and you’re glue. It hadn’t taken anything but the word chicken and she was thirteen again.
“If all Sebastian wanted was somewhere to stay he’d still be at your place—or, wasn’t there enough room in your bed, what with the other men tromping in and out?”
