Coincidentally Kismet

15. Cam

CHAPTER 15

CAM

“UNDER PRESSURE” - QUEEN I can feel every muscle ranging from his broad, strong shoulders to his tree-trunk thighs. As I make my descent, I unintentionally smooth my hands down his hard chest and stomach, feeling nothing but solid, granitelike muscle. He’s the one who caught me, but somehow I’m the one intensely short of breath.

I’m blushing from my chest to the tips of my hair, and I’m positive it’s obvious. If my rosy cheeks weren’t a dead giveaway, there’s the fact that my nipples feel like they could cut glass. Thank God for thick-padded sports bras. The smell of Will lingers in my nose, a mix of sweat and cedar, simple, intoxicating, and ridiculously irritating. He should not smell this good. Will grabs my hand, and we begin running again. I can see Lo and Smith just up ahead. They’re making us work to catch up.

The next obstacle is about a quarter mile up the path, and it actually looks pretty appealing right now. It’s a mud pit with barbed wire strung neatly across it, about two feet above the crawling area. I don’t know why I’m excited for this, but I surmise it’s likely because I’ve never been afraid of getting a little dirty. And also, the mud is sure to cool down my overheated skin.

“Stay low and don’t lift up until your whole body makes it out the other side,” Will reminds me.

“I got it. This isn’t my first rodeo, Rambo.” I smile and dive into the mud.

It’s thicker than it appears and proves more challenging to crawl through than I’d imagined, but we make it. Standing up on the other side gives me a sense of pride and accomplishment, like I might actually have a chance of surviving this thing. Will grabs hold of my arm and turns me to face him. Gently, he swipes his thumb through the mud caked to his chest and makes a quick swipe under each of my eyes.

“Now you look like a real Rambo Barbie,” he says, with a bit of a catch in his voice.

I stare at him intensely, my voice turning mute and the tingling where his thumb just brushed the tops of my cheeks settling into a light vibrating rhythm. I am giddy over feeling this sensation after far too long without it. Should I really be getting this feeling from Will though? He was always a safe place for me, and we decided on being friends. But the heat that’s covering my body from head to toe doesn’t feel friendly at all.

Our issue hasn’t ever been chemistry. Putting Will and me together is synonymous with lighting a match over a bucket of kerosene...but that’s not what we are anymore. Together, I mean. How am I supposed to be his friend when he acts like there’s more to it? And why does he even act like there’s more to it? He didn’t want me five years or fifteen pounds ago, so it doesn’t make sense for him to act like he wants me now. Unless this is all just a game to him. It’s something to evaluate later, after I win , I tell myself.

We muster on through the rest of the course, tackling some tires that have to be flipped, a set of wooden balance beams, and a series of calisthenics challenges. I run side by side with Will, having my second wind kick in. Occasionally, I catch him glancing at me with a shy smile and a look of pride on his face.

Finally, we approach the last challenge, neck and neck with Lo and Smith. There are tables lined up with puzzles that must be assembled in the right order. Will and I are assessing the pieces and starting to move things around to see how they might fit together when it hits me.

I’ve seen this puzzle before! I’ve watched almost every season of the popular game show where contestants compete to win prize money, and this is directly out of season three’s final challenge. I toss a glance at Lo to see if she remembered too, but she looks clueless.

“Rambo, do you trust me?” I whisper.

“Umm, I guess...Do you know how to assemble this thing?” he asks.

“I think so. Give me the piece that looks like a star first, but don’t make it obvious or you will give it away to Lo,” I say quietly.

Will does as instructed and continues to hand me piece by piece discreetly. Every time Lo or Smith look over, we fake acting frustrated so they don’t try to copy us. Will hands me the last piece, and I slide it in place, looking for a judge to come see. Everything checks out, we grab our flag, and run like our lives depend on it.

At the finish line, we run through a giant red ribbon. I’m elated—there’s nothing like the feeling of winning, especially when you started out wondering if you’d even be able to finish the dang thing at all. More than that though, winning with Will feels like getting a gold medal.Proving to him, in a small way, that I’m worthy and strong. Well, that’s the whole reason I was ever with Will in the first place. He gave me confidence; I felt sure of myself when I was with him because I never had to wonder if I could be loved. His belief in me gave me the boost that I never got from my parents. His appreciation for all the pieces of me, even the flaws. Although we are just friends now, it feels good to bask in the glory of it for a short second.

The crowd of spectators is cheering, and we dance around in celebration to the hoots and hollers. Will sweeps me up into a hug, lifting me in the air and twirling me around. Oh, good lord. If I thought the slow, taunting slide down his body earlier made me flush, it’s got nothing on this. I shouldn’t be letting him hold me...but I can’t resist.

His breath is hot and sweet on my neck as he thanks me for helping him win. My lady parts cry out and rejoice like they are the winners now. I can feel how strong he is, holding me as if I’m light as a feather. His body is pressed so tightly against mine; it feels like this is where I’m supposed to be, and also like I could possibly have an orgasm just from hugging him. We fit together perfectly, like I was made specifically to melt into his hard, defined body. It’s official, I’m pathetic or desperate. Maybe both.

No , my brain shouts, don’t do this again . I push away, taking control of the situation, forcing him to put me down. The separation feels cold, but necessary given our friends status.

Lo and Smith run through the finish line next. “I can’t believe you beat me.” Lo hip checks me.

“You should’ve spent more time watching game shows with me on the couch.” I shrug and smile at her. “You wouldn’t be a loser if you had.”

“I’m not sure that’s something to brag about, honey.” She pats me on the arm.

The four of us head into the beer tent to grab a drink and cool down. I’m eternally grateful for the portable AC units they have pumping in cold air because the sweat and exertion is catching up to me. We sit in amenable silence, gulping down crisp IPAs, which I should add taste great but are definitely not helping with the electrolyte imbalance I’m certainly suffering from.

Something to the left catches my eye, and I quickly glance over to see a life-size poster of a soldier with his story posted at the bottom. Excusing myself, I wander over and start reading about PTSD, learning how it shows up at random times and is often unidentified until it’s too late due to the stigma surrounding mental health in this country.

The story talks about a soldier named Thatch, who served in the Air Force. He was a member of a joint special operations communications team. It explains that joint operations are common and necessary in our ability to fight our adversaries, both foreign and domestic. Thatch was twenty-three when he took his own life with prescription drugs.

He had been in a harsh situation overseas and never truly came home, not emotionally anyway. The storyboard is punctuated with a quote from his widow, Bri, saying, “I will never get back the love of my life, the person I believed would be the father of my children, but through groups and fundraisers like this one, we can all raise awareness and bring light to the battles our loved ones’ fight even after returning home.”

I’m struck by her statement. Tears pool at the corners of my eyes thinking of this stranger and how alone he must have felt, how alone his wife must feel now. How could I look down on Will for signing up to serve when it’s the biggest and most selfless act that anyone can do? He signed up to lay down his life so that I could do anything in the world I want, and I yelled at him for it. I feel his large hand on my shoulder, and I turn to see he has tears in his eyes, too, and a fresh beer in his hand.

“Di-did you know him?” I ask, my voice coming out a little strangled.

“The greatest man I’ve ever known, he was my best friend,” he says with a muffled voice and a nod.

Will places the beer at the foot of the poster. “This one was Thatch’s favorite.” I look at him from under my lashes, afraid to see the pain that I know is lingering there. Seeing Will in pain over the loss of his friend makes my heart thaw the tiniest bit. Will simply gives my shoulder another squeeze. “I’ll tell you all about him some other time.” I nod and we return to Lo and Smith.