20. Court
CHAPTER 20
COURT
Day 21—New York City
W e have our clue.
We have our final clue of the race and most importantly, we’re the first ones to get it.
Hot dog, you did it! Meet Paul at the Wonder Wheel for your final checkpoint. The last two teams to arrive will be eliminated.
“What does it mean?” I ask.
“The Ferris wheel at Coney Island,” Hartley says. She grabs my arm and we take off down the path, retracing our steps to the park entrance.
“How sure are you?”
“Positive. I went there during my Meg Ryan era.”
“Your what? Actually, never mind. We can talk about that one later.”
We save the rest of our energy for running and make it back to the street in good time.
“There!” Hartley spots a taxi at the curb.
As we pile in with our crew, the Wise Asses come sprinting out of the park.
“I don’t see any other taxis,” Hartley says. “Maybe we can get a head start on them.”
DeAngelo approaches the curb and holds out his arm. “Taxi!”
“Please do whatever you can to stay ahead of those guys,” I tell our driver.
He eases off the brake to merge onto the road when DeAngelo walks into the street in front of our car and holds his hand up higher. “Taxi!”
“Move, DeAngelo!” Hartley yells through the open window.
I know the bastard hears her but he stays put.
The cabbie lays on the horn, which never does anything for anyone in Manhattan.
“What the hell, man! Get out of the way!” I shout.
“Is there any room to go around him?” Hartley asks.
“Not without hitting him.”
I meet the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “I can’t tell you to hit him, but I won’t be upset if you did.”
A streak of yellow pulls up beside us, further blocking us in, and the Wise Asses load up.
“Dammit!” Hartley flips him off through the window.
We manage to pull out behind them but get stuck at the first red light while their car sails through the intersection.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I whisper to the traffic signal.
“How long of a drive is it?” Hartley asks.
“Thirty minutes maybe? Depends on how many cars and red lights we have.”
Is he seriously explaining the concept of traffic right now? Because if so, maybe I should introduce the concept of a gas pedal.
Hartley grabs my hand for moral support, or possibly because she knows it’s harder to strangle a cabbie with only one hand. “There are tons of lights along the way. They’ll have to stop eventually and we can catch up.”
We do . . . then we don’t. Then we do . . . and don’t again.
It’s an accordion of traffic all the way down Ocean Parkway, stopping and going with every other red light thanks to Brooklyn’s most cautious taxi driver. My hope isn’t restored until we reach Surf Avenue. Hartley says we can go the rest of the way on foot and tosses the last of our cash at the driver, telling him to keep the change. I follow her through parking lots and side streets while offering thanks to the mysterious Meg Ryan era.
We hit the boardwalk about a hundred feet behind the Wise Asses and it becomes an all-out sprint to the finish line. I don’t think I’ve ever run this fast in my life. Actually, I know I haven’t.
Almost there . . .
Keep going . . .
Don’t quit . . .
And then two sets of arms go up as they cross the finish line.
“Dammit!”
Hartley and I get there about fifteen seconds later.
Paul gives us a moment to regain control of our lungs. I use the time to pull Hartley in and tell her I’m sorry because even though I said I didn’t need to win anymore, I still really fucking wanted to.
“It sucks, but don’t be sorry,” she says between breaths. “We still get twenty-five thousand dollars and you’re taking me to Italy.”
I pull back laughing, despite our defeat. “Whatever you say, Hartley O.”
“Team Hartbreak! After thirteen countries and more than thirty-one thousand miles, you have finally reached the finish line of Xtreme Quest...and you’re both smiling.”
I drape my arm around Hartley and tuck her into my side. “I promise, no one is more surprised by that than us.”
Everyone laughs as he continues. “What are your plans now that the race is over?”
I know full well he’s not talking about taking a hot shower, sleeping for a week, and returning to work. He’s referring to the question he asked at the Parthenon checkpoint, except that was before Hartley and I officially got back together, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to confess to hooking up in the meantime.
Before we left our hotel in Greece, we decided to keep things as they had been—teammates during the day and lovers at night—so we could enjoy our “bubble,” as Hartley put it, until the finale. The only exception was telling the Bombshells because they were essentially our matchmakers.
But with the race complete and no more need for a bubble, I answer Paul’s question by tilting Hartley’s chin up and kissing the hell out of her. The cheering as we crossed the finish line is nothing compared to the celebration from our teammates now. Even Boyd joins in with a jubilant, “Way to go, Court!”
We’re both laughing when I end the kiss and turn my attention back to Paul. “A lot more of that is what our plan is.”
“I think I speak for everyone here when I say congratulations on an incredible journey to the finish line. We wish you nothing but the best for your future.”
The crowd launches into another round of applause, first for us and then for Alexis and Gianna, who appear on the boardwalk. We turn and cheer them all the way to the mat, wrapping them in hugs after Paul officially checks them in.
“Did you win?” Alexis asks.
I shake my head.
“Damn.”
“Yeah, but I got the girl, so . . .”
Hartley smiles up at me. “What I’m hearing you say is, I’m worth more than a million bucks?”
Boyd reaches the restaurant first and holds the door open for Old Bay, the Bombshells, Treva, and Hartley. When I bring up the rear of the group, he grabs my arm and pulls me aside.
“From one man to another, I’m just saying...you should look into a Prince Albert.”
It comes out in the same tone he’d use to say, “I forgot my grocery list at home,” so it takes me a few additional seconds to process his words. In fact, I’m still working on it when he continues with,
“We have four months before the NDA’s up, right? That’s plenty of time for it to heal and I promise, you’ll both thank me.”
Then he pats me on the back and ushers me inside along with the rest of our group.
“Why do you look like you just saw a jackalpottamus?” Hartley asks as she fits her hand into mine.
“Because I did, and his name is Prince Albert.”
“ What? ” Her free hand flies to her mouth to cover a bubble of surprised laughter. “Do I even want to know?”
“Boyd said I should look into a piercing, but it’s not happening no matter how much he insists we’d both thank him.”
I shudder at the idea of a needle going anywhere near my dick.
Screw. That.
“If you were to get one, I’d probably think of Boyd every time I looked at it anyway.” She scrunches her nose at the thought. “Also, as you may recall, I’m a huge fan of the existing model. No need to install after-market accessories.”
“Our table’s ready,” Haylee says, rescuing me from what would’ve been an epic boner in about thirty seconds.
We follow the hostess to the back of the Greek restaurant Alexis found a few blocks from our hotel. None of us is ready to acknowledge our flights home tomorrow, so we’re pretending it’s just another dinner on the race.
It’s funny how only three weeks ago, everyone at our table but Hartley was a stranger. I wouldn’t have been able to pick them out of a crowd. I wouldn’t have known their strengths and weaknesses, their fears, their hopes. Now it feels like we’ve known each other forever.
If I’m being honest, it’s nice to have fresh blood in my friendship pool. Part of what’s been so difficult about staying in Green Valley is the barrage of reassurance I’ve gotten from my family and friends. It sounds backward, especially considering the fucked-up family situation Boyd’s dealing with, but hear me out.
Ella told me a long time ago that she had to learn the difference between “true friends” and “truth friends.”
True friends are your ride-or-dies. They’re the ones you can call for encouragement or for help hiding a dead body. Truth friends are the ones who will tell you the things you need to hear, even if you don’t want to hear them.
Basically, Ella said true friends will tell you that you look great in those jeans, and truth friends will tell you that your ass looks fat.
And for the last six years, I’ve been walking around feeling like my ass looks fat while my family and friends have told me how great I look in my jeans. I’m not searching for any ego strokes, but it’s really nice to hear from outside sources that being the manager of a car wash instead of a school psychologist doesn’t make my ass look fat.
Hartley said she loves my car wash ass but still thinks I’ll look better in a new pair of teacher jeans. Her suggestion in Greece caught me off guard at first. The only way I’d ever envisioned myself in a school was in the guidance department.
The substitute thing was basically a favor to my mom several years ago when the high school lost a few teachers to retirement. They needed help, I was a living body with a college degree and no criminal history, and Rhett was able to man the car wash on days I was needed at the school.
She’s right that I’ve enjoyed my time in the classroom. Getting a front-row seat to history for the last three weeks has been awesome too. Once I thought about it objectively, it made perfect sense. Technically that means I’m leaving the race with a new-ish girlfriend and a new-ish career and now I need the next four months to hurry up.
“Hey, how tall do you think that Athena statue at the hotel was?”
I shake off my thoughts and focus on what Hartley asked. “It was a couple of feet bigger than me, so eight feet maybe?”
“I can assure you there was not an eight-foot statue of Athena at the hotel in Greece,” Treva says.
Gianna shakes her head along with Alexis. “We didn’t see it either.”
“How could you have missed it? It was right there in the center of the lobby in all its marble glory.”
“I think we saw it,” Haylee says.
“See? I told?—”
“But it wasn’t in our hotel.”
Hartley’s forehead creases as Kadeeja adds, “It was the one between the gas station and the fountain gazebo thing, right?”
Hartley nods.
“We saw it when we walked to the gas station from our hotel to get some snacks after we checked in.”
“What hotel were you in?”
“I forget the name, but it was about a five-minute walk down the road.”
Hartley slowly settles against the back of her chair. “Why would we be at a different hotel?”
“Hang on,” Alexis says. “In Nepal, was everyone at the hotel with the row of huge chandeliers by the reception desk?”
We all nod.
“Then our upgrade was in the same hotel. What was your room like?”
“It was a corner suite with a wraparound balcony, a Jacuzzi, and an insanely nice shower.”
Gianna lets out a soft laugh. “We had a nice room, but not that nice. Sounds like Wendell was rooting hard for you two.”
“That would certainly explain why our room had one bed.”
“Actually”—I lean in and give her a wolfishly unapologetic smirk—“that one was me.”
“My man!” Boyd raises his arm for a high five but pauses halfway in. “Why do you have a rubber duck on your arm?”
After being together twenty-four seven for the last twenty-one days, our time is down to a matter of hours.
Fifteen to be exact, and I fucking hate it.
“I’ve never seen a man pout while he shaves.”
“I’m not pouting,” I say, even though we both know I am.
Hartley’s been sitting on the bathroom counter watching me shave because apparently it’s sexy? I don’t know. Whatever keeps her close for now is fine by me.
“You are and it’s adorable. Also, I have a small confession. Do you remember the morning we were in Costa Rica?”
I nod.
“I snooped through your toiletry bag and saw your razor. I couldn’t believe you still had it.”
I finish a pass on my cheek and rinse the lather from the blade. “It’s the only one I’ve used since you gave it to me.”
Her cheeks pinken as she pulls the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth. “Really?”
“Yep.”
Still smiling, she goes back to watching me shave. I finish the left side of my face and move to the right while thinking about the private hell I’d been in that morning. How badly I’d wanted to touch her. To crawl into her bed and do all the things I’d thought about doing over the last six years. Well, maybe not all of them, but a good three or four at least.
“Since you shared your confession about that morning, I suppose it’s only fair to share mine.”
I glide the blade along my jaw for one final pass before rinsing my razor. “The reason I had to use the bathroom first was because I had a hard-on that wouldn’t quit.”
Her eyes widen.
“So I was left with no choice but to take matters into my own hands. Literally.”
Those perfect pink lips part on a gasp as I wipe the remaining lather from my face.
“I came so hard that I nearly slipped in the shower.”
She swallows. “You did?”
Nodding, I step between her legs and grab her ass, sliding her to the edge of the counter. “And the same thing happened almost every morning after that. ”
Her hands run up my bare chest and lock behind my neck. “So what I’m hearing you say is that I made things hard for you?”
I bark out a laugh at the sound of my words being thrown back in my face for the second time today. “It was the best and worst torture I’ve ever experienced.”
Hartley’s mischievous smirk becomes a determined grin and then she’s using one finger to push me back. “That sounds like a challenge to me.”
Before I can process what’s happening, she hops down and tucks that same finger into the waistband of my shorts, pulling me out of the bathroom and toward the bed. Our one, singular bed, which really was Wendell’s doing this time.
When the back of my legs meet the mattress, she removes her finger and reaches for the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head. I knew she was braless because I watched her get dressed after our shower earlier, but I didn’t know her nipples were already hard beneath that thin layer of cotton.
My hands move instinctively, seeking her flesh, but she steps out of my reach with a look that says, No touching .
As I start to protest, she hooks her thumbs into her shorts and panties and slides them down her legs in one sexy movement. But she doesn’t stop there. No, this wonderful, devilish woman turns around and bends down, presenting me with the perfect view of her perfect ass while she retrieves her clothes and tosses them on the dresser.
My cock hardens instantly, catching Hartley’s approving eye when she faces me again. I swallow thickly and clench my hands at my sides as she trails a hand down her stomach and slips a finger between her legs.
Her breath comes out in a soft sigh.
“Fucking hell, Hartley,” I groan, desperate to touch her—or myself—at this point.
In response, she takes that damn finger and brushes it over my lips. I waste no time capturing it in my mouth and savoring the sweet taste of her. All it does is make me want more, though. I thrust my hips forward and then her hand is there, slowly jacking me over the thin material of my shorts.
“Damn, babe. That feels so good.”
Continuing her relaxed pace, she kisses her way down my chest and abs until she’s on her knees, pulling my shorts off. My cock springs free, thick and heavy.
“You have no idea how bad I want you right now.”
Her gaze pauses at my dick before she meets my eyes. “I mean, I have some idea. ”
I breathe out a laugh that turns into a moan when she takes me into her mouth.
“What are the rules for your game of torture? Am I allowed to touch you yet?”
Her lips press against the head of my cock. “Do you want to touch me?”
“You know I do.”
She massages my balls with one hand and slides the other up and down my shaft. “Hmm, after consulting with the referee, I must inform you that this game will continue with the no-touching rule.”
The ache in my cock intensifies. “You’re evil.”
She smiles.
She fucking smiles .
“Hence the worst part of the torture game. But don’t worry, we’ll get to the best part soon and then you can decide if this round beats jacking off by yourself in half a dozen countries.”
“I can already?—”
She parts her lips and takes me to the back of her throat with an eager moan and what I was going to say is not important anymore.
“ Fuuuck .”
I grip my ass to keep from touching her and watch her work me over, licking and sucking and—holy shit, whatever the hell that was with her tongue. I’m about to ask her to do it again when she releases my dick with a soft pop and leans back on her heels.
Locking her eyes on me, she spreads her knees, grabs ahold of one nipple, and sinks two fingers in her pussy. The air in my lungs evaporates. Gone. No exhales or sighs, just an instant absence of oxygen after witnessing the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” I rasp.
She slides her fingers up to her clit and moans.
Yes. Death is imminent. Rest in peace to the man who traveled the world and died in a hotel room in New York City.
“I’m so wet, Court.”
My cock juts out further, as if to say, Hello, I’m right here, and it takes everything in me to ball my hands into fists again so I don’t break the rules.
“Are you thinking about my dick?”
Nodding, she moves her free hand to her other nipple, squeezing and twisting while she increases her speed below.
“Good girl. Play with that sweet pussy.”
As I watch her do what I wish my tongue was doing, the muscles in my ass and thighs flex, thrusting my hips forward in search of anything that can relieve the building tension in my core.
She has so much power over me that if she so much as breathed on my dick, I’d probably come on the spot. “You’ve got me so goddamn hard right now,” I say through clenched teeth.
Her gaze drops to my cock and her mouth parts on a series of low moans. “This feels so good.”
My hips buck again and I’m back to grabbing my ass since I can’t touch anything else. “I love watching you touch yourself and hearing the sounds you make.”
She abandons her nipple in favor of massaging her tits. “I’m getting close,” she whispers.
I don’t know how, but it feels like I am too. “Keep going. I want to see you come all over your hand.”
Her fingers move faster, and my cock bobs in the air as if her mouth is still there sucking me off. It’s a physical impossibility, yet here we are.
“Court . . . I’m . . .”
I know the feeling—literally—because the sight of her on her knees staring up at me as she works herself to an orgasm sparks a familiar tingle at the base of my spine. “Shit, Hartley. I’m gonna come too. You’re going to make me fucking come.”
She sits up off her heels, giving me her tits, and for the first time in my twenty-seven years on this earth, I explode without anything touching my cock. She finds her release seconds later, and as far as I’m concerned, that officially ends the game.
“Now you’re mine.” In one fluid motion, I pull her up and toss her on the bed. She’s still riding her first orgasm when I bury my face between her legs. “I love the way you taste.”
“And I love your tongue,” she says, breathless.
“Good because it’s time for us to play a new game, and this time I highly recommend finding something to hold on to.”
I glance down at the freshly touched up rubber duck on my arm. “I can’t believe I let you do this. Rhett is going to give me so much shit for it.”
“Come on, you know you secretly love it.” She hits me with a cajoling smile, killing any attempt for a stern expression.
“Fine, but only because it’ll be nice to have a little reminder of you. ”
“That’s actually really sweet.” She zips her marker bag and moves to toss it toward her backpack but stops mid-swing. When she turns back to me, her eyes are gleaming.
“I know that look. What’s your brain cooking up?”
“Do you have to take your shirt off in front of anyone for the next week or so?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Good, because I just got an idea for something else I can leave you with, but this one’s just for you.”
“What is it?”
Again, she ignores my question and replies with one of her own. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course.”
“Then take your shirt off.”
“Bossy, bossy,” I tease.
Once my shirt’s off, she has me sit at the edge of the bed and sets her markers beside me. “No looking until I tell you.”
“Since I escaped it the first time, will this one be a giant dick?”
She steps between my legs as the corners of her mouth quirk up. “Define, ‘giant.’”
This fucking woman, I swear.
I pull her in for a quick kiss, then let her get to work on my drawing while I get to work running my hands on the backs of her thighs.
“What are you going to tell Rhett when he asks about the rubber duck?”
“I don’t know. I’m debating between it being the European version of the swinger pineapple or a way to identify a fellow member of The Floating Society.”
“What’s The Floating Society?”
“I can’t tell you. You have to be a member to know.”
She covers her snort laugh with the back of her free hand and shakes her head. “Does he know you were on the race?”
“Only my parents. I told everyone else that I was going on a hiking trip with some college friends.”
“Technically not a lie.”
“And in two days, I’ll go back to work and learn what great and wonderful things happened at Studs N Suds while I was away.”
Hartley leans back, eyes wide and mouth hinging open. “Did you just say, ‘Studs N Suds’?”
I don’t even try suppressing a smile as I nod .
“Please tell me you have T-shirts.”
“And boxers. Socks too, though I’ll have to check our stock on those.”
“Is your face on any of them?”
“Just the company logo.”
“Damn.”
We share an easy laugh that turns into comfortable silence as Hartley gets back to work. I quit trying to figure out what she’s drawing about three minutes in. All I’ve felt is random horizontal and vertical lines and some swirls. Nothing dick-shaped, though.
“Court?” Her voice sounds smaller than it did moments ago, raising my concern.
“What’s wrong?”
“Do you think Rhett will like me? And the rest of your friends and family?”
I almost laugh because that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.
“First of all, Rhett already likes you.”
Her hand freezes as her eyes meet mine. “He’s never even met me.”
“He’s been my best friend since high school, and he was at the bachelor party that weekend. Until this trip, he was the only one who knew what really happened. His words were along the lines of, ‘You’re the stupidest son of a bitch in the history of sons of bitches who descended from the world’s dumbest motherfuckers.’”
Hartley clamps her lips between her teeth to keep from smiling.
“He’s also the only one who knows I tried to buy that print from you. When I showed him what you sent, that grown-ass man giggled and said it served me right.”
Her smile finally breaks free. “Rhett’s on Team Hartley. Got it.”
“And my family will love you too. I just need to clean up some details with them as soon as I get home because I kind of let them think you were the one who broke up with me. Definitely not my finest moment and one I’ll fix immediately.”
I steel myself for whatever she throws my way, physically or metaphorically, because it was a dick move at best.
Instead, she says, “How are you going to tell them the truth without giving away the reason you’re telling them?”
Ah yes. The damn NDA, because although I was allowed to tell my parents I was on the show, I can’t tell them what happened while I was gone. They’ll find out with the rest of America.
“This is the alumni season. I’ve spent a lot of time during the race reflecting on my time in college, so it’s entirely plausible that I’d want to fess up to stuff I lied about. Plus, I’ll be able to tell them the real reason in four weeks when the cast is announced. But I promise you they’ll love you. In fact, I fully expect Ella to kidnap you for a while because she’s wanted a sister for years.”
“She won’t be mad at me because of how I acted at the gallery?”
“Not at all.” I squeeze the back of her thighs for reassurance and to get her to look at me again. “The only one she’ll be mad at is me. There’s a good chance she’ll punch me in the dick. I’m already planning to repay her gas money because she was a broke community college student when she drove out to our campus.”
This makes her laugh. While she finishes the rest of her drawing, I tell her about the things I want to do and places I want to take her when she comes for her first visit—Daisy’s Nut House, Donner Bakery, Bandit Lake...
We could have a lot of fun at Bandit Lake.
“You’re thinking about sex, aren’t you?” she says with an amused laugh.
My smile is immediate and unabashed. “How’d you know?”
“You went from rubbing my legs to kneading my ass.”
I flex my fingers and indeed find them digging into the gloriousness that is Hartley’s backside. “Guilty as charged. I’m happy to discuss punishment options.”
“We’ll get to your penal code in a minute. I have something to show you first.”
She tosses her marker on the bed and steps back. “No peeking yet,” she warns. “In fact, close your eyes.”
Doing as I’m told, she pulls me off the bed and guides me to what I’m assuming is the mirror.
“I need to preface this by saying I’m limited on supplies and colors and when I do the real thing, it’ll look a hell of a lot better than this, but you’ll still get the idea.”
“Can I look?”
She releases a quiet breath. “Yeah. Go ahead.”
I didn’t know what to expect, but even if I had a hundred guesses, what I see in the mirror wouldn’t be one of them.
“I did the lines randomly so you wouldn’t guess the shape,” she says beside me.
It worked. At no point did I realize she was drawing three boxes across my chest. The one on my right pec is blank. The one in the middle is a compass. The one on my left pec is a heart that’s been stitched back together with...
I lean in closer.
. . . Stars.
Tiny yellow stars zigzagging across a mended heart.
I swallow past the knot of emotion in my throat and find Hartley’s eyes in the mirror. “ The Evolution of a Lie , but in reverse.”