Page 51 of Caribbean Crush

We sit together in a row of seats near the back, and then I lean in to ask, “Are things heating up between you two?”

She very nearly blushes, something I didn’t think I’d ever see from Sienna. “He kissed me last night. Just a quick peck outside my suite when he walked me back, but it was quite nice. He’s nice. I think that’s our problem. He might look like the type that’s real suave ... the kind of guy who’d pull you into dark corners and have his wicked way with you, but he says he wants to take things slow! Hello, we’ve only got the rest of the cruise to get something going, and then he’s flying back to España, and I’m going back to Bristol for my gran’s eightieth birthday—not like I can skip that! I love her, and well, she’d probably cut me out of the will if I flaked. She’s spiteful like that, the witch.”

I can’t help but smile at Sienna’s colorful assessment.

“Well, why don’t you make a move?”

She rears back in her seat. “Me?”

She acts like it’s physically impossible.

“Yes.” I laugh, knocking my shoulder into hers. “You figure something out. Some way to push things forward.”

“That’s—”

“Brilliant. You’re welcome.”

She feigns annoyance. “Fine. Okay. Let’s strategize on the hike.”

We end up not strategizing at all. The hike is so strenuous and intense that we manage very little conversation outside of a lot of huffing and puffing.

“I’m in shape!” Sienna swears.

I thought I was too. I mean, I’m not one of those people who’s constantly training for some half marathon where you have to crawl your way through mud and dodge barbed wire, but I get out a lot; I bike and jog and generally stay active.

Our issue is that the first half of the hike is all uphill, and the path is steep and muddy. Also the tour guide must be trying to wrap up his workday early or something because his pace is brutal. Sienna asks to stop for a water break, and he tells her no! “The view is really better if we stop up ahead.”

Up ahead means going another two miles!

We trail behind the others by a lot, so much so that the group has to stop a few times to ensure we haven’t collapsed out of sheer exhaustion. No one’s happy with us. We hear the grumbles.

“I thought we were going to take a leisurely walk through the forest,” I admit to Sienna quietly so the others can’t hear.

“I bought these boots mostly for show!” Sienna admits.

Our route is beautiful, don’t get me wrong. The forest is lush and overflowing with tropical plants and flowers. We catch breathtaking views of the surrounding water and islands, but those views last all of thirty seconds as we’re constantly ordered to “Keep up!” and “Pick up the pace, girls!”

I have half a mind to pop a squat and let them go on without me, but I’m worried I’d be lost here forever. The route isn’t completely intuitive. A few times, the tour guide has had to quite literally hack through overgrowth with a machete. I mean, we’re really off the beaten path here, folks. I try to think of how I’ll word my review of this hike for my write-up and mostly come away with three simple words: Don’t do it.

We can do nothing but groan in exhaustion by the time we make it back onto the bus.

We’re barely sitting up. Sienna’s splayed out like a starfish, airing out all her bits and bobs, she says.

“I’m so knackered I might never get up again,” she groans.

“Why did we do this to ourselves?”

“We should have booked another spa day! I could be lazing with cucumbers over my eyes! Listening to Enya!”

Turns out, it was our own fault. Neither of us read the fine print before we signed up for the extreme cardio hike specifically not for amateurs. If I have one rule in life, it’s that extreme and cardio should never belong in the same sentence. The group waiting outside the bus in the morning, sporting spandex and toned butts, should have been a dead giveaway that we were out of our element, but I just thought people were really getting into the hiking spirit! They might as well have been Navy SEALs sporting CamelBak hydration packs, marathon jerseys, and sweat bandannas. I thought my practical Nikes—the pair classified under walking shoes online—would cut it. They’re so muddy that you can barely see the logo anymore.

We did it, though. We made it to the end of the hike and took photos in front of the waterfall while I propped myself on Sienna for support and she held gauze to her scraped knee.

I think we sweat out most of the liquid in our bodies, but that doesn’t matter now. We’re finished, and we’re gloating and delusional, riding high on endorphins and a little bit of dehydration psychosis.

“Was it really that hard?”

“You know what? Looking back, it wasn’t so bad. I could have gone a bit longer.”

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