Page 95 of Ex Marks the Spot

We’re in front of the #TeamBombshell board, so we jog to the other side. Our board has eleven columns, each with three sets of nails, and the stacks of wooden plaques are organized into groups. There’s at least four times as many plaques in the flag and airport code groups than there are pictures. If teams don’t know the codes or flags, they’re going to have a hard time guessing.

Court rests his hands on his hips as he surveys the plaques. “How do you want to do this? We can work on each leg together, or we can each take a group and then do the last one together.”

Part of our study session on the plane was flags so they’d be fresh in our heads, and I’m pretty confident the codes won’t be difficult either. “Let’s split up and see how far we can get. I’ll take the codes if you want the flags.”

“Sounds good.”

As we head to our respective areas, a thought occurs to me and I snort a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“This is another example of how today is different than the beginning of the race. In Costa Rica, that would’ve been a five-minute argument.”

“I disagree. We made multiple decisions just now, so it would’ve been a ten-minute argument.”

“Well, I disagree with your disagreement, so how about that?”

He mutters something I can’t hear but he’s smiling and shaking his head and looking all kinds of sexy and adorable. To avoid further distractions, I turn my back and focus on finding the three-letter codes I need.

By the time I get my row done, the Bombshells have arrived and have made great headway in catching up. Court hangs his last flag and after quickly double-checking our work, we get started on the photos.

“Hey Court,” Alexis calls from her side.

“Yeah?”

“I meant to ask you at the last challenge—what’s with the rubber duck?”

I cackle—CACKLE—as Court points at me and draws a finger across his throat. “You don’t want to know, trust me.”

She peeks around her board and eyes him with a skeptical smirk. “Somehow I don’t think that’s true, but I’ll let it slide for now.”

It takes me a full fifteen seconds to catch my breath. When I do, Court is staring at me with a murderous smile as he mouths,You’re gonna pay for this.

I’m totally fine with that.

But anyway, back to the photos. “These look like still shots,” I say as we lay them out.

Our faces appear in every image, but the overall picture has been cropped so much that we can barely see anything else.

“How are we supposed to put these in order if all we have are close-ups?” he asks.

I point my toe at the plaque closest to me. “I’m scowling at you in this one, so it’s probably one of the first few legs.”

“You look a little surly in this one too.”

“Here’s one where you’re giving me the stink eye.”

And so we sort our photos using the little clues in each one—the tree over Court’s shoulder, the cloudless sky, the neck buff I’m wearing—and add them to our board.

The fifth photo is when it changes.

Court’s looking out of the frame, but I’m wearing a tiny smile as I look at him.

In the sixth, neither of us are looking at each other, but we’re both smiling.

By the ninth photo, Court’s hand is on my shoulder while we’re, presumably, reading a clue in Montenegro.

I don’t know how they did it so quickly, but there’s even one from the taxi this morning where Court and I have moved past looking at each other and are full-on gazing.

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