Page 97 of Ex Marks the Spot

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 itbecomes 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 ofthatis what our plan is.”

“I think I speak for everyone here when I say congratulations on an incrediblejourney 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.”

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