Page 80 of False Start

“I’m up.” I yelled, grabbing my shirt from the pile of discarded clothing by the tripod and pulling it over my head.

Within seconds, he had crested the top of the rocks. I turned my attention to the tripod, giving him privacy he clearly didn’t want or need as he meandered to the pile of clothes, slaking water off his body rather than covering himself.

“Are you gonna watch it first?” he asked.

I shuddered, barely over my near-death experience and not ready to relive it through the video. “I’ll consider it.”

“Bonus points,” he whispered in a sing-song voice.

I swatted a hand back at him, hitting his firm chest. “Get your clothes back on and I’ll consider it.”

He dressed while I folded up the tripod. “How many more stops?”

“Seven.” Trent ran a hand through his hair as he moved to stand in front of me. He’d pulled on his jeans, denim splotched with water, but held his shirt in his hand.

I groaned. “No post check-in stops, right?”

“Not tonight.” A frown marred his face. “Which sucks since it’s our last night.”

The last night of the rally. I pulled on my shoes. The rally was nearly over. Four days had flown by and by this time tomorrow, we’d be at the final check-in and on our way home.

“Right.” I shook my head, trying to slake off my disappointment. “Well, why don’t you drive for a bit? I’ll take a nap so we can at least hang out at the bar before bed.”

TWENTY-SIX

KIT

We pulledinto a packed parking lot at a hotel outside of Columbus, Georgia, fifteen minutes before ten, exhausted.

“I’ll take the book tonight.” Trent sighed, stretching his arms overhead as we exited the car. He tucked the already worn pages into his back pocket before rounding the car and pulling our luggage from the trunk. Team Barbie pulled in next to us.

“Good evening.” Mike greeted us as he emerged from the driver’s seat in a Hawaiian T-shirt and a pair of black shades. Hayden wore a tight-fitting romper that matched his shirt.

“Hey, Malibu,” Trent laughed. “You’re in late. I figured we’d be the last ones.”

“We got lost on some back roads, trying to take a shortcut. It didn’t pan out, clearly,” Hayden huffed. She hefted an overnight bag out of the backseat and followed us into the lobby.

“What’s going on here?” Trent wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me out of the way of a wildly gesticulating drunk standing in a circle with five other guys. Each of them wore badges around their necks.

“Conference?” Mike guessed.

“Shit,” Hayden muttered under her breath. “I hope we get a room.”

The unruly herd of people in the lobby barely flinched as we muscled our way them to the reception desk. A frazzled-looking woman raked a hand through her black, curly hair. She nodded, humming a “yes” over the phone cradled in her hand before setting it down and exhaling loudly.

“Sorry,” she stammered, collecting herself. “How can I help you?”

Trent nudged me forward.

“Reservation for Kit Holden.”

She frowned, eyes scanning her computer. “Here you are. I just need a credit card for incidentals, and I’ll get your room keys.”

I scanned my card and took the keys. Trent eyed the full lobby, nodding to Hayden. “Why don’t y’all go first.”

“Hi.” Hayden beamed at the receptionist. “We don’t have a reservation. Do you have a room available?”

The receptionist frowned, eyes flitting back to the screen. “We don’t. Booked up completely thanks to the printer expo.”

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