Page 51 of The Big Race
“We’re still in this,” I said, taking a long drink from my water bottle.
Adrienne adjusted her tight ponytail, her eyes flicking between Ray and me. “You know, we had you guys pegged as early eliminations.”
Ray raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Why’s that?”
She hesitated, exchanging a glance with Fletcher. “No offense, but this competition is very physical. We figured it would favor teams like us.”
“Teams like you?” I echoed.
“You know,” Fletcher said with a shrug that was deliberately casual. “Military training. Peak physical condition.”
“As opposed to...?” Ray prompted, though I could tell from the set of his jaw that he knew exactly what they were implying.
Adrienne at least had the decency to look uncomfortable, but Fletcher pressed on. “Look, we’re just surprised, that’s all. Most gay guys we know are more into... different kinds of activities.”
“Like what?” I asked, my voice deliberately light despite the anger bubbling up.
Fletcher snorted. “I don’t know. Shopping? Brunch?”
“Maybe there’ll be a drag challenge on the route,” Adrienne added with a laugh that she quickly stifled.
Ray stepped forward, and for a moment I thought he might say something he’d regret. Instead, he smiled—that salesman smile that never quite reached his eyes.
“You know what’s funny?” he said. “I played Division 1 basketball in college, and then professionally in Europe. I’ve completed fourteen triathlons. Jeffrey here has hiked the Appalachian Trail and scaled Half Dome in Yosemite.” None of this was true about me, but I appreciated the lie. “But sure, we also know how to coordinate our outfits.”
Fletcher’s confidence faltered slightly. “No disrespect intended, man. Just making conversation.”
“None taken,” Ray said, still smiling. “And just so you know, if there is a drag challenge, we’ll crush that too. I’ve got great legs.”
I choked back a laugh as the military couple shifted awkwardly.
“We should get going,” Adrienne said, tugging at Fletcher’s arm. “Need to prep for the next leg.”
As they walked away, I heard Fletcher mutter, “They’re still not going to make it to the finals.”
Ray turned to me, his fake smile replaced by genuine determination. “We are absolutely going to beat those two.”
“They’re younger and fitter,” I said, playing devil’s advocate even though their comments had stung.
“And clearly not as smart,” Ray countered. “Did you see how they tackled that puzzle back in Panama? Brute force, no strategy.”
I nodded, remembering how they’d wasted precious minutes trying every combination of the phrases rather than working out what they meant.
“Besides,” Ray added, “nothing motivates me more than proving narrow-minded people wrong.”
I remembered then why I’d fallen for him all those years ago. Behind the competitive athlete and smooth-talking salesman was a man who never backed down from a challenge—especially when someone told him he couldn’t do something.
“You know what?” I said. “I hope there is a drag challenge. I’ve always thought you’d look great in heels.”
Ray laughed, a genuine sound that cut through my lingering anger. “Only if you promise to do my makeup. I’ve seen your steady hands.”
I noticed Ray looked flushed, his movements slower than usual. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“Just hot,” he said, fanning himself. “This humidity is brutal.”
I checked his forehead with the back of my hand – a gesture so automatic it took me a moment to realize its intimacy. “You feel warm. How much water have you had?”
Ray shook the bottle. “Almost out.”
