Page 53 of The Vacation Mix-Up
We went with four.
“Okay, trivia buffs, last question, and then you’ll need to swap your sheets with the team next to you.”
Smiling at the elderly lady beside me, so she knows I’m going to swap with her, she smiles back in acknowledgement, her lips pressed together with anticipation.
“What is the capital of Norway?”
Laughter bursts out of my mouth, and I roll backward into my seat, nearly kicking my empty juice glass off the table.
“You want me to answer that one?” Riley asks, a cocky—albeit sexy—grin on his face.
I bite my lip and sit upright again. “No. I’ve got it.”
Scribbling downOslo, I double-check we haven’t missed any answers before passing our sheet to the lady and taking hers.
“What did they write down for question number six?” Riley asks.
I scroll down the list. “They left it blank. Why? Which question was that again?”
He smirks. “You’ll see.”
Shooting him a puzzled look, I dismiss him and check what they wrote for the M&M question. “They chose blue M&Ms. Crap! Do you think it’s blue?”
“Nah.”
“It could be.” I keep scrolling, confident we’ve at least beatthem. A lot of their answers are blank, a couple definitely wrong. “They said Madonna for question number one.” I pout, feeling sorry for them.
Riley darts forward, snatches up the cocktail menu, covers his face with it, and slides down his seat.
I glance from side to side, because he looks like a fool. “What are you doing?”
“Hiding.”
“Why?”
“Horse.”
“Huh?”
“Ben,” he murmurs. “Six o’clock.”
Snapping my head back, my insides squirm as Ben approaches the lounge, his arms draped over two women’s shoulders, the women giggling and happily swinging Tiffany & Co. bags from their fingers.
I follow Riley’s lead and slip down in my seat, almost sliding onto the floor as they pass.
“Have they seen me?” Riley asks.
“Not yet.”
I sneak a second look, wondering if the women are the same two Riley got drunk with the night before. They look young, given how gravity is still their “breast” friend. But then, what would two youthful, beautiful women see in Ben? His mouth is filthier than a pig troth. And not the good, smutty romance book filthy. No. His filth is outright insulting. He could also learn to button up his shirt properly. And brush his hair.
Riley peeks over the menu. “Are they gone?”
“Not yet.”
“Shit!” he whispers.
The trio keep walking, and when they disappear behind a pillar, I sit up and relieve Riley of his surprisingly successful camouflage tactic. “You’re good to come out now.”
