Page 89 of The Vacation Mix-Up
Squealing, I shove my empty glass into Brittany’s hand, jump to my feet, and turn to Riley. “That’s us!”
“Shit,” he grumbles, wincing as he sinks into his seat.
“Oh no you don’t,” I hiss, grabbing his arm and yanking it. “Get. Up.”
chapter fourteen
RILEY
Riles drags my ass down the aisle, nearly detaching my arm from its socket, her grip firm, preventing my escape.
Screw you, Carlos! Screw you and your stupid iPad!
I hadn’t planned on playing the damn game, instead comfortably spectating while others made dicks of themselves. And now here I am, the dick in question, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Jogging up the steps to the stage, Riles tugs me along with her, and I nearly trip into Carlos before he checks our lanyards and then directs us where to stand.
“I want to win,” Riles murmurs behind her hand. “Take no prisoners.”
Normally, I’d find such a threat lighthearted, but after our trivia experience, I have no doubt she’s dead-serious.
“The next cabin number is… 7097,” Paul announces.
Riles squints and shades the stage lights from her face with her hand as she seeks out our opponents. I can’t see shit, so I just bow my head, praying this will all be over soon.
“They look old,” she whispers. “We’ve got this.”
Her competitiveness is hilarious, and I can’t help but chuckle… so long as she doesn’t give one of them a black eye. If she does, I’m going to have to haul her over my shoulder and get her the hell out of here before blood is spilled.
The thought of Riles, hauled over my shoulder, her ass in my face, isn’t all that bad, and I’m suddenly not so opposed to intervening when she proverbially takes her gloves off. And I can bet my left nut that she will.
I glance over at her bouncing on the spot as if she’s ready to take on Tyson Fury.
Yep. We’re fucked.
Sucking in a deep breath, I close my eyes and compose myself. I hate being the center of attention—Roni was always the overachiever, not me.
“What are you doing?” Riles murmurs.
“Taking a moment.”
“For what?”
“For what we’re about to do.”
“Good.” She clasps my hand. “Channel the win.”
Channel the win? I’m channeling the ability not to shit my pants; that’s what I’m channeling.
She squeezes my fingers, then lets go. “You and I are going to the spa, gold trophy in hand.”
A fuzzy kind of warmth spreads over me, and I snap my eyes open and stare at her, amused. Mousey and shy when she wants to be, she’s also a firecracker ready to spark, take flight, and explode. It’s a curious combination—exciting but also terrifying.
I’m also still stunned she thought to book me on the Behind-the-Scenes tour. She must’ve done it on embarkation day, after I was horrible to her in the bar. And even though being in the spotlight in front of a roomful of strangers about to play a stupid, childish game isn’t high on my bucket list, I decide I’ll give it my all… for her. She deserves that, at the very least.
“Okay. Lucky last,” Paul teases. “Carlos, will you do the honors?”
Carlos taps his screen, drums his feet, and shouts, “Cabin number 12022.”
