a camera crew out to the course, wishing only my palms were sweating. But all of me is sweating now. A river of sweat is trickling between my breasts, down my ribs, everywhere. I wonder if I made the worst decision ever.
My thinking was this: I was going to embarrass myself either way. I could do the confidence course and be embarrassed for an hour, or get my hair shaved and be embarrassed for six months while it grows out.
So . . . here I am.
Confidence course.
All the obstacles look a lot higher and more insurmountable as I draw closer. There are ten different obstacles I’ll need to conquer in order to finish and be given our next clue. But as I approach, I start to shiver despite the sweat leaking out of my pores.
“All right,” the marine says to me. Thank goodness they’re not yelling like they were when we first got here, or I might give up. “On the count of three, you start. I’ll follow you through, giving you directions. Got it?”
I nod, tugging on my ponytail, then get into ready position at the starting line. I hope I made the right decision.
Now part of me is wondering if the only reason I decided to keep my hair is because I loved flipping it and twirling it and watching Luke’s eyes dance as I did.
No, no. Physical traits do not interest or stimulate me.
What a lie. Luke’s physical traits stimulate me better than any intellectual conversation ever has. His eyes, his muscles, those powerful legs, that ass . . . everything about him pushes my buttons unlike any man ever has. It drives me wild, just thinking about—
“Ready? And . . . go!”
The camera catches the first thing I do, which is stumble forward, nearly falling on my face. I can sense the marine behind me wondering what kind of clumsy oaf he has running his esteemed course. But I jump to my feet as I hit the first obstacle, which is a long line of monkey bars suspended over a mud pit.
I haven’t done these since I was about ten on the playground, but I have done them. And though I have no muscles whatsoever, I manage to get across the bars without falling into the mud. I scramble down the ramp to the next thing as the marine yells at me that I need to go over it. It’s a chest-high wall with a rope attached to it. I take a running leap, grabbing the rope, and somehow manage to propel myself over it without coming out dead on the other side.
And then something happens.
I actually start to think I might be able to do this.
The next few obstacles are almost easy. I run through tires, then have to grab onto a rope dangling over the center of a mud pit and leap over the pit. I get it done. And soon I start feeling invincible. The theme from Rocky starts to play in my head as I get to the next obstacle, a series of wooden balance beams I traverse, only falling off once.
Then I see it. A rope, suspended horizontally over a pool of mud.
I have no idea how to get over this thing.
“Wrap your arms and legs, keep it tight, and go over, hand over hand, foot over foot,” the marine shouts at me.
I climb the ramp and tackle it. I am not going to be the weak link in this challenge. I am more than halfway through. I am going to get this done.
Somehow I end up falling over, so that I’m hanging under the rope instead of on top of it, but I slowly make it across, aware of another person on the course, gaining ground. I see a flash of black hair and tanned skin.
Marta.
Then someone whistles and shouts, “Get it, Penny!”
I tilt my head to the side and see a handsome, formidable marine, clapping his hands for me. He has his hat down low over his eyes, but few men have a broad chest that looks as good in a T-shirt. Luke.
I bite down hard on my lower lip, nearly drawing blood as I move over the pit, until I reach the end.
I did it! And I didn’t get a face full of mud either.
I rush down the ramp to the next obstacle, a series of low walls, which I climb over, not as gracefully as I’d like, considering I can feel Luke’s eyes on me. He’s cheering