TAMING HOLLYWOOD'S BADDEST BO- Max Monroe Page 0,29
doctor put her in this hideous purple cast, gave her crutches, and instructed my parents that she’d need to stay off her foot for the next three weeks. When you’re on your way to Disney World, three weeks is a dang eternity.
When we made it to the land of make-believe, Birdie tried to stick with her crutches, but two hours into our first visit to the Magic Kingdom, she wouldn’t stop bitching about her armpits hurting. And it would be I, my parents deemed, who would have the honor of pushing her whiny ass around in a wheelchair.
Our week-long Disney extravaganza transformed in a poof! to the child’s equivalent of running the New York Marathon. By the time we hit the end of the week, I was wrecked.
Tired, cranky, and unreasonably close to pushing Birdie right out of her wheelchair on purpose. So, she couldn’t walk. Pfft. Big deal. Even babies know how to crawl.
The point, though, is that I didn’t push Birdie out onto the hard, sweltering ground like some kind of animal, no matter how much I wanted to. I restrained myself and used rational judgment.
And now, while hiking through the forest with a broody lumberjack and a thousand freaking pounds strapped to my back, I’m having to tap in to that very same kind of willpower.
I will not give up and sacrifice my body to the animals. I will not beg Luca to turn back and then kill him upon arrival to hide the evidence of my weakness. I will prevail, and I will do it without making a single comment about “outdoor types” and their “obvious mental illness.”
Sweat beads at my forehead and beneath my bra, and I send up a silent prayer that I remembered to pack deodorant.
Shit. Did I even put deodorant on today? I was so busy trying to sneak out of the cabin ahead of Luca that it’s all a jumble in my mind. I know I put on underwear because my vagina isn’t currently chafing, but gosh almighty, when it comes to the BO juice, I’m drawing a complete blank.
I’d attempt a sniff check, but my nose and lungs refuse to assist in anything other than inhaling and exhaling and panting like a dog right now. I have no idea how far we’ve hiked, but I swear to God, we’re going to finish all thirty-six miles by tonight. There’s no way we’re not.
I look ahead and stare daggers into Luca’s back, the slave driver.
His strides are downright nonchalant, and his arms relaxed, as he and Bailey head toward another rocky incline that has a strong possibility of being the actual death of me. My chest is already pretty tight, and I’m not sure how many more beats per minute the ticker can take. There’s no family history of heart attacks in the Harris clan, but you never know how an organ is going to react in extraordinary circumstances.
“You okay back there?” he asks over his shoulder, but thankfully, doesn’t glance back to take in my current state. Sweat slicks small pieces of hair to my forehead, and I’m fairly certain my tongue is lolled out of my mouth like a stick figure corpse.
“Never better!” I exclaim like I’m not one wheeze away from landing a part in a commercial about emphysema.
Good God, how are you going to convince him to do Espionage if you can barely talk? It’s way too complicated of a conversation to have via miming.
Whatever. I can worry about that later.
For now, I need to focus on following Luca and Bailey up and over the rocks without making some kind of a mess. It could be blood, it could be shitting myself—anything and everything is a possibility when Fear Factor: Alaska Edition is involved.
Grunts and groans escape my lungs without invitation—which I would totally laugh about if I could breathe—and when I get to the top of the formation and crest the peak, I find my travel companions standing down below, watching me in amusement. One of them at least—Bailey—doesn’t look like a totally smug bastard.
“You sure you’re okay?” Luca asks again, immense amusement at my misery making his lips curve up into a smirk.
I swallow back the urge to tell him to fuck off and force a smile to my lips. “I’m great! Having the time of my life!”
“You look like you need a break.”
I wave him off with one weak arm, cupping my hand into a pose of royal recognition, just to give it a little