Yes, the bed’s big, but Lina’s glossing over the obvious: It’s a four-poster, complete with a gauzy canopy and silk drapes at each corner. There’s no question the bed is the room’s main attraction, everything else in it, from the small antique dresser to the plush matching armchairs, serving as accessories for the outfit. If I were working on marketing copy for this room, I’d use words like sensuous and decadent to describe this bed. Basically, it’s not helping an already tension-inducing situation.
Lina hops on the bed, testing its firmness, then she falls onto her back, stretching her arms above her head. She’s not helping, either.
“It’s so big, I can make snow angels,” she says, waving her arms up and down across the bedspread. “This is nothing like the twin bed I slept in when I was a kid.”
Okay, you know what? She’s killing me. On the one hand, that’s fucking adorable; on the other, it’s torturous. Obviously we need to minimize our time in this room. I plant myself at the foot of the bed and catch her arms on the downswing, pulling her up to a sitting position. “Snow day’s over, Lina.”
She lets out a surprised oh, glances at our joined hands, then jumps off the mattress, nearly toppling me in her rush to put distance between us. I stumble back, but it’s Lina who grabs my arms and draws me toward her so I don’t fall, and as a result every soft curve along the front of her body is pressed against the hard planes of mine. My apology gets trapped in my throat when I look down at her face and see the flare of awareness in her heavy-lidded gaze. She licks her lips, and my heart gets thrown out of its regular rhythm, pumping fast and then slow and skipping a few beats in between. If she tips her chin up, bringing her mouth closer, I may very well flatline.
A loud, rapid knock on the door drags us out of the moment, and we spring apart like boxers rushing to our respective corners at the end of a round.
“The retreat will be resuming soon, folks,” a voice outside the door says. “Be on the field out back in ten minutes.”
Her gaze downcast as she riffles through her bag, Lina says, “I’m going to freshen up a bit. Meet you out there?”
I nod even though she’s not looking at me. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.”
And frankly, we need all the good ideas we can get—mostly to counteract the reckless ones swirling in my head.
Chapter Nineteen
Lina
I’m sure I misheard him, so I raise my hand. “Excuse me, James?”
He spins around and gives me a cheerful smile. “Yes, Carolina?”
“I think the heat’s gotten me all”—I cross my eyes—“loopy. Did you say we’re playing ball? Like basketball? Baseball?”
Before he answers, a large transparent inflatable ball with human legs appears from behind the barn and comes charging toward us. Everyone scrambles out of the way.
“It’s the Kool-Aid Man!” someone yells.
“Wanda, quit playing,” James shouts, his eyes crinkling with laughter. “We’re supposed to be the grown-ups here.”
Wanda, James’s wife, bumps him and cackles when he stumbles back. James straightens to his full height and looks at me. “To answer your question, Carolina—”
“Lina’s fine.”
“To answer your question, Lina,” James says, “we’re playing bumper ball, and all that means is, you’re going to be the ball and you’re going to do the bumping.” He directs his attention to the rest of the couples—there are seven of us in all—and rubs his hands like an evil villain. “The goals are to have fun, let out some aggression, and work as a team. The object of the game is to stay within the orange cones. If you get bumped out of bounds, you’re done. The last couple remaining within the cones at any point in the game will be crowned the winner. Simple enough?”
Everyone nods.
“Oh, one more thing,” James says. “Your hands must remain in the ball at all times. If you use your hands in any way other than to hold on to the straps on the inside of the ball, you’re disqualified.”
I turn to Max. “Do you see what you’ve gotten me into?”
Max gives me a self-satisfied grin. “I know. Isn’t it great?”
“All right, folks,” Wanda says. “Let’s suit up.”
This seems like a lot to put us through for the privilege of not sleeping on a barn floor. Especially when I consider that some of these couples aren’t smiling and may have missed James’s “have fun” part of the speech.
“Okay, what’s our strategy?” Max asks.
He’s taken off his button-down, so he’s returned to Hartley the Hottie status, and I want to bump the shit out of him just for that. If I’m subjected to one more that-was-close moment like the one we just had in the room, a cold shower won’t be enough to cool me down.
I see ice baths in my future. Lots and lots of ice baths.
Wanda, who’s a sweetie with a wicked streak, was nice enough to give me early access to the T-shirt each participant is supposed to receive at the end of the program. I’ve paired it with boxers I borrowed from Max. “Let’s just run over everyone.”
Max purses his lips appreciatively. “That works.”
I slip into the shoulder straps, pushing through the momentary bout of claustrophobia that assaults me.
“You okay in there?” Max asks.
I grasp the handles and lean over, so I can see him from the top of the ball. “I’m good. You?”
“Excited. I tried to convince my best friend, Dean, to do this at a local rec center we go to, but he refused.”
“Dean sounds like a smart man.”
“Yeah, you two would get along well. He’s practical, just like you. A little more animated, though, I’d say.”
I flutter my eyelashes. “Dean must be the perfect person. Ever consider dating him?”
Before he can respond, James blows a whistle and motions for us to gather around him on the field of play. Because we joined the group late, we don’t know the other couples, and they don’t know us. I suspect that as the newcomers who didn’t show up on time—or so they think—Max and I will be targeted first. On the outside, I’m all polite smiles and chummy camaraderie. On the inside, I’m thinking, Bring it, suckers.
I bump Max a bit to get his attention. “Hey. Walk with me over here.”
Max follows. “What’s up?”
“So now I’m thinking about strategy. Let’s split up. Together, we’re a bigger target, but if we’re separated, we’ll attract less attention. We can let the others duke it out until we’re the last ones standing.”
Max indicates his disagreement by shaking his body, and thus the ball, back and forth. “We should stick together. Show a united front. They’re going after us first, but if we present a strong defense, they’ll quickly scatter and attack someone else.”
I pause. “Wait a minute.” I call out to our host. “James, is there a prize for the winning couple?”
“Bragging rights,” James yells back.
Max and I look at each other.
“Okay, so the stakes are low,” he says. “Why don’t we try it your way and see how it goes. If that strategy doesn’t work, we’ll try it my way. Deal?”