More than Distance

35

“Did you just find out?”

“Yeah. He didn’t even tell me. Can you believe that? My stepmother had to call me and let me know. That’s why I went to LA.” My jaw clenched up at the memory of him yelling at me to get out of his house. “But he didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“That’s so sad. I know you’ve never had a great relationship with him, but I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t want to see you now.”

“The usual shit.” I was close to breaking the steering wheel with my grip. I forced my fingers to relax. “He’s pissed I won’t take over the family business. He’ll never forgive me for starting my own company. All the same things he disowned me for before I left for college.”

“He can’t blame you for wanting to follow you dream.”

“He can and he does.”

She reached across the center console and took my hand. I nearly jumped at her touch, but my stiff fingers relaxed into hers. This was dangerous, letting her get this close to me again, but I couldn’t pull away.

“You came on the show to escape,” she said.

I shrugged. “I already had the time off work.”

“I understand. I came on the show to escape too.” She squeezed my hand. “When this is over, you should try again with your dad.”

“It’s too late. Things between us can’t be repaired.”

“That’s not true. As long as he’s still alive, it’s not too late.”

I wasn’t sure about that, but I let it go.

We lapsed into silence, but our hands remained joined together until we made it to the challenge location.

* * *

We parked at an RV camp near the edge of the Petrified Forest and people from the show led us into an area they’d taken over with camera crews and Road Trip Race signs. Desert stretched on either side of us, broken up by jagged brown mountains, huge rocks, and chunks of petrified wood. The sun beat down on us with an angry, dry heat and sweat soaked through my shirt.

In the middle of it all stood an obstacle course with three pools and raised platforms over them, connected by wobbly rope bridges. The first pool was full of thick, dark mud, while the other pools had water in them. At the end of the obstacle course there was a huge plastic pot, like the kind you’d plant a large tree in. I stared at it all, wondering what we had gotten ourselves into…and why it involved mud.

A man wearing a bandana handed me a card with the information. I groaned when I saw the name of the challenge: Rub One Out. It got even worse when I saw what we were about to do. One person had to roll in the mud, climb to the other person and rub mud all over them, and then that person had to fill the giant pot with mud. Once it was full, we could move on.

So much for keeping my hands off Carla.

There was no time to worry about that now because we had to hurry. The challenges were meant to slow us down and we were already behind. Carla shot me a nervous look, before splitting off to the women’s restroom to change. I headed into the men’s and threw on my swim trunks quickly.

When I emerged, it was all I could do to not outright ogle Carla. She wore a pale yellow bikini that showed off every inch of her curves. I’d thought last night with her tiny shorts and thin t-shirt had been torture enough, but this was worse. My gaze ran over it all. The swell of her breasts. The tightness of her ass. The curve of her hips. The smooth plane of her stomach. Those long legs that went on for miles. How was I supposed to get through this challenge, or hell, the rest of the night, without jumping her?

Remember Daniel, I told myself, conjuring the memory of her brother telling me to stay away from her. But that image vanished when I saw her eyeing my chest like she wanted to take a bite. f*****g hell.

I climbed to the middle platform, while Carla stood in front of the mud pit. A horn sounded and she dove in without hesitation. I stared, completely transfixed, as she rolled around in the mud, getting her entire body covered. She’d need a good shower after this. So would I. A cold one.

Once she was completely soaked in mud she ran across the rope ladder toward me. I stood in the middle of the platform, cringing as she swayed and nearly fell, then offered her my hand when she got close enough. I pulled her off the bridge and she smacked against my chest, mud flying. There was a second where she looked up at me, each of us taking a breath, and then she began rubbing against me. Her muddy skin slid against mine, wet and hot and slick. Within seconds I was both covered in mud and more turned on than ever.

I tore myself away from her and ran across the other rope bridge, which was difficult to do with a raging hard-on. When I made it to the platform I leaned over the pot and pushed as much mud into it as possible. Once it was suitably disgusting, I went back to the middle platform to do it all over again. I estimated we’d have to do this three times, without falling, before we could leave.

Easier said than done.

Carla fell off the rope bridge and into the water on the second attempt and had to start all over. She got herself muddy once again and made it to the platform safely this time, and we repeated the rubbing, sliding, and panting. Whoever came up with this challenge was seriously cruel.