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He waggles his brows at me. “Let’s win this thing, Texas.”
I kick my sneakers off. “You got it.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Less weight.”
His laughter makes me rock in his arms, and when the horn blares he takes off, striding forward on powerful legs.
“Hold on tight!” he instructs, and with each step I bounce up and down in his strong arms.
I feel so giddy I let out a squeal of delight.
Looking around at the other competitors, I’m the only partner not in a fireman’s hold. Has Alex made an error in judgment, carrying me this way? It must be so much easier to run with someone thrown over your shoulder.
But would I change it?
That would be a rock-hard no, just like Alex’s torso.
I can feel every taut muscle in his body, every confident step he makes, every breath he takes, and I find myself gazing at him, my heart swelling with my almost overpowering feelings for him.
He clutches me closer, his breath coming hard.
“You’re doing amazing!” I encourage.
We’re ahead of everyone but Amelia and her rugby guy, who I strongly suspect she chose for his long, powerful legs and sheer animal strength. Props to her.
But I wouldn’t trade Alex for the world.
“Need…to…catch…them,” he pants as I bounce up and down with every step.
“You got this!” I tell him, despite the fact Amelia and her rugby hero are a good three or four paces ahead of us.
In a few short seconds, and enough jostling to make me regret my lunch, we cross the line, coming in second behind Amelia and Luke. Alex drops me to my feet, places his hands on his knees, and sucks in deep lungfuls of air. He ran, carrying me, over 100 yards, which is no small thing. The guy must be beat.
I place my hand on his back. It’s hot and sweaty, his shirt clinging to every muscular sinew as his chest heaves. “You did good, hubby,” I tell him.
He looks up at me, his face flushed and sweaty. “Not good enough.” He gestures at Amelia and Luke, who barely broke a sweat as they had glided across the finish line, Amelia shouting and waving her hands in the air in glee.
“Come on. He looks like he could wrangle a bull with his bare hands.”
Alex wipes his forehead with the bottom edge of his shirt, exposing his taut, tan belly.
It’s hard to pull my eyes away.
“Is that something you did a lot back in Texas? Wrangling bulls with your bare hands?”
“Not a lot of bull wrangling going on in Houston, unless you count the rodeo.”
“Will you take me to a genuine Texas rodeo someday?”
“I'll see what I can do.”
We share a smile.
“How about I start with escorting you to a ball tonight?” he asks.
It’s tradition that The Games ends with a ball, complete with dancing and fireworks. Gustav has already helped me pick out my dress, and the thought of going to the ball with Alex at my side fills my heart with happiness.
