I watch as she goes on to list out things she noticed about the eight other teams—their colors, where they were standing on the stage, their archetypes—and JSP. Since the last challenge is usually an overly detailed memory game, note-taking is vital onThe Adventureverse. She writes furiously. By which I mean, illegibly. It’s anyone’s guess as to whether her handwriting is messy from the adrenaline or the creative way our driver has decided to tackle lane changes.
The closer we get to Denver International Airport, the more wildly my heart beats. I press my hand against my chest, and when I look over at Yumi, she’s doing the same.
She smiles at me. Smiles. I don’t just see through the veil between worlds—I step through it.
It’s surreal. We’re here. We’re really here.
Chapter 13
Grumpy X Sunshine
TSA has never been kinder,offering to fast-track us through security as they grin into the cameras. We approach Gate 41, finding a circle of the three teams that arrived before us. It’s a relief, knowing we’ll be on the first flight.
I’m surprised the High Elves aren’t here already. The jocks are, of course. They’re intimidatingly big this close up, towering over everyone else with ease. The cameraman behind them has to stand on a chair to film over their shoulders. They nod down at us when we join the circle.
Directly across from them are the Cowboys. The man grins. “Howdy,” he says, Southern accent slow and rich like molasses. If that’s not a word he uses daily, and I imagine it isn’t, he deserves a gold star for how well he understood the assignment that isAdventureversebranding. Seconds into knowing him, and I already see a bright future for him in sweet tea sponsorships. He gives me a firm handshake. “I’m Ashley.”
The woman beside him tips her hat at us. Oh, they aresoclever. Good for them. “I’m Marina. We’re barrel racers.”
“Noelle and Yumi,” Yumi says, pointing to each of us respectively. “We’re superfans.”
“And gays,” I add.
“Hey, us too!” one of the football players says, raising his enormous hand for a high five. I meet it, a little surprised at how soft it is. He looks like he could break my fingers. “Sports gays. I told Gabriel we wouldn’t be the only ones.”
Gabriel (apparently) nods. “Times, they are a-changing,” he says by way of agreement, his voice deep and gravelly.
“I’m KC, by the way,” the first jock says, reaching around Gabriel to offer us fist bumps.
The last couple in the circle has been quiet so far, but now the girl waves enthusiastically. Her delicate glasses bite into her full cheeks as she smiles at us. “I’m Morgan! This is Matt. I’m not sure what we are.”
“Grumpy x sunshine,” Matt says gruffly.
“Ah, grumpy x sunshine, that’s right,” she says, tapping her palm against her forehead. “But for the record, I can get pretty grumpy, and I probably will. I don’t do well on less than nine hours of sleep. Matt knows. I’ve been a nightmare about it since we met.”
“How did you two meet?” Yumi asks, her gaze darting between them.
“Swing dancing!” Morgan gives a little shimmy. “Matt and I have competed in the same regional Lindy Hop circles since we were kids. He always placed way higher than I did, though.”
“Because your partner was trash,” Matt comments matter-of-factly, his jaw working. “And his footwork was sloppy. Couldn’t pick up his steps for shit.”
My eyebrows rise. I didn’t peg them as the fighting couple of the season. But Morgan just shakes her head, closes her eyes, andsurprises me by agreeing. “He was trash. He once told me—can you believe this?” Her eyes fly open, and she scans each of us in turn to make sure we’re listening. “He said I was too heavy to do tricks, and that was why we never did well.”
I inhale sharply, the pain of weight and womanhood visceral, even though I’ve always fit into straight sizes. And then there’s the echo: feeling guilty because I noticed her body, feeling guilty about feeling guilty because bodies aren’t shameful, feeling guilty about feeling guilty that I felt guilty, et cetera, until I die.
“And that’s bullshit,” Matt spits, interrupting my pity party. “Because the follow holds most of their weight if the lead knows what they’re doing and puts in the work to find the right moves for their partner. Obviously, I can’t hold Morgan above my head and spin her, and that’s why we don’t fucking do that.”
The jocks’ mouths contort in synchronized distaste.
Ashley wraps an arm around Marina and pulls her close. “Trash,” he concurs as Marina gives Morgan a sympathetic look.
“So, when Matt’s partner retired, he asked if I wanted to dance with him,” Morgan finishes, adorably dreamy gaze turned on Matt’s frowning face. “And now we win comps all the time.”
“Hell yeah we do,” Matt says with a sharp, angry nod.
And I think I almost see it, the endearing part of him. The opposites-attract energy that made the producers cast them.
But then Morgan says, “Can we show them the end of what we did at the pro showcase?”
