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“After I thought about it, pretty much all night, I decided that any guy caught in your wake would be lucky, even if he was merely the firebrand that set you off.”
“You’d be surprised how many guys disagree with you.”
“I can imagine. It must get depressing after a while. Especially if they treated you like I did last night.”
Trixie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He was sympathizing? Who was this guy? She didn’t consider herself as harlot. More like a maiden questing to find a worthy suitor. Cy understood that, even if he needed a night to sleep on it first. Trixie smiled and pointlessly adjusted several strands of mud-caked hair behind an ear.
“I’ll tell you what. If you really feel that bad, then keep up with me for the rest of this race. Do that and all will be forgiven.”
“And if you still beat me?”
“Then you can treat me to a spa at the hotel.”
Cy laughed. “Deal.”
They took off at a healthy gait, but none of the obstacles were a problem after that. Not the uphill log carry, not the monkey bar crossing, not even the belly mud slide under barb wire. If an obstacle was impossible to do alone, like the 15 feet high sloped ramp, Cy ran up first and she leapt into his waiting hands. If a hoarding was too tall, Cy lifted her onto his shoulders so she could pull herself over. Trixie loved the feeling of his hands on her thighs, making sure that she was well balanced first before letting go.
They were unstoppable together, but she did slow down a few times to let him keep up. Cy might be strong, but Trixie was a better runner. Still, she wasn’t going to let him win. The spa back at the hotel smelled way too good. Trixie inched in front of Cy at the last moment, charging through a mesh of dangling live wires, and became the first woman that day who didn’t fall down from the electrical shock. She attributed it to her threshold for pain.
6. Short Fuse
Trixie and Cy accepted their medals, drank the complementary finish-line beer, and washed themselves off under the communal showers set up by the race. She leaned over and kissed Cy under the splattering shards of cold water.
“You owe me a spa,” she reminded him.
“I’m good for it.”
They walked back to the hotel, using each other for support again. They managed to wash most of the mud off, but there were still places that Trixie hadn't properly hosed down yet. She gazed at the spa entranceway and then back at Cy longingly. He laughed at her expression.
“I’ll square up with the desk. You go in and I’ll catch up afterwards.”
Trixie headed towards the scented doorway and sat in the front room. She wasn’t waiting long. A young Asian woman with a pretty smile appeared a few minutes later.
“Greetings. If you’re ready, we can start you on the diamond package now.”
“The diamond package? Are you sure? That's sounds expensive.”
“You’re Trixie aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“Then yes, you get the works, beginning with a massage.”
The young woman directed Trixie to a private shower with opaque glass walls. She undressed and practically melted under the hot water. Both feet were cramped and all of her muscles were sore. Leaving the water wasn’t easy, but a robe and slippers were waiting for her once she stepped out.
The young Asian woman appeared again and led her down an ocean blue hallway. She opened one of the last doors and politely instructed Trixie to lie face down on the massage table. There was a horseshoe-shaped cushion in which to rest her head. She did as she was bidden, after which the young woman deftly removed her robe, draped a towel across her exposed backside, and positioned several heat lamps around her body. They felt divine.
“The masseuse will be along shortly,” the young woman added before leaving the room. Trixie wasn’t sure if she could stay awake that long, and must have dozed off, because she awoke to lavender-scented hands gently kneading her back. The heat lamps were already gone.
“Sorry,” she said, addressing the feet of her masseuse. “I didn’t notice you come in.”
“Mm-hm,” was the only response she received as fingers pressed between sore muscles and tapped out clusters of knots.
He either wasn’t talkative or maybe English was a second language. Regardless, she was more than happy to quietly enjoy his expertise. She was no authority on the subject, but her masseuse seemed to know exactly what he was doing. His hands were very talented at ferreting out kinks.
After an initial full body oiling, the masseuse focused on her toes and slowly made his way up, manipulating her feet, calves, and upper legs, all with his fingertips. When those were done, he switched to the back of her neck and worked his way down, through the shoulders, arms, and hands. She wondered if the massage would stop there, but then he reached up under her towel as well. Cy must have paid a tidy sum for such a comprehensive treatment.
The hands of her masseuse were inordinately strong, never once stopping for a break. Trixie couldn’t remember the last time she felt so relaxed, which was surprising considering the race she had just run. The masseuse addressed every one of her intimate muscles. He negotiated her hips, tailbone, and inner thighs. By this point the pretense of her towel had long since slipped away. Trixie didn’t care. She was in Shangri-La and had no intention of leaving.
