Playing Games (9 page)

"And because you're cute," he agreed. "It
makes you look perky."

For some reason, I blushed at that. So he
thought I was cute? Or just perky? Perky didn't necessarily mean
attractive. Squirrels were perky. "So, what about you?"

"What about me?" His dark eyes studied my
face.

"What made you come on The World Races?"

His mouth twisted a bit. "The label."

I frowned at him. "The label?"

"Yeah. Tesla wanted to go on the show.
Thought it'd be a good opportunity since our next record drops in
the fall, when this airs. We had a large lead time." He shrugged.
"The label wanted one of the band members to go with her. I was
picked."

"So you and Tesla aren't," I gestured with my
hand. "You know."

His eyes widened. "Oh, god no. She's just a
bandmate. You know, the whole
Finding Threnody
thing." And
he looked at me like I should know exactly what he was talking
about.

I winced. "Is it bad if this is the part that
I say that I've never heard of you?"

He stared.

"I listen to country music," I said lamely.
"Sorry. I'm sure your band is good."

He continued to stare.

"I'll buy your CD when I get home," I told
him. "I promise."

He shook his head a little, as if to clear
it, then laughed. "So you really don't know who we are?"

"Well," I told him. I thought for a moment,
trying to determine the best way to say it without hurting his
feelings, and then gave up. "Not a clue. Brodie's a fan,
though."

Liam chuckled and shook his head. "Well, that
explains why you weren't very friendly to me."

"Are a lot of girls friendly to you because
you're in a rock band?"

"Yes," he said simply.

I snorted. "They might be until you push them
down reaching for their football."

He scowled. "It was an accident."

"How do I know that?" I asked innocently,
putting a teasing lilt in my voice. "Maybe you thought it was a
mosh pit."

That slow, almost reluctant smile spread
across his lean face again. "Now I know you're fucking with
me."

"Just a little."

He laughed. "I suppose I deserved that."

I studied him as he smiled. I'd initially
thought Liam tall, grungy, and a little scary. The piercings were
new territory for me, as were the tattoos. He even had them on his
neck. But the smile he extended my way was genuine, and for a
moment, he looked like any other guy my age that just happened to
be covered in black tattoos, multiple facial piercings, and was the
lead guitarist in a supposedly big deal rock band.

"So…" he rubbed his chin. "I suppose there's
a special irony in this considering that neither you nor I wanted
to be on the race."

"We could always sabotage the next leg of the
race and win ourselves an extended stay in Acapulco," I told him,
keeping my voice innocent.

"Is that what you want to do?"

I considered it. I really, really did. But we
were still in the race, and we were doing rather well, if I
admitted it to myself. And Liam wasn't a bad partner, as long as we
didn't run into any more mukluk or eating challenges on the race.
"Part of me wants to bail out on the race, but a bigger part of me
wants to see how far we can go."

He nodded. "Me too." That dark, intense gaze
focused on me again. "So why did you kiss me at the Blarney
Stone?"

Oh. Wow, okay, that was super direct. I
thought about my answer for a moment, then shrugged. "I wanted
to?"

"You did?"

"Well." I ran a finger across the blanket.
"Abby told me that if we made good TV, we stood a better chance of
staying in the race. That the producers would rig things to ensure
that we'd do better. So, I kissed you." I gave another shrug,
trying to make it seem casual even though I was feeling rather
nervous. "Good TV."

Liam watched me for so long without saying
anything that I began to wonder if it was a mistake to tell him.
After a long moment, he said, "So it was just for TV?"

I couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a
bad thing. "Maybe?"

He considered this. Then, he leaned in. "You
want to keep making good TV, then?"

“What do you mean?”

Liam gave me a wicked smile. “I mean we make
sure that they keep us around as long as possible by making some
really good TV.”

And just like that, heat flushed through my
body.

~~ * * * ~~

That night, in the hotel room, Abby and Dean
took one bed, and Liam and I took the other. We slept clothed, of
course, but the bed was small enough that I couldn’t move without
bumping into his arm, or leg. At one point, I woke up to find his
arm around my waist, and a tingle of anticipation moved through
me.

But then he shifted and his arm moved away
again. I bit my lip, thinking. Just a fluke, then? Of course it
was. So why had I been so thrilled at the simple touch?

~~ * * * ~~

Paris, France

"There's the Palais Garnier," I told my
partner, pointing at the majestic building in the distance. "We're
in the right place."

"Come on, then," he said, and grabbed my hand
in his, pulling me down the busy streets of Paris.

That weird feeling fluttered in my stomach
when his hand grasped mine. That goofy flutter had pretty much been
my constant companion on this leg of the race. The Liam that had
been my silent companion at the beginning of the team-up? Gone.

Instead, I found myself with a Liam that I
didn't quite know what to do with. A Liam that was attentive, asked
for my opinion on directions and flights, and liked to lean in and
whisper into my ear when we were sitting close together. Unlike
Brodie, Liam was proving to be a partner that stuck by my side,
bought me drinks when he thought I might be thirsty, and generally
made me feel valued.

He'd also taken to holding my hand.

It had thrown me off at first; we'd been at
the airport, waiting for our flight into Paris when he'd simply
reached over and taken my hand in his. I hadn't missed the fact
that Abby's eyebrows had shot up to her hairline, or the fact that
the cameras had zoomed in and then proceeded to hover for the next
hour in the hopes that we'd do something exciting or flirty.

We were just making good TV. Sort of. Our
flirting had definitely escalated to a different level, and it was
a level I hadn't quite been prepared for. Not that I was
complaining. I'd started it, after all, with my impulsive kiss.

Except now that I'd started it? I was having
a hard time distinguishing real from fake. The hand holding mine
felt real. It was for the camera, I kept telling myself. But I
couldn't quite relax and accept that. Maybe I wasn't as good as
pretending as I thought I was.

Maybe I'd really wanted to kiss Liam. Which
was weird. He wasn't my type. He was silent, and tatted, and
pierced, and famous. I was just small town Katy, who went to
culinary school and wanted nothing more out of life than to make
fancy cupcakes. We weren't in the same league. We weren't the same
type. I normally went for big, muscular cowboys with boots and a
tan. Liam was tall, lean, with dark hair and not much of a tan at
all. But his eyes were dark and intense, and I found my gaze
constantly going back to those fascinating piercings.

As if he could hear my thoughts, Liam stopped
and dragged me close, his mouth hovering near my ear. I immediately
froze, my breath catching in my throat. "To your left," he
whispered. "Standing by the corner. It's the Olympians. Do you see
the flag anywhere?"

I glanced around and pretended to be studying
the Paris streets. My gaze focused on a green and blue blurb at the
far end of the Palais. The World Races logo. "I see it."

"Summer and Polly don't see us yet," he
murmured, tugging me close. "Good thing we're in black and not a
bright color."

He looped his arm around my shoulders and we
pretended to be a couple, loitering with the crowd as we headed
toward the Palais Garnier. The streets of Paris were incredibly
busy, and buses whizzed past on a regular basis. The buildings
around us were tall, adding to the vague feel of claustrophobia
that I felt, sandwiched in between them. The Olympians wandered
past, ultra-noticeable in their bright green, and appeared to be
looking for the flag. They hadn't spotted it yet. As soon as they
headed in the wrong direction, I squeezed Liam's hand and signaled
that the coast was clear. We sprinted for the mat.

A man in a tuxedo, red cape, and white mask
stood under The World Races flag, and held the customary disk out
to us. We grabbed it with a quick
thank you
and then dashed
away a good distance, making sure we weren't nearby if Summer and
Polly spotted us.

We huddled together and I flipped the disc,
reading the back. "Welcome to the Palais Garnier, the site that
inspired Gaston Leroux's famous work,
The Phantom of the
Opera
. Today, you will choose between two tasks inspired by the
novel - 'Chandeliers' or 'Performance.'"

I looked up at Liam, and shrugged, then kept
reading. "If you choose 'Chandeliers,' you must work on one of the
famous chandeliers in the interior of the Grand Foyer. Each
chandelier has multiple lights that are burnt out. You must insert
the correct light bulbs into the appropriate slots. Each time you
do so, this will also cause another light to turn off. You must
figure out the puzzle and determine how to turn on all lights. Once
you do, you will receive your next task. If you choose
'Performance,' you must learn a simple
pas de deux
from the
famous ballet,
Sleeping Beauty
. You must perform the
pas
de deux
to the approval of a preschool ballet teacher. If you
do so, you will receive your next task."

"Interesting choices. Dancing or electrician
work."

I looked up at Liam, considering. "The
chandelier might be easier to do. It's just replacing bulbs and
figuring out which ones turn off what."

"Yes, but we're here to make good TV,
remember?" And he smiled at me, his lips stretching around those
fascinating piercings. "And what makes better TV?"

I felt my mouth move into a grin.
"Performance, of course. You any good at dancing?"

"Shitty."

I laughed. "Me too."

"Then this should definitely be interesting."
He took my hand again and tugged me towards the Palais entrance.
"Come on. Performance it is."

We headed in, and my breath locked in my
throat. The building was beautiful, all delicate Corinthian columns
and straight lines leading up to the flat roof that was topped by
golden angel statues. Once inside, it was equally breathtaking. The
ceiling was ornately decorated, the stairs winding through the main
foyer. I held my breath – I didn’t think I’d ever been in a place
so elegant.

We descended the staircase and entered the
auditorium of the opera house. The place was massive, our footsteps
echoing in the room. The stage was lit, and several dancers stood
in a line, waiting for us. Off to one side, I could see a couple -
Hal and Stefan - practicing moves in front of a frowning tutor.
They were both wearing black leotards.

One of the ballet dancers stepped forward as
we took the stairs to the stage, her stiff tutu bobbing with every
exaggerated move. "Please pick a tutor to show you the steps to the
pas de deux
." She gestured at the row of dancers behind
her.

I glanced at Liam, but he shrugged. "Just
pick someone."

I did, and the woman stepped forward with
tiny, precise steps, her feet arching with every mincing motion.
Her mouth was tucked into a tight line, as if she weren't thrilled
to be chosen. She gestured to the far end of the stage, and we
followed her.

She gave a little sniff at our clothing. "You
both must change into the proper attire."

I glanced over at the other team and noticed
their clothing again. "Oh. Um, where do we get the clothing?"

She rolled her eyes as if that was the most
ridiculous question ever. "The dressing room, of course."

"Of course," Liam murmured.

At our teacher's huffy instructions, we
headed to the back of the opera house and followed colored flags to
the dressing rooms. There were two - one for men and one for women
- so we separated. I found a small room full of dark tights,
leotards, and pink ballet slippers that were made of soft leather.
I checked the inside of the shoe - no wooden block for going
en
pointe
. Thank god for that. We'd hurt ourselves if we tried to
do that, and we still had a race to run.

I dressed quickly and slid the shoes on, then
raced back out.

I ran into Liam in the hall…and was unable to
smother my giggle. He was scowling, the piercings flashing as he
caught sight of me. He tugged at the stretchy material of his
ballet outfit, the legs and leotard skin tight and outlining his,
uh, equipment.

"Before you say anything about my junk," he
growled, "It's sticking out because it’s an athletic belt."

"It's not all a belt," I said in a delicate
voice, trying not to laugh at his expression.

He snorted. "Come on, let's just get this
over with."

We returned to the dancer and she began to
show us the series of moves that had been designed for the
competition. This would not be a traditional
pas de deux
,
she informed us in an icy voice, as we were not talented enough and
novices. A traditional
pas de deux
would be far too hard for
us. So they had coordinated several easier moves for us to learn
for our dance. There were five parts - the entree, in which we
would enter the stage. The
grand adage
, in which Liam would
partner me. Then we would each have a small solo, and then the
coda
, which would bring the dance to a close. There was one
lift in which Liam would have to grab me and hoist me into the
air.