Wait. “What’s a dizzy race?”
Lexie points to where Camila is setting up cones down thebeach. “It’s a relay. We each have to run to the cone, spin around it ten times, and then race back and tag the next member of our team. The first team to have three runners complete the race wins.”
“Sounds fun.” Not really, but I’m pretty sure that’s the tequila talking. “Can I be first?”
Yep, definitely the tequila.
“Works for me.” Kayla shields her eyes and scans the beach, studying our competition. “I’ll go second, and Lexie will bring home the fake gold.”
Lexie sticks her tongue out at us, earning another round of giggles as we line up next to Flamingo Boy and his buddies, who are arguing about their team lineup.
“It doesn’t matter what order you go in.” Lexie flips her ponytail over her shoulder. “We’re still going to win.”
Jones’ eyes nearly bug out of his head, and I cackle. There’s no other word for the maniacal laughter that explodes from my lips.
“Who hurt you?” the tree hugger asks, sparking a huff of indignation from our self-appointed team captain.
“Why is it that anytime a woman shows a competitive spirit she’s considered damaged goods?” Lexie demands, throwing air quotes around the last bit. “Or worse, aggressive.”
“I’ll take the patriarchy for five hundred,” Kayla deadpans, sounding like the world’s least enthusiastic game show contestant.
“Ding, ding, ding!” I pretend to ring an imaginary bell. “Got it on the first try!”
Flamingo Boy grins, revealing those adorable freaking dimples, and my belly flips. “Don’t let Bergie fool you. He loves trash talk. It’s just that he’s usually the one doing the chirping.”
“Bro.” Jones pulls a face. “Whose team are you on? Quit giving away our strat.”
“Uh-oh,” I sing. “Sounds like you have a traitor in your mid—”
“Is everyone ready?” Camila calls, raising her arms over her head like a flag.
We confirm, our voices melding together as one.
“En sus marcas, listos, fuer!”
Camile drops her arms, and I take off like a shot. At least, I think I do. It’s surprisingly difficult to run barefoot on the sand.
“Goooo!” Lexie shouts. I don’t have to look back to know she’s probably jumping up and down like a maniac. Her piercing screams are enough to get me moving.
My feet pound over the sand, each footfall sturdier than the last. Once I get used to the sensation of my heels sinking with each step, it gets easier.
Sweat beads along my hairline and pools between my breasts, but I ignore it, focusing on my breathing. Each breath comes hard and fast, my chest expanding and contracting in an attempt to draw more oxygen into my system.
By the time I reach the orange cone that marks the turnaround point, I’m panting like a dog.
A dog who hasn’t exercised in months.
My chest burns, but I can’t afford to rest. A quick glance around reveals Flamingo Boy is in the lead and the tweens are hot on my tail. I lower my forehead to the top of the cone and spin.
The world beneath me blurs into a brown and white swirl as I make my way around the cone, moving as quickly as I dare. I can’t afford to lose time, but I also have no interest in puking my guts up in front of all these people.
I count off ten spins, and when I straighten, the beach rotates before my eyes. I take a step forward, and stumble.
Shoot. This is harder than I thought it would be.
I narrow my eyes and squint down the beach, locking my gaze on what I think is the starting line.
“Move your ass!” Lexie shouts, waving her arms erratically.
