“Shit, Elliott, have you seen all these people?”

He stops walking and nods. Spectators are banked up in stadiums at least twenty deep. “I did not realize this event had such a huge following. I’m going to kill Florian.”

“Bet you regret getting the press in now as well,” I jibe, still not having forgiven him.

“It’s one thing having the media. They can be controlled with a press release and free stuff, but shit, this crowd.” I’m speaking slowly, concentrating more on the sheer number of fans than on the words my mouth is forming. I’m not about to admit it, but I was nervous before seeing this happy bunch. I wipe my palms down my shorts.

“You know, there’s still three hours to go, and people are here already. They’re here before us, for fuck’s sake.”

“Yes, Kyle, I got that.”

He shoves me. He was strong before, but the power behind that quick dig tells me that he is more explosive now. His muscles flex, just from the mere act of walking. If Kyle Beaumont-Judd was hot before, he’s on fire now, and I take a second, just one, to cast an eye over his finely tuned abs. Fuck, he’s hot as sin.

Now is not the time to get going, though. I need to concentrate, so in a bid to stop the bulge in my pants from stiffening further, I snap my head away and give it a quick shake.

Back to the job at hand. I ignore the image of what could be in my hand that floats through my imagination and focus. Focus, damn it!

There are twenty pods lined up on a floating deck. Each pod is separated from the other by a mesh divider. The deck is floating because it’s on the edge of a lake, one that later on we’ll have to fight against a competitor while standing on a log and seeing who can roll it fastest to the other side. The idea of that particular challenge is that one fight to balance on the log while simultaneously doing everything in our power to destabilize the other competitor, resulting in dumping one person in the lake. The remaining challenger will be the winner of that bout.

“What have I done, Kyle?”

He looks at me, widens his eyes and pulls his mouth in that way that tells me he’s at a loss. “I don’t know, El, but you dragged me into it as well.”

“Come on, let’s go find where we need to be and stop panicking over this.”

Ten minutes later, we’re in a baking hot gazebo with a bunch of other guys. None of them look massive, which worries me because I’ve seen them perform. Bile rises in my gut.

“I never felt this nervous before a race,” I hiss.

“You and me both. Look at them. They're not built. Most of them are flabby. I hope Florian has had us training for the right events.” He widens his eyes and I just nod. I have nothing to add.

We sign in and collect our competitors’ vests. Mine is numbered with a ‘6’ and Kyle an ‘9’.

“I should have thought about this, asked if I couldn’t get mine to be the same number as my car,” I mutter, holding up the back of my shirt.

Kyle’s head swivels round and he stares at me, one hand on his hip. “I think the fewer people who can connect us with this whole fiasco, the better” he replies. “Besides which, have you missed Florian’s little joke with us here.”