Page 62 of PR Stunt

No, because I was planning to lie down and take a nap.

Grayson reaches the edge of the mud pit first, pushing himself up and out in one smooth motion. I push forward, my limbs burning, and haul myself out right after him, mud clinging to every inch of me.

His lips twitch. “I knew you would pull off brunette.”

I flick mud at him in response before taking off toward the next obstacle. The next obstacle is a wide, disgusting trench of murky brown water, the kind that probably has things floating in it that I don’t want to think about. Gross…and I have to swim this. Grayson jumps in first, barely making a splash. I follow a second later, but not before I “accidentally” kick out my foot, landing dangerously close to his groin.

The cameras can’t catch what happens beneath the water, but Grayson’s reaction says it all. His entire body jolts, muscles tensing like he’s just been electrocuted. His gaze snaps to mine, eyes wide with a silent Are you kidding me?

I blink back, all innocence. What? Accidents happen.

Grayson recovers fast. He surges ahead, cutting through the water with natural speed. Can’t say I’m surprised that he’s a good swimmer. I realize, with no small amount of irritation, that his years of surfing experience give him a massive advantage. He reaches the other side first and hauls himself out, turning to offer me a hand like the definition of boyfriend material. In other circumstances, I’d swat it away, but these are desperate times.

I grab it, and the second I do, he lets go.

I plunge backward with a massive splash. Water floods my nose, ears, and soul. Pushing off the muddy ground, I rise, locking eyes with him. I don’t say a word. I don’t have to.

I’m sure my glare says it all. You’re dead.

Above me, Grayson arranges his features into careful concern, but the gleam in his eyes gives him away. “Oh, sorry, sweetheart. It’s slippery.”

His eyes say payback’s a bitch.

A shriek from behind distracts me. Maddox and Serena are still mid-swim, Serena flailing as she screeches, “It’s in my eyes! Oh my God, it’s in my eyes!” Maddox looks like he’s debating whether to help her or just keep moving, but either way, they’re losing time.

I don’t have time to glare at Grayson, let alone make him suffer for what he just did. The cameras are still rolling. He extends his hand again. With a tight jaw, I grab on, and he yanks me up onto solid ground. I stumble slightly, drenched and seething, but there’s no time to dwell on it. We take off toward the next obstacle, mud and water dripping from every inch of me. Every step promises my wrath. This isn’t over. Not even close. I shake it off, shoving a hand through my muddy hair.

Then, I tilt my head, letting my voice drop just enough to keep it playful. “If you drop me next time, I’m taking you down with me.”

“Nowhere else rather I’d be,” he says smoothly.

Running to the third obstacle, I take it in. The towering wall looms ahead at a steep forty-five-degree incline, slick with mud and ropes dangling from the top. Contestants ahead of us are clawing their way up, some slipping back down in a mess of limbs and curses.

I grab a rope, gripping tight. “You go first?”

“And miss the view from behind?”

Grayson shoots me a grin, but he doesn’t wait for a response. He grabs the rope and starts climbing, muscles tensing beneath his mud-soaked shirt. The thin fabric clings to him, streaked brown, highlighting the flex of his shoulders as he pulls himself up in strong, controlled movements.

His boots skid slightly against the slick wooden surface, but he adjusts quickly, digging in and powering upward. He moves with the kind of natural athleticism that makes it look easy. Grip, pull, plant, push until he reaches the top and swings a leg over in one fluid motion. I blink. What the hell?

It’s not just that he made it look easy… It’s that he moved with a level of strength I’ve only read about in my books. Magical lords who wield swords, battle enemies, and have supernatural endurance.

I shake myself out of it. This is not a fantasy novel. Then he turns, leaning over the edge, his hand extended.

“Your turn, Miss Grace.”

I follow, arms straining, the mud making it harder to keep my grip. Just as I near the top, my foot slides—my stomach lurches, and I grip tighter as my body falls sideways, but before I can fall, warm hands close around my wrist.

“I got you,” Grayson says, voice firm.

And for the first time since this stupid race started, I don’t hesitate. Grayson and I may not exactly be friends, but right now, we have the same goal: win. His grip is strong, unwavering. In this moment, as his fingers tighten around mine, pulling me up, a single thought pierces the tension: I can’t wait for a hot shower and a glass of wine. I let him haul me over the edge, and I land beside him, breathless. The second my boots hit solid ground, my mind catches up. While I’d been fighting for footing on the wall, the other teams hadn’t slowed down.

We take off running toward the next obstacle. As I push forward, Ava pulls ahead slightly, flashing me a grin. I send her a challenging wink in return. A narrow wooden beam stretches over a pit of muddy water. Ahead of us, Savannah and Kole, wobble across, arms outstretched for balance, their shoes caked in mud.

Beside me, Grayson inclines his head. “You want me to go first again?”

“Nah,” I say, rolling out my shoulders. “I don’t do Pilates for nothing.”