Page 193 of Alphas Like Us
“I’m keeping up,” I add. “Go, don’t stop.” I start back up into ajog.
And they follow suit before I can even passthem.
If this were a race, I wouldn’t be in last. My bodyguard has fallen way behind. Bruno is in really good shape for fifty-two, but he’s bulkier than us, his muscle mass weighing himdown.
Each pounding step is a razor blade. And a jolt ofpain.
For Christ’s sake, my stomach churns. And the switchbacks, the constant curving of the steps, don’t help defeatnausea.
Keep up with Farrow.I repeat that mantra. Focusing on that, I start closing the gap. He runs at Akara’s brisk pace, Sulli outracing them by twostairs.
I try harder. Sweat dripping down mytemples.
I go faster. Breath blazing in my burninglungs.
But no matter how far I strain my muscles, how much I push, how much pain I endure, it’s not good enough. It’s not where I need to be forSulli.
Pushharder.
Ido.
And my rubber sole slips on wet cobblestone.Fuck.
Fuck.
I almost go down—I reach out, grabbing the back of Farrow’s white tee. My boyfriend instantly extends his tattooed arm backwards, catching my forearm. And then he pulls me up to his side. All the while we’re stillmoving.
My pulse skips a beat. The effortless affection striking mehot.
Farrow is smiling at me, knowingly, but it fades fast. And he calls out to the others, “Stop!”
I’m on my knees in a flash. Puking off the side of these old steps. Farrow crouches and puts a hand on myback.
“Moffy.” Sulli skips down the stairs to me. “Ohfuck.”
I spit off the cliffside, my head whirling. “I’m alright.” The amount of times Farrow has seen me upchuck isstartling.
“Drink this.” Farrow hands me a 32 oz. blue waterbottle.
“Thanks,” I say seriously. I unscrew the wide cap, and I glance back at the camera pointed at me. “Possibility that tourists will take pictures next to my puke spot?” I try to lighten the mood that I’vesunk.
“High,” Jack says, adjusting his camera settings. “It happened to someone in a boyband.”
Akara wipes sweat off his forehead. “I heard about that.” He looks at Jack. “Fans sold his puke on eBaytoo?”
“Yep. Double whammy,” Jack says, unsnapping a buckle or something to the steadicam and giving his shoulders a breather from theweight.
“Chile is fucking rougher than this,” Sulli tells me while I swig mywater.
“I know.” I rise to my feet, Farrow’s hand hovering by my waist in case I go down. I’mup.
I’mstable.
I canrun.
Pain thumps in my collar, swelling like a balloon that expands inside a space too cramped, too small. I clear a knot in my throat. Take another swig ofwater.
“I’m alright to run,” I tell mycousin.
