Our brief surveillance screeches to a halt when we hear Bea’s scream. I move without thinking, pure reaction, leaping over the ledge of our hiding spot and landing with a bone-rattling thud before I sprint toward the woods.
I hear another set of footsteps close at my back and glance over my shoulder, relieved to see what I already knew—Christopher’s right behind me.
“What the fuck?” I hear Bea yell.
“Beatrice.” Jamie’s voice is calm, infused with patience.
Right before I run into the clearing, Christopher grabs me by the waist and pulls me flat against him behind a tree. I’m about to tell him off for stopping me, when his hand slaps over my mouth. The last two guys from the team stand ahead, right where I was about to run, two feet away from Jamie and Bea, who are stationed on either side of the catapult.
I drag Christopher’s hand off my mouth, but he only wrenches me tighter against him, his chest rising and falling quickly, his breath hot against my ear.
A shiver runs through me again. And this time it’s got nothing to do with being cold.
I feel every inch of him that’s touching me. The hard muscles of his thighs pressed against the backs of my legs, his groin wedged into my butt, the obvious thickness that’s . . . oh God, I can’t think about what I feel or this instinct to press back and rub myself on him. His heavy arms pin me close, his chest a broad, firm landing place that I let my head fall back on as I drag in a breath, needing oxygen, needing something to make my body behave itself.
My sister’s voice is a good distraction, redirecting my attention as she steps into my line of sight, hands on her hips, glaring up at the bros in black. “You fucking assholes.”
“Easy, sweetie,” the ringleader says. “It’s just a little fun.”
“A little fun?” she shrieks. “Listen, dickhead, I don’t pretend to be a big rule follower, but when it comes to safety, rules matter. You slingshotted a fucking paintball point-blank into his face.”
“Beatrice,” Jamie says again, still so patient and calm.
“What, Jamie?” she yells.
Slowly, he pulls her into his arms and presses her head to his chest. “I’m fine. My goggles took the brunt of it, and my face is fine.”
“I’m not fine,” she mutters, her voice suspiciously thick. She sniffles.
“You are,” he says gently, swaying her from side to side. “You’re okay. Just take a deep breath.”
“I’m not okay with this,” she grumbles. “You hid me behind you and they nailed you in the face, much closer than the rules allow.” She pulls away long enough to yell at them, “The face is off-limits, you cheating, shriveled-up nut sacks!”
The big guy rolls his eyes. “Y’all are hit. You gonna walk off the field or what?”
Both Jamie and Bea ignore him as Bea settles her head on his chest again and takes a slow deep breath, displaying a hell of a lot more class than I would. After a moment, the two of them pull apart and without a word to the jerks, turn their backs on them, walking right in our direction.
“Stay quiet,” Christopher whispers.
I couldn’t even speak if I wanted to. I’m still tongue-tied by the sensation buzzing through my veins, pulsing everywhere we touch, my back to his front, his hand splayed low across my belly and high across my shoulder, pinning me against him.
I’d swear my swallow echoes in the woods, but either it’s quieter than I think, and Jamie and Bea don’t notice us, or they do and they’re the best actors ever.
Right when they’re passing our tree, Jamie seems to stumble, falling to his knees.
“Jamie!” Bea bends over him. “You okay?”
“Fine,” he says, standing up. “Just caught my toe on a root.”
That’s when I see what he’s just laid at our feet during his “fall”—his satchel filled with a treasure trove of paintballs.
Relief fills me like a balloon, buoying me up. I have one paintball left in my satchel, and I don’t know if Christopher has any. We were going to restock after the ambush, but obviously that didn’t happen.
Now restocking is the last thing we have to worry about.
My gears start to turn. We’re so close to beating these tool bags who played dirty, who had us outnumbered and acted like cutthroat, petty jerks. Best yet, the ringleader is still on the field. And I’m going to take him down.
Slowly, I peer over my shoulder, craning my neck so I can whisper in Christopher’s ear as quietly as possible. Christopher dips his head at the same time, as if he had the same thought.