“I’ve heard that before.”
“I know, and you lost. Badly.”
“Shut up.” I’m smiling, forgetting all the stuff at dinner. Forgetting how I cried in front of him.
“This is your opportunity to even the score.”
The stubborn part of me says don’t take the bait, but my competitive side wants more. “What’s your offer?”
He points at a sign at the end of this stretch of seawall, bordering the beach. “Let’s race to that sign.”
Normally, he’s faster than me. He’s tired from training today, though. I might be able to beat him. “And if I win?”
His smile is smug but his eyes are hot. “I’ll text you something sexy.”
Awareness shoots through me, but I keep the cool mask on my face. “Oh?”
“Yep. Something to keep you warm when I’m away.”
The team is traveling for away games for the next two weeks. A thousand images play through my head, and my pulse beats between my thighs. “And if you win?”
There’s a beat of silence, and I feel like I can’t get enough air as I look up at him.
“I’ll leave that up to you,” he says with a lazy smile. “Whatever you think is fair.”
My heart pounds harder. He basically offered me nudes, so it would only be fair if I sent one back. My stomach flutters at the idea.
“You ever send McKinnon anything?” he asks quietly.
I shake my head, letting out a heavy exhale. “He asked but, um. I never wanted to.”
I never trusted him, I realize. Deep down, I knew something was wrong. Maybe not that he was seeing girls behind my back, but I knew I was an afterthought.
His eyes sharpen, pinning me. “Interesting.”
“Yeah.” I swallow, nerves dancing up and down my spine, sending shivers through me.
What would I even send? I think about the lingerie that keeps showing up at my apartment—the lingerie I keep wearing. He likes softer colors, it seems, because everything is pastels. Pale pinks, blues, lavender, mint green, cream. A light pink lace bodysuit arrived yesterday, and I stood in front of the mirror in it, brushing my fingers over the soft, sheer fabric.
I looked incredibly hot in it, and that’s what I’d wear.
A streak of nervous energy hits me in the stomach at the idea, and when I look up at him, he’s still watching me with a challenging, curious expression. My stomach flops again.
If we do this, one of us is getting a photo. We’re stepping past the territory of pretending. A lot of tonight has felt like that.
His eyebrow arches. “Only if you want, Hartley.”
Something stubborn, competitive, and playful courses through me, and my nerves fade. I want the victory to lord over him, but more, I want to see what he sends me.
Losing is not an option.
“Fine.” I bite my bottom lip, and his eyes follow the motion. “Get ready to have your ass kicked.”
A broad grin stretches across his face, and I mirror it even as a voice in my head asks if I’m a fool for thinking I’ll win.
“Ready?” His legs bend, preparing to sprint, and I match his stance.
“Yep.”
“Go.”
We’re off, sprinting, and even as competition rushes through me, I’m filled with laughter, light, and joy. Our feet hit the pavement fast. Someone moves off the path to give us space.
“Sorry,” I call over my shoulder.
“Yeah, sorry,” Rory adds, laughing.
We’re a hundred feet from the sign. Rory’s a few feet ahead of me, so I dig deep. My legs burn and my lungs sear with the need for more oxygen. I don’t think my blood has ever pumped this hard. I’ve never run this fast. I’m flying. I’m filled with color and light, and when Rory looks back at me over his shoulder with that perfect, handsome smile, I know he’s flying, too.
We’re almost at the sign. Fuck. He’s going to win, and I can’t lose. Not with these stakes. I panic, and with one glance at the sand beside us, I summon all my energy and shove him.
Not my proudest moment. It’s a soft landing, though, so he won’t get hurt.
With a grunt of surprise, he stumbles but doesn’t fall—his stabilizer muscles are too strong—but I take the lead. I run harder and slap a hand on the sign.
When I turn, I see him flop down to seated in the sand, chest rising and falling fast, laughing.
“You dirty little cheater,” he calls, brushing sand off as I loop back to him, heaving for air.
Fuck, that was close. Why did I even agree to that?