“Looks like it’s over!” shouts Derick.
I throw a blind punch, and Wyatt falls away from me. He lies on the ground, careful not to hit his head, and I fling myself on top of him, holding him down. The excitement of winning transforms into something unintended as I lie on top of him. Our bodies touch tightly, and his hard muscles press into me, deepening my breath. I don’t know where to look as his eyes stay on me.
“I call,” he says in a deep voice.
Derick laughs, and they all do. “I’d give in too. But this isn’t that kind of entertainment.”
It’s obvious that Wyatt threw the fight. I clamber off him quickly, not bothering to help him up. Derick holds the jar out toward me. I hesitate as my pride refuses to lift my hand, but my need overrules it. I snatch the jar away and fill my pockets.
Ace helps Wyatt up off the ground, which leads to a guy discussion consisting of a handshake and single replies. I hear only one complete sentence. Next time, we’ll fight.
I feel even more like a fool and can barely look at Wyatt when Nova hands him his jacket.