Page 42 of Beautifully Devoted

“Bennet, play ref,” I tell him as Cruz and I face off.

He recites a few rules, though I don’t have any idea what they are since I’m planning my first strike. Speed will be my advantage since I’m a little more nimble than Cruz, and landing a solid first hit might give me time to get in a few more before he recovers.

Bennet steps away and whistles—without having to put his fingers in his mouth, by the way, which I’ve always thought is cool as fuck—and I lunge with a strike to the side of Cruz’s head.

“Fuck.” He stumbles back before I can get in another hit. “Those are actually harder than they look.”

Shaking off the daze, he regroups and angles the left side of his body toward mine, so he’ll have full power when he strikes with his right hand.

We circle each other for a minute, each of us looking for an opening, then he lunges. I block with my left arm, so he still gets a point, but I swing with my right and connect again, scoring a second time amid shouts from my roommates.

“That’s full power?” I taunt him. “I barely even felt it.”

Cruz swings low, going for my legs, and I hop just in the nick of time, running to the couch where I jump on the cushions to gain an extra couple feet in height.

“He’s out of the ring.” Cruz points.

“Eh, debatable,” Bennet says. “Behind the couch is out. On top of it… I’ll let it slide.”

Cruz comes at me, but at the last second, I run down the length of the couch, hop over the arm and drop into a crouch like a tiger ready to pounce on his enemies or prey.

I am stealthy.

I am fast.

I am the best pillow fighter the world has ever seen.

The mantra runs on a loop inside my head as Cruz jumps on the couch to follow, I pop up and huck my pillow at him, hitting him square in the chest.

“Hey, it’s not dart wars,” Cruz objects. “Pillows have to stay in the hand or there’s no point.”

As Bennet’s agreeing with him and taking away my point, I grab one of the unused pillows, leap over the arm of the couch, and hit him in the calf, rolling out of reach before he can get down to the floor and retaliate. He does, however, manage to weasel a finger where it doesn't belong.

It hooks around the hem of my shorts, and between the death grip that digit has one me, my propulsion, and speed, it nearly takes my pantaloons off mid-roll.

I’m helpless. Nearly pantless. And that camera? It gets an eyeful, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Luckily, Cam can edit out my bare ass if needed.

“Jesus, he’s like a spider monkey or something.” Cruz shakes his head and comes for me again.

He goes in for another attack. The target? My torso, which I block with my arm as I swing at his head. It’s a solid connection, the whoosh of air and the impact combining to make his almost too long to be considered short hair stand up several inches.

“Use both handles!” Liam scolds from the sidelines before clapping like a coach, “You got this babe.”

Cruz grips the pillow in both hands and swings at me like he’s hitting a baseball. I take a step back and mimic him, our pillows smacking together with enough force that we both stumble.

“If the NFL doesn’t pan out, you’d make a good pillow fighter.” I blow him an air kiss as he charges again, connecting with my thigh as I get him on the back.

Over the course of the next five minutes, he manages to get several solid hits to my torso—and yeah, these fucking pillows do pack more of a punch than you’d expect—but since I’m already up by several points even if I give one up on a block I can stay in the lead if I hit back.

As time expires, Bennet whistles again, and we both stand to our full height, panting heavily.

“I’m breathing harder than I expected to,” says Cruz as he drops his pillow and laces his fingers behind his head.

“My skin is actually red where you hit me.” I point to the arm I used to block his shots.

Bennet steps between us and takes a wrist in each hand. “With a score of ten to eight, the winner is, boxers!” He lifts Cruz’s arm.

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