Page 34 of Falling Again For My Best Friend's Brother

“Come on, you two,” Danny called out for us to hurry up and join the game.

"Ready to show these guys what you're made of?" Trevor asked, his voice slightly rough.

I grinned, pushing down the flutters in my stomach. "Let's do this."

As the game progressed, I found myself getting more and more into it. The initial hesitation and awkwardness faded, replaced by a thrilling exhilaration. I ducked behind trees, rolled across the ground, and fired paintballs more accurately. It was liberating to be able to let loose like this and forget about the worries and responsibilities of everyday life.

And then, it happened. I spotted Trevor across the field, his attention focused on Mike. He hadn't seen me yet. Heart pounding, I raised my gun, took aim, and fired.

The paintball hit Trevor square in the chest, splattering bright blue across his vest. For a moment, he looked stunned. Then, slowly, he turned to face me, his expression a mix of shock and admiration.

"Nice shot, Amelia!" Frank called out, grinning broadly.

Trevor clutched his chest dramatically, staggering back a few steps. "Amelia, how could you?" he said, his voice filled with pretend betrayal.

I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing. The sight of Trevor, always so composed and in control, splattered with paint and pretending to be mortally wounded, was too much. He looked ridiculous and adorable, all at the same time.

Trevor's lips twitched, his eyes sparkling with joy. "Oh, it's on now," he said, raising his gun.

And just like that, the paintball war escalated.

"Getting tired yet, old man?" I called out, ducking behind a tree.

"Old? I'll show you old," Trevor retorted, firing off a series of shots that had me scrambling for cover.

I was breathless with laughter, my cheeks aching from smiling so much. This was a side of Trevor I'd never seen before - playful, carefree, entirely in the moment.

A sudden, sharp, popping sound broke the spell. I whirled around just in time to see a paintball explode against my prized rosebush, splattering bright blue paint across the delicate petals.

"Oh no," Trevor muttered, lowering his gun. "Amelia, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to…"

But before he could finish, the others had already sprung into action. They rushed over to the bush, frantically trying to wipe away the paint with their hands and sleeves.

"Maybe she won't notice," Danny said, his voice hopeful.

I bit my lip, trying to hide my laughter as I watched them. They looked so panicked, so desperate to fix the damage before I could see it.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I cleared my throat, and four heads snapped up to look at me, their expressions a mix of guilt and dread.

"I saw that you know," I said, fighting to keep my face stern.

There was a beat of silence. Then, like a dam breaking, we all burst into laughter. It bubbled up from my chest, uncontrollable and infectious until tears streamed down my face and my sides ached.

As the laughter died down, I realized that any tension from the incident had melted away. Looking around at their paint-splattered faces, I felt a surge of affection for these men - for Trevor, who had brought them into my life.

The sun started setting, casting a golden glow over the backyard. "I think it's time to call it quits," Trevor said, wiping a hand across his forehead and leaving a smear of paint behind.

We gathered in a circle, admiring each other's colorful appearances. "Frank, you look like a Jackson Pollock painting," Mike teased, pointing at the abstract splatters covering Frank's chest.

"Yeah, well, you look like a Smurf," Frank shot back, gesturing to the blue paint in Mike's hair.

As the guys continued to joke and rib each other, Trevor turned to me. His eyes softened as he reached out, gently wiping a streak of paint from my cheek with his thumb.

"You've got a little something there," he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

Trevor's hand lingered on my face, his calloused fingers barely grazing my skin. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to lean into his touch, close the distance between us, and taste the smile on his lips.

But I didn't. Instead, I reached up, my fingers brushing against his as I wiped a paint spot from his chin. "So do you," I whispered, my heart pounding.

---