Page 55 of I Choose You

Rustling comes from behind the structure, making my back straighten. I position my gun, aiming the muzzle at the door. My eye is on the sight, flipping it from the window to the door. Anticipation comes to life inside of me. Then, a body twists into the opening, and I close my sights in on the person, waiting for them to turn around so I can see who it is. Only I’d know that body anywhere, even with gear covering most of it.

“Might want to turn around.” I smile when Mason’s back goes rigid. He should have cleared the building before using it to his advantage.

His arms move to his sides, then higher, his gun clasped tightly in his hand. He turns his head. “I won’t shoot if you don’t.”

“You’re the one at a disadvantage. If anyone should be making deals, it’s me.”

He exposes his well-groomed, stubbled cheeks when he angles his head to the side. My eyes travel up his dark facial hair and land on his eye protection.

“We’re already down one player. I’m sure you heard the shot. Nelly won’t have a chance if you take me out,” he says.

I shrug, my aim still on him. “Sounds like a secure win for my team.”

“Maybe, but what fun is it if the game is over in five minutes?”

He makes a good point. It is more enjoyable when there are obstacles to jump over, and hoops to jump through. The harder we work, the more satisfying the win.

Still, I don’t trust him. Even with his arms raised, my sight remains on him. “Put your gun on the ground.” I think better of it. “Actually, toss it over there,” I nudge my muzzle in the window’s direction even though he can’t see it, “under the window. Then back up.”

“That far? I’ll never make it to my gun if someone comes in.”

“You should be worried about me more than someone else. If they’re smarter than you, they’ll check through the opening before they make the mistake of backing into the only closed structure on the course.”

He sucks air through his teeth. “Okay, I deserve that.”

“I’m counting to three. You’re out if your gun isn’t on the floor.”

He lifts his hands high. “Okay, okay!” His gun clatters to the ground, jumping once before settling onto the dirt floor. He spins on his feet with his arms still raised, quirking a brow. “Happy?”

A satisfied grin lines my lips. “I would be happier if you were out of the game.” This is a free pass he knows he won’t get again. If he were anyone else, I would have fired at first sight. The only reason I didn’t is that he’s him, and my heart won out. Something in me wants him to stick around a little longer than he would if I ended his time in the game.

I lower my muzzle once he approaches me. He snaps the goggles off his face and runs a hand through his hair. He skims my length, taking in spots where gear isn’t covering my skin.

For the first time, I wonder what he thinks about my appearance, something that has never crossed my mind before. I’m not overconfident, but I’m not ugly. My freckles might be a bit much for some people, but my curves, short height, and well-featured face complement one another.

“I was secretly hoping I’d find you first,” he admits.

Liveliness zips between us. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and my stomach prepares for the soaring highs that come whenever he’s close. “I’m also a little bit,” he holds up his thumb and index finger, “bothered that you invited your friend.”

Surprise winds through me. Is Mason jealous of Owen? Mason never gets jealous. Everyone who notices Owen can see how handsome he is, and the second he speaks, they hear his optimism and kindness, but Owen and I are friends. He doesn’t trigger desire. Doesn’t get a physical reaction out of me.

Not like Mason does.

I mirror Mason and push my goggles to my forehead. “There’s nothing between Owen and me. He’s just a good friend.”

He closes the foot between us. “I’m a good friend, Kenz. A good friend you’ve allowed to kiss and touch you and see you.” His face remains stoic as his hand moves to my bruised hip. It’s still a little sore, but I swear nothing hurts when Mason is nearby. His touch numbs every ounce of pain and makes me forget about anything that isn’t him.

“You don’t believe me?” I ask, stepping forward.

He lays a hand on my shoulder, gently pushing me back and flattening me against the weathered wall. My gun falls to my side, but I keep my hand wrapped around the handgrip. The sinister gleam in his darkening eyes is so much more satisfying than paintball. It quiets my competitive nature and silences my need to win.

Without answering, he lifts a hand to pull the goggles from my forehead, a piece of protective gear that the two of us should think twice about taking off. It would suck if one of us got hit in the eye, but I don’t think either of us considers the consequences when they fall at our feet.

His gloved hand covers the side of my neck. My stomach bursts at the seams from the contact. I lean my head back on the wooden wall, following his direction when he lowers his face to mine. Time halts when his lips cover the skin on the side of my neck. They glide faintly across my skin, causing my eyes to flutter shut. His tongue wets me. Teeth graze the shell of my earlobe and the area below.

“I believe you, but I really dislike the idea of another man getting the chance to do what I’m doing.”

My knees weaken, but I force myself to stay upright. The wooden wall behind me helps. His confession feeds the needy desire in me, and I reach up to run a hand through his messy hair. How is he so damn attractive?

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