Page 40 of Rival Summer

"I'm gonna take her home, get her some ice," I called out to Parker and Willow.

"Boston, I can get home by myself," Chandler protested, her independence flaring even in discomfort.

"How? Are you going to hobble there?" I raised an eyebrow at her stubbornness.

"Fine." Her cheeks flushed, either from embarrassment or annoyance—I couldn't tell which. But it didn't matter. Right now all that mattered was getting her home safely.

“Hey, congrats on winning," she said, nodding toward Willow and Parker who were still riding a high from their victory.

"Thanks!" Willow beamed, her eyes already glittering with plans. "I'm going to take the longest bubble bath and enjoy every last second of that suite next week!"

"Can't argue with that," Chandler said with a smile. "You deserve it, Willow. And hey, Parker, congrats on your win too.”

Parker grinned, his arm slung around Willow's shoulder. "Uh huh, just make sure you get home safe, Chan."

Willow glanced at me, her expression softening. "Boston, take good care of her, okay? I'll be there later to check on her.”

"Will do," I assured her, adjusting Chandler slightly to ease the pressure on her ankle.

Reese leaned casually against the wooden beams of the pergola, as he glanced over at us. "Everything cool over here?" he called out.

"All good." She was fine with me, and I didn’t need his help.

Reese flashed a wink, his smirk suggesting he saw right through my façade.

I hoisted Chandler’s weight against my side as I carefully made my way to the truck. I helped her up and she laid her ankle gently across the dashboard. It already looked swollen.

"Comfortable?" I asked, starting the engine with a glance towards her.

"As can be," she said, offering a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

When we arrived a few minutes later, I parked as close to the door as possible, killed the ignition, and scooped Chandler into my arms before she could protest.

"Really, Boston, you don’t have to carry me," she murmured with a mix of appreciation and stubborn independence.

"Chandler," I replied, leaving no room for arguments as I nudged the door open with my shoulder. "Just relax, okay? I got you."

Once inside, I carefully placed her on the couch, elevating her foot with a pillow. Then my gaze shifted to the jersey she was still wearing. It had been irritating me since the moment I saw it draped over her.

"Before you get too comfortable," I glared at the jersey, "can you take that off now, please?"

She rolled her eyes. "Men and their egos," she teased, attempting to push up from the couch with a grimace.

"Hey, easy there." I stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder to stop her efforts. "I got it."

Chandler sighed. “I just need to go to the bathroom. My pajamas are hanging in there."

"Alright," I conceded, scooping her up into my arms as her fingers gripped my shirt. Her closeness was intoxicating, but I focused on the task at hand.

"Thanks, Boston," she said, softly. "I can take it from here."

With her ankle now the center of my attention, I made my way to the kitchen in search of Advil, water, and an icepack. I found everything fairly easily, then set the items on the nightstand next to her bed. Crossing back to the bathroom, I leaned against the wall in the hallway. The sound of fabric rustling and drawers opening filtered through the door. After a few minutes that felt much longer, she emerged. The sight of her took my breath away.

She stood there in striped pajamas with short shorts that hugged her in all the right ways. Dark hair spread over her shoulders, framing her face like she was some kind of bedtime goddess. It was just pajamas, but damn she made them look good.

"Are you happy now?" she asked, pointing down to her pajama shirt.

"Ecstatic," I said sarcastically, but the sight of her without his jersey eased the tightness in my chest. "Stripes suit you," I said, offering my arm.

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