Page 65 of Some Like It Hott

My mouth falls open.

His curves up in a wry smile.

“I thought you hated me.”

“I know,” he says. “And maybe for a second, I thought I did—you reminded me of all the things I’d told myself I couldn’t have. I was determined not to want anyone who was different from me again. I’d basically decided to only have one-night stands until I met some woman who took her professional life extremely seriously and would be contented to overlap for a few hours in bed a couple times a week.”

“That sounds like hell,” I say frankly.

“Yeah,” he says. “It doesn’t sound great to me now, when I say it out loud.” He takes my hand and swings it between us. “We should get back so I can officially claim victory. See how everyone’s fared. See if they have any feedback for us.”

He has to sneak back, to avoid being hit, but he makes it to Hanna’s porch and pins the flag to the small target he set up earlier for that purpose.

“Victory!” he cries, and players drift back to the house, clutching their blasters.

When everyone’s done congratulating him (and roasting Gabe Wilder, who leads hunting trips as part of his job, for not managing to tag a single player), we do a debrief.

Everyone loved it. They gather around Preston, raving about what a good time they had. He’s got that pleased-as-punch expression on his face again, the one that makes me feel like I’ve won something—instead of getting my ass whupped.

“Don’t thank me,” he tells his assembled fans. “Thank Natalie, who got me out of my 1980s team-building mentality. She’s the genius behind most of the new programming—which you’ll get to experience at the festival next Saturday. You’ll all be there, right? And tell everyone you know.”

And shit.

I’ve been so busy feeling victorious, so busy being thrilled for Preston and me that we’re on our way to success that I let myself forget what this is all about. Why we’re doing this. The festivalis next weekend. We’re almost done, we’ve almost made it, we’rekillingit, and our grand prize is:

This is over. I get my job, Preston goes back to New York and gets his promotion.

Everyone gets what they want.

I should feel ecstatic…but I don’t.

33

Preston

“So,” Shane says a few minutes later, “have you learned your lesson yet? Whatever point Granddad was trying to make? Because I’m still not sure I know what mine was.”

The three of us—me, Shane, and Quinn—are lounging against a tree not far from Hanna’s house. Natalie’s on the other side of the yard, helping Hanna’s sister-in-law Amanda set out food.

Shane doesn’t even look like he broke a sweat during the Nerf proceedings. Since he moved back to Rush Creek, he’s been embracing the cowboy-chic thing and wearing untucked button-downs, jeans, and cowboy boots. Today he’s even got an expensive-looking cowboy hat tipped at a slight angle on his too-good-looking head. Maybe movie stars don’t sweat.

“Your lesson from Granddad wasDon’t be an asshole,” Quinn grumbles. “And mine wasI should have let you eat the poisonous mushroom.”

Shane snorts. “You’re never going to let that go, are you.”

Quinn scowls. “It was a big missed opportunity to get away with murder.” But he gives Shane a fond shove with his shoulder.

“I’ve learned a few lessons,” I say, shrugging. “Like Shane shoulda let me invest his earnings from the firstCrown of Spiresmovie because if he had, he’d be as rich as I am now.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “So you got lucky a few times.”

“I gotsmarta few times,” I say.

He shrugs. “I mean, after a point, rich is rich, right?”

Quinn clears his throat, and we both turn to glare at him. “Yeah, yeah, we know,” I tell him.

“I’m just saying.” He lifts a shoulder. “There’s rich, and then there’srich.”

---