Page 98 of The Plus One Contract

Something in my chest tightens. It’s equal parts alarm and excitement. I brush sand off my trunks and step forward. “Game on, baby.”

The match resumes. First serve, and Grace tosses the ball underhand, Tim bumps it to Jeremy, who sets me up for a spike. I manage to send it hurtling over as the bride’s side shrieks, with Sienna diving in vain. A small cheer breaks out among the spectators.

Next volley and Sienna serves with surprising power, the ball slicing through the air. I pull off a half-desperate pass to Daniel, who sets it to Jeremy. Sienna leaps, intercepting the return with an impressive block. The crowd hollers.

Standing there with hands on her hips, breathing hard, she casts a silenttold-you-soglance in my direction.

I can’t help but grin. “Not bad.”

She lobs the ball back with all the confidence in the world. “Try returning that next time.”

We keep going. The bride’s team, led by Sienna and backed by Grace, seems unstoppable. Tim tries to marshal us like a seasoned coach, but we’re barely keeping pace with Sienna’s kill shots.

The match is a blur of insults, quick saves with Daniel muttering “Heads up!” when Sienna winds for a spike, Jeremy hollering “Duck!” when Grace flails at a pass, and random commentary from a wedding cousin acting like a sports announcer.

At one point, Sienna jumps for a spike, and I leap to block. Our bodies collide midair. She sends the ball skittering out of bounds, and I end up on my back in the sand. She laughs before offering me a hand up. Her cheeks are flushed, her chest rising in quick pants, and for a split second, I’m completely off-balance.

Fuck.

Behind her, Grace crows, “Another point for the bride’s team!”

Daniel frowns, arms crossed, clearly one volley away from erupting. I steady myself, exhaling slowly. Just a game, right?

Eventually, we reach match point, with the bride’s team holding a narrow lead. Sienna smirks, ball in hand, as Tim gestures for me to step forward. “We can’t let them take us out like this. Nathan, you up front.”

Sienna fixes me with a lethal look as she tosses the ball into the air, jumps, and nails a serve that barely clears. I manage a desperate pass, sweat pouring down my temple, and another quick rally ensues. Bump, set, spike. At the final moment, Sienna leaps again; the ball ricochets off my forearm, but it’s no use. The bride’s side wins.

The cheers erupt. Grace jumps into the arms of a bridesmaid while Sienna double-high-fives her teammates. On the groom’s side, groans mix with the sound of sweat wiping.

Panting, I run a hand through my hair and steal a glance at Sienna. She’s radiant, eyes sparkling, a smile on her face. For a fleeting moment, our gazes lock, and the air between us sizzles with the same tension that’s haunted us all day. Her lips quirk in triumph.

Good game, indeed.

As the bride’s team disperses, Tim jogs over and claps me on the shoulder. “Don’t feel bad, son,” he jokes. “She might be pint-sized, but that girl’s a killer on the sand.”

No shit.

Jeremy leans in with a cackling laugh. “Told you we needed your help. You put up a good fight.”

Daniel stands off to the side. He gives me a grudging nod. “Nice try,” he manages before turning to catch up with Lauren.

He’s still got a face I’d like to punch.

Across the line, Sienna chats with Grace. When she notices me watching, she arches a brow and gives me a small, victorious smirk before turning back to her conversation, leaving no doubt that she’s not about to let this win slip away.

I exhale and grab a bottle of water before I look down at the line drawn in the sand. It’s a boundary, ironic and inevitable.

One look at Sienna, and I finish the water, press my feet into the drawn line, and cross it.

Thirty-Six

Sienna

I’m panting like I just ran a marathon, but the adrenaline flooding my veins says it was worth it.

That’s when Nathan crosses the sand toward me, weaving around a couple of half-buried flip-flops. His hair’s a mess of salt and sweat, and there’s a light flush along his neck that has absolutely no right being so attractive. He stops inches away, letting out a low exhale. Carefully, he lifts a hand, brushing his thumb over a drop of sweat at my temple.

“Tired?” he asks, his voice a quiet rumble, eyes locked on mine.

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