Page 33 of Sparks Like Ours

“What do you think about that, Gia?”

She blinked. The reporter on the couch across from them hadapparently asked her a question and she’d missed the whole thing. What in theworld was he referencing?

Elle passed her a smile. “About my steady training in preparationfor San Clemente.”

“I think training is great. It’s what has me winning so much.”

“Well, you won thelasttournament,” Elle said, with a big smile. “Everyone gets lucky once in awhile.”

“Until it keeps happening, negating the luck factor altogether.”She met the reporter’s eyes. “I’ll be taking San Clemente. You can write thatdown.”

“She might take a heat,” Elle said. “Let’s all hope she takes atleast one. Can you imagine the bruised ego if she doesn’t?”

“Is that what you were feeling after the final in Fiji?” Giaasked, with a smile.

“No,” Elle said, her eyes narrowing. “I was too busy wondering whyyou cut in on my wave when you had plenty of your own to choose from.”

The two reporters exchanged wide-eyed looks and typed away ontheir laptops like busy little bees. Elle was right. It was kind of fun,playing to their audience. Not that all of it was an act. She honestly plannedto take the Swatch Pro at San Clemente, and every tournament left on thisyear’s tour. Sparring with Elle about it had her fired up, and a little…wait.Turned on? No. That couldn’t be right. That’d never been a symptom of competitionfor her, so why would it be now? She glanced over at Elle, that braid, the blueeyes, and perfect face and the curves, and for the first time she acknowledgedthat she might want to do a little more than just compete with Elle Britton.While her first instinct was to shut that the hell down, she heard Katrina’swords in her ear, reminding her to feel her way through, rather than think.Surely she didn’t mean a scenario as crazy as this one.

“What do you think about that, Gia?” Dammit. She’d done it again.

“I’m sorry. Can you repeat the question?”

“The rumors that you and Elle have been spending time togetheroutside of the tour.”

“Well, we’re working together on a campaign. It’s inevitable.”

“And that’s about the end of it,” Elle said, with a smile.

“Speaking of the end, I think we’ve come to the end of our time,”Andrew said, stepping forward. Luckily, this was the last interview of the day,and Gia had survived. She stood, shook hands with each of the reporters, andthanked them for their time.

“Where should we go to dinner?” Elle asked Gia.

Both reporters turned back abruptly and stared back at them insurprise. She was fairly certain that Elle had done that on purpose.

“I’ll let you choose.”

Once the reporters exited the Jefferson Room, Gia addressed Elle.“Are you sure that’s wise? They’re going to keep shipping us.”

Elle passed her a sideways look. “What’s shipping?”

“Imagining that we’re a couple. Projecting that kind ofrelationship on us. It’s a term my friend Isabel uses when—never mind.”

Andrew stepped forward. “My sister ships everybody. The practiceis rampant.”

Elle marveled. “I had no idea. Shipping, huh?”

Gia pressed on. “Isn’t your boyfriend going to be upset if thesearticles keep hitting the web?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Elle said, and gathered her bag.

“Okay, but you’restraight.”

Elle’s smile faltered noticeably and wrinkles appeared on herforehead. After a moment, she brightened to full Elle wattage again, leavingGia intrigued as to what had just taken place in her head. “All press is goodpress, Gia. Good rule of thumb.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. Let’s eat.”

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