Page 162 of Scrimmage

“Honestly?” He runs his hands through his hair. “It was a guess that you would even have fun. I thought that you would get mad and come out guns blazing.”

“Oh, Ko.” I fist his shirt and pull him to me. “I think five steps forward and six steps back. You’re predictable. You like to cover every possible outcome. It’s easy to counter that.”

“Hm." He bites his lip. "Since I’m so predictable what are we doing next?”

“This isn’t over?” I ask in bewilderment.

“Not even close, baby girl. It’s only five.”

I thought maybe we would do this paintball thing and fuck. While it’s the only date I’ve ever been on, and it’s weird, I thought people only do one thing. “So where are we going?”

Alexi rushes around the corner in elation. “Gloating already?”

“You only won because Ashland is here,” Koda glowers.

“Let him keep a semblance of his identity, Lex." I put my hand on his chest. “He might cry if you don’t.”

When we make it back to where the guys have gathered, they swarm me and cheer. Apparently, no one ever beats a team with Koda on it. He rolls his eyes and hands his gun off to a few guys who showed up late.

“Let’s go,” he says next to me.

“But they’re not leaving,” I pout. “Did I hurt your ego that badly?”

“No." He wraps his arms around my waist. “We just have other plans.”

He’s being so touchy. I don’t know what to say or think. The sun is starting to set, and I can’t imagine what else Koda could possibly have me do. I obediently get into his car, and he drives with my playlist as background music.

He’s still covered in paint. I pulled the trigger too many times. I couldn’t stop. All of this time, that entire game, even when I shot the others, it was fine. My mind didn’t wander, but when it came to Koda it was like I fell into a loop, and all I could see was Damien. It’s the first time that has happened with him.

“Where did you learn to play paintball?”

“I grew up in the South.” It’s not something I tell people. I hate that about myself.

He chuckles. “So that’s what it is.”

“What?”

“When you get drunk you get this weird accent. It’s southern. I could never tell if you were just a drunk version of yourself or if it was real.”

“I hate it.”

“Why? I grew up in fucking Colorado. I’ve never even been to the south unless it was for a game, and it’s not like we stick around.”

“You’re not missing out.”

“Did you ride horses or some shit? Are you a horse girl?”

I stay quiet. My grandma had a farm with horses. When she died, my dad gambled it all away. I loved those horses. We weren’t allowed to have pets. There would've been no way to feed them, and we could barely feed ourselves. The one time a stray dog came around my dad shot it, and I had to bury it in the backyard. We didn’t have a shovel, so I had to dig the grave by hand.

“No,” I say tersely.

He glances at me. “What state?”

“Doesn’t matter. Where are we going?”

The engine of his Jeep roars as we pull off of the main road onto a side street that looks abandoned. Maybe he’s going to kill me. It’s always my first thought. He doesn’t answer, pulling up to an abandoned warehouse instead. Weeds poke through the cracks in the parking lot. There are several other warehouses around, also abandoned. He gets out of the car, popping the trunk, and pulls out a duffel bag before opening my door.

“Is there a rave or something?” I joke as we walk up to a chain link fence that’s closed with a big lock.

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