Page 101 of Role Play
“His woman? So I’m just a prop in this game?” I comment, but there’s something undeniably appealing about the intensity in his gaze.
Half a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Perhaps. But you’re the prettiest prop the world’s ever seen.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m crouched behind a stack of wooden pallets, heart pounding, adrenaline pumping fire through my veins. The playing field is a sprawling urban warfare setup—abandoned buildings, junked cars, and makeshift barriers creating a labyrinth of potential hiding spots and ambush points.
Our team’s strategy was simple: stick together, watch each other’s backs, and don’t let the other team separate us. So naturally, within the first five minutes, we were completely scattered.
A paintball whizzes over my head, splattering against the wall behind me. I swallow a yelp and duck lower. From my earpiece, I hear Taio yelling coordinates, Saylor cursing in such a thick Australian accent it sounds like a different language, and Forrest repeatedly asking where I am.
“I’m behind the pallets near the blue building,” I whisper into my mic. “Someone’s got me pinned down.”
“Hang tight,” Forrest’s voice crackles through the earpiece. “I’m coming for you.”
“Or,” Taio interjects, “you could flank him. Three o’clock from your position, there’s a rusted car. If you can make it there, you’ll have a clear shot at whoever’s shooting at you.”
I peer around the edge of my shelter. Sure enough, about fifteen feet away sits a hollowed-out sedan, offering perfect cover and a strategic vantage point.
“No,” Forrest cuts in. “It’s too exposed. Stay put, Sora. I’m coming.”
Something in his tone—a touch too commanding, a hint too controlling—makes my competitive streak flare.
“I’m going for it.”
“Sora, wait?—”
But I’m already moving, darting from my hiding spot in a zigzag pattern like I’ve seen in movies. Paintballs explode around me, miraculously missing as I dive behind the car.
Panting, I peer through the empty window frame and spot my attacker—Jax, perched atop a stack of tires. Withoutoverthinking it, I raise my paintball gun, aim, and squeeze the trigger.
To my utter astonishment, the paintball hits him square in the chest.
“I got one!” I whoop into my mic. “I actually hit him!”
“That’s my girl!” Taio cheers.
My enthusiasm is quickly curbed when I see the paintball didn’t burst. I heard the impact, but there’s no evidence of my shot. “Dang it. The paintball was a dud,” I say defeatedly, watching Jax disappear from his perch, still in the game.
“That’s okay. Still a nice shot, conch shell,” Saylor adds, my nickname giving away the fact that Forrest does indeed talk about me to his friends.
But now, even after my triumphant shot, Forrest is suspiciously silent.
I don’t have time to overthink it because suddenly, I hear footsteps approaching from behind. I spin around, paintball gun raised, only to find Forrest standing there, his own weapon lowered.
“You were supposed to wait for me,” he grits out, voice tight beneath his mask.
“I had an opening.” I shrug. “And it almost worked.”Stupid faulty equipment.
Before he can argue, a barrage of paintballs pelts the car, forcing us both to duck.
“Trevor and Brody, ten o’clock,” Forrest mutters. “We’re surrounded.”
Just then, Taio’s voice crackles through our earpieces. “Saylor’s down. They got him in the back.”
“Bloody cheap shot,” Saylor grumbles.
“Where are you guys?” I ask.
“North corner, by the tower,” Taio says. “Randy’s hunting me.”
