Page 58 of Off Camera
“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” I say.
“Clearly.”
“I’m sorry about your shirt. You scared me.”
“I’ll announce my presence more loudly next time.” Reid takes the napkins I’m holding and uses a clean one to wipe the drops of coffee from his neck. “But for now, I’m leaving.”
“It’s not an airport,” I say, and his eyebrow lifts. “You don’t have to announce your departure.”
A ghost of a smile grazes his lips. His eyes drop to my throat, to the spot he’s kissed and sucked and licked, before bouncing back to my face. “See you out there.”
When he leaves, I finally let out a breath and look at Erin.
“This just got interesting,” she says.
I tuck a flyaway behind my ear with a shaking hand. “What did?”
“The flag football tournament. We’re playing their team first”—she nods at Reid’s retreating form—“and I have a feeling it’s going to be a lot of fun.”
I wipe the sweat from my forehead and stand at the line of scrimmage. When the whistle blows, I take off down the field, catching the toss our quarterback lobs my way. The flag on my left hip gets pulled, and I smile at the guy on the opposing team when the play is ruled dead.
“Nice catch,” he says.
“Thanks,” I say. “The faster the game goes, the faster I can take a cold shower. I thought my Florida blood was made for this heat, but Vegas in July is a different level of hell. Even with air conditioning in an indoor stadium.”
“It’s unbearable here.” He crouches down and waits for the hike. “I’m up in Minnesota, and I can’t wait for winter.”
When the ball is snapped, I sneak past him, looking over my shoulder and anticipating the pass. Our quarterback launches the ball—an impressive throw from a guy in stadium operations without any playing experience—and just as I catch it, I run headfirst into something.
“Shit,” I exclaim.
Arms wrap around me, enveloping me in a tight embrace I recognize as warm and familiar. I squeeze my eyes shut, anticipating the tumble to the ground. I brace myself, but what should be a hard fall is soft, safe, and I blink, confused.
“Fuck,” someone groans.
“Oh my god.” I glance down and find Reid underneath me with dirt on his cheeks. Crooked glasses, a lock of hair curling on his forehead. Twisted lips, wrinkles between his eyebrows, and my heart pounds in my chest. “Are you okay? Are you conscious? Did you hit your head?”
“Barely.” He opens his eyes and looks at me, his gaze a little rattled. “You’re lethal, Sinclair. What is it with you and tackling me? The hallway at the hotel, now this? It’s becoming a trend, and I’m not sure I like it.”
“It was an accident, I swear. Your lip is busted.” I touch his mouth, the split part of skin that’s turning red with blood, and he hisses in pain. “How did that happen?”
“You have very pointy elbows.”
“And here I thought you were planning on levelingmeto the ground today,” I whisper absentmindedly, my eyes still on his swollen mouth.
“It played out very differently in my head.” Reid taps my waist, and the contact is searing. “I know it was an accident. If you were going to take me out, I know you’d be more creative.”
“How would you want to go?” I ask. “If you had the choice.”
“You’re going to use my answer to plot my death, aren’t you?”
“I might. Maybe it’ll happen in two weeks. Maybe it’ll happen in two years. I’m going to keep you on your toes, Duncan.”
“It’s kind of you to ask my preferred method of demise so I’ll be comfortable. Something quick and painless, please. I’d like it if we could stay away from quicksand,” he says.
“Quicksand?”
“I’m still fairly traumatized from Robin Williams getting sucked into the floor inJumanji.”
