Fowl Play (Tuft Swallow)

10. Kodi

CHAPTER 10

The look on Brian’s face when I suggest he show up his ex by wiping the field with his skinny ass is one of surprise and disbelief. And then he wheezes out a dry laugh. I guess not everyone was born with the same competitive spirit that I was.

I shrug at his disappointing response and cross my arms. Damn. We could actually use a guy like him on the team. Not one to back down from a fight, I lean into the fence a little, lowering my voice. “Trust me. Guys like that? They’re never going to pay any attention to you unless you prove to them that you’re worth their respect. And the best way to earn a guy’s respect is by beating him at sports.”

“Is that so?” His eyes, which were trained on his ex as he stretched his hamstrings, flicker to me. His lips quirk up in a smirk, and I can’t tell if he’s intrigued or amused. “Or are you just trying to get me to replace one of the Tuft Swallow players that quit the team this week?”

My cheeks heat. Damn Nosy Pecker. He laughs, and I splutter in response, “No! I know what I’m talking about, okay?”

“You do, huh?” His face is still alight with laughter, and I reach my arm over the fence to smack his shoulder. “Ow!”

“Serves you right!” I humph. “That’s payback for Thursday.”

“You mean when I fixed your leg?”

“I mean when you had me writhing on the table in agony!”

The curious faces of Mr. and Mrs. Woodcock peek out from the concession stand. I may have said that a little too loud. Brian’s and my little spat has started to garner the attention of more than a handful of Tuft Swallowers, and even a few of the cornholers from Spitz Hollow are looking at us curiously.

Brian leans forward into the fence, lowering his voice as he angles his lips close to my ear.

“You didn’t seem that upset about it after the fact.” The timbre of his teasing voice makes my stomach flip-flop.

“Why you–”

“Hey, Bri-Bri! Long time no see!”

I look over my shoulder to see number 17, Zeke Chopra, trot over to our section of fence. When I turn back, Brian’s gone pale.

“H-hey, Zeke! Yeah, well, you know. Busy with the new business and all.” The easy smirk that he was sporting while he and I argued is long gone, and in its place is a nervous kind of hope—and it’s absolutely heartbreaking to witness. His voice loses its low, sexy quality and instead sounds choked and tinny.

He’s still got it bad for this jerk.

Zeke Chopra has a bit of a reputation around Tuft Swallow. Back when I was in high school, the rivalry between Tuft Swallow and Spitz Hollow in the county cornhole league was stiff, but good-natured. Who doesn’t love a little competition between neighbors, right?

But a few years ago, one of those weird cryptocurrency startups opened up in our rival town, and ever since then, new recruits from all over the country and abroad started to play for the cornhole team. Rich, entitled tech bros that all think they’re better than the old-school neighborly folks about town. And each year, that friendly rivalry we’d all known and loved got just a little bit meaner.

While we haven’t been able to prove it yet, we all know that Zeke’s one of the worst offenders for playing dirty. In his first season on the team, one of our boards collapsed during the championship, causing two of our sacks to slide off during the final round. Last year, we found bean leaks in half of our bags when we were cleaning up from the playoffs.

Spitz Hollow might be able to claim it’s all circumstantial. But I have my eye on him this year. And seeing as I’m captain, you better believe I’m not going to be letting him get away with any of his unsavory cheating under my watch.

Seeing Brian’s one-eighty at Zeke’s appearance makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I already don’t trust this guy. And this year, he’s sporting a jersey with inverted colors from the rest of his team, indicating that he’s been made captain.

My rival.

Even if Brian and I weren’t connected at all, I’d be inclined to advise him to stay away from him.

“I see you’re not sporting the hometown colors. Glad to know the Swallower’s garish taste hasn’t rubbed off on you yet.”

Brian laughs at the douchebag’s insult, and a fire ignites in my belly.

Oh, hell no.

I get that maybe the two of them have a history, and the poor guy’s still a bit smitten by Mr. Tall, Dark, and Douchey. But laughing at one of his digs at the home team? Within earshot of the unofficial ringleaders of the Tit Peepers?

I scan the crowd behind him to see if anyone heard Zeke’s nasty comment, and I spot one or two skeptical looks. Brian barely survived the first couple Peckers about him when he moved to town. He might not be able to handle the kind of ire he’ll receive if The Nosy Pecker gets wind of his divided loyalties.

And if he leaves town? I might never get my knee back into shape.

Desperate, I do the only thing I can think of that might be interesting enough to the town rumor mill to get them off the scent trail of Brian and Zeke’s dating history.

“Babe, I didn’t know you and Zeke knew each other.” The second I say the words, a little more loudly than I’d normally speak, I feel every single Tit Peeper’s eyes laser-focus on me. Mrs. Dougherty even drops her knitting needles to grab her binoculars. Brian raises his head, confusion lining his handsome features. Before he can respond, I weave my fingers through the thick-gauge wire between us and stretch to land a kiss on his cheek. “How do you two know each other?”

Brian locks eyes with me, and I arrange my face into the most loving, happy-go-lucky smile I can muster. My gaze bores into his as I concentrate every brain cell on telegraphing my intentions to him. The bleachers have eyes. Follow my lead.

For an agonizing second, his face is a blank slate. I double-down, resting my palm on his–oh shit, is he flexing right now? My fingers squeeze appreciatively around his triceps, and for a moment I forget that this is just an act. I lean into his side over the fence and feel the warmth radiating off of him, before refocusing and forcing out an airy laugh. “I didn’t realize you were so close with the competition.”

Understanding lights in Brian’s eyes, and he squares his shoulders, inadvertently bringing me closer to his side. As I gasp a little in surprise, I inhale his scent: that comforting blend of clean laundry, subtle-spicy deodorant, and a warm base note reminiscent of baking bread. Head spinning, I adjust my feet so I’m not leaning on him too heavily or awkwardly with the fence between us. Then I school my expression so that I’m looking expectantly at him.

“Oh! Yeah, uh, babe. Zeke and I…” He trails off for a moment, and I worry that he’s going to ruin the improvisation. Zeke’s eyes ping-pong between the two of us, gaze burning when it lands on my fingers grazing his muscles. On the field, Lily is watching us with hawk-like eyes, clutching at Callie’s arm so hard I can see the indentations from her nails all the way from the sidelines. The rest of the team has also caught on that something interesting is happening, and have angled their warm-ups in a way that lets me know they’re eavesdropping on their captain’s conversation. I squeeze Brian’s arm again, and he snaps his attention back to me.

He shrugs, the picture of apathy, and I mentally high-five him for his Oscar-worthy performance. “Eh, it isn’t really anything you need to be concerned about.”

And then he does the absolute last thing I ever would have expected.

He pulls back the arm I’ve been hanging onto, which has me turning into him, until my chest is pressing into his over the top of the fence. Then he sweeps his arms under my shoulders and lifts me onto my tip-toes, bringing my lips up to his in a dizzying, breathtaking kiss.

In that moment, his scent, which had only been a pleasant backing track to my senses, overwhelms me. I breathe him in as his soft, warm lips slant against mine, moving and interlocking in a dance that has me mesmerized. What the–?

I hear myself moan softly against him, and feel his arms tighten around me as his body reacts to the sound. Behind us, somebody whistles.

He breaks us apart then, and I blink until the world comes back into focus. When it does, the first thing I see is Brian’s crystal eyes, wide in what I assume is a mirror version of my own expression.

Not sure why he seems so surprised when he was the one who kissed me.

“For good luck,” he breathes, and then sets me back down onto my (now unsteady) legs. Then, more loudly, he repeats, “Good luck, babe!”

I try to say thanks back to him, but there’s blood rushing in my ears, and I’m unable to hear whether or not I actually managed to form a coherent word. I take one step back, and then another, and he beams at me with smiling eyes so blue, they put the cloudless summer sky above us to shame.

As the starting horn blares from the loudspeakers, I snap out of my… whatever it is I’m feeling, and gear up to destroy Zeke Chopra right in the bags.

I smile back at Brian, and his eyes sparkle with something resembling mischief as he calls after me.

“Break a leg!”