Chapter 12
twelve
Charlie
M y heart rate was through the roof and it felt amazing. Who knew a girl who’d avoided all things athletic growing up could turn into a running machine? And swing across the bars like a freaking monkey? My eyes narrowed as the finish line of the obstacle course at Dupree Ranch loomed ahead. Because I wasn’t finished. I could do another lap. Maybe two.
I should probably send Millie a fruit basket. Her hate lit a fire under me I didn’t know I had.
Thirty feet, twenty feet, ten..… I crossed the line and kicked it into high gear, ready to hit the first hill of the loop like a beast. A squeal erupted from my lungs as someone yanked me to a stop.
Cash’s hand gripped my forearm, holding me in place. His chest heaved, trying to catch his breath.
I popped my knockoff AirPods out. “Where did you even come from?”
“Behind.” Gasp. “You.” Choke. “Didn’t you…hear me calling…your name?”
I looked down at my hand where Pink was still strongly encouraging me to ‘raise my glass.’ I stopped the music on my phone, feeling my endorphins die along with the words. “You messed up my mojo. I hit my second wind.”
He blew out some air, cheeks flushed. Even drenched, sweat stains under both armpits of his Hokie’s muscle tee, he was way too good-looking. “Running is only part of the race.” He tipped his head toward Griffin and Maggie, who were standing by the two hay bales, each spray painted with a bullseye. “Have you mastered the spear throw?”
I puffed my lips. “Nah. I’m going to take the penalty loop on that one. I looked up the stats and only twenty percent of people complete that obstacle.”
“But Charlie.” He grinned, and just like that, the heat from my running had nothing on the warmth spreading through my chest. “That’s the best part.” He put an arm around my shoulders, guiding me toward the hay. “Hundreds of racers tossing it fruitlessly, and suddenly—Bam!—yours lands.” He threw his arms in the air and waved them around. “They cheer, groan, some of the women cry. And you and I jog off triumphant while they head for the penalty loop.”
“Pretty sure I’m going to be one of the women crying,” I said as I watched Griff sink the spear dead center.
Maggie shook her head. “Girl. We’ll be crying together. I’ve hit it twice today. Out of thirty-five.”
“See,” I said to Cash. “That’s not even twenty percent.”
Cash tipped his chin, a glint in his eye. “I hit it ninety-five percent of the time. So does Griff. You just have to know how.”
Yep, my redheaded cousin nailed another one.
“He makes it look so effortless,” Maggie muttered, jaw tight.
“Come here.” Griff curled a finger, beckoning her closer. He had bags under his eyes, exhausted from recruit school. “Let’s try this again.”
Maggie gave me a look but laughed as she stepped behind the rocks marking the throw line. She picked up the five-foot-long wooden handle, resting it on the crook of her palm. Like some kind of undercover Casanova, Griffin settled her against his chest, placed one hand on her hip, and wrapped his other hand around hers. Together, they pulled the spear back and let her fly. Effortlessly, it pierced the center of the bullseye.
She whooped.
“Hey!” Bowen shouted. We turned to see him jogging up, finishing a lap. “Hands off my partner.” He glared at Maggie like she was Benedict Arnold.
“You mean, my girlfriend?” Griffin asked, unamused.
Bowen raised his brows at Maggie, sternly. “Do not practice with him. He’s teaching you sloppy habits and it’s going to hurt you on race day.” He snapped at both of them. “Flirt on your own clock.” He looked down at his smart watch. “For the next forty-seven minutes, it’s training time.” He scowled in Griffin’s direction. “Where is your partner?”
“Mom’s home, making dinner. She already did her training today.” Bowen shooed him away with the flick of a wrist. “Not my problem, you and your partner can’t sync your schedules.”
Cash chuckled nervously under his breath.
Griffin’s nostrils flared and his hands balled into fists. But then he turned and jogged for the start line to take another loop.
Maggie watched him go, and then glowered at Bowen. “Do you have to act like such a douche?”
Bowen’s hair was pulled up in a man bun today, which meant no hiding his fierce expression. “Yes, we’re on a time crunch. And you’re holding the handle too tight. That’s your first problem. Also, move back a few feet. You need to step with the opposite foot when you throw.”
Cash handed me a spear. “Good frickin’ gracious,” he whispered. “I hope we all live through this.”
I heaved the handle up, holding it by my right ear, the way Griff had.
“Bowen’s right,” Cash said under his breath. “You have to loosen your grip. I know it feels wrong but you need to pretend it’s a big old dart. Firm but relaxed.
I readjusted my fingers. “Okay. What next?”
“Feet shoulder width apart,” Bowen ordered loud enough for both Maggie and me to hear. “You two have arms like clothes hangers. Let your legs do the work. So get your stance right.”
Maggie rolled her eyes but did as he said. As did I.
“Hold it at an upward angle,” Cash said next. “You want it to arc, not dive.”
“Oh.” Maggie’s eyes widened, clearly realizing she’d been doing that part wrong.
“Told you Griff’s teaching you sloppy habits.” Bowen’s arms crossed. “Just because he can lob it, doesn’t mean it will work for you.”
That one statement told the difference between Bowen and Griff. Griff was all fun, no organization, fly by the seat of his pants. The life of the party, but never the one who helps clean up after.
Bowen was all systems and neatness. He was the one you wanted around when you needed something done quickly and efficiently. No nonsense. But he knew how to have a good time too. At least he used to.
Maggie and I tipped the back of our spears lower.
But Maggie’s must’ve been too low for Bowen’s liking, because, like Griffin, he scooted in behind her, wrapping his fingers around hers. Then he angled her spear up a little more. “You want it right about here.”
But the thing I noticed was the way she stiffened. Not a bristle, like when some skeezy guy makes a move you don’t want. The kind of stiff that screamed every one of her nerve endings was on high alert and she was flexing every muscle not to show it. If that weren’t enough of a giveaway, her ears turned red like two neon signs. She hadn’t had a reaction anywhere close to that when Griffin was the one touching her.
Cash caught my eye. Okay. He saw it too.
Bowen and Cash took turns, barking out more steps: eye on the target, snap the wrist as you throw to keep the spear from wobbling in the air, use your whole body, and follow through the same way you do when shooting a free throw.
The tip of my spear landed just outside the target. Close, but in the race, I’d be running the penalty loop.
But Maggie’s hit the bullseye, almost dead center. She hooted and, in a shocking turn of events, tackled Bowen in a tight hug.
“Could you feel it?” Bowen asked as he patted her back.
“She felt something all right,” Cash mumbled. Too loud. I elbowed him in the ribs.
“Yes!” Maggie squealed. But then, like she’d been zapped with a cattle prod, her face blanked and she jerked back, tripping over her own feet like she’d just walked face-first into a glass door.
He steadied her. Then he strode to the hay bale, yanked the spear free, and walked it to her, completely unfazed. “Let’s see you do it again.”
She did. Seven more times, while I still didn’t so much as graze the outside of the circle. Maggie’s inability to keep her excitement tamped down grew with each spear she landed. By the time she hit the eighth, the heavens had parted, and her eyes glowed at Bowen like she’d just found out he was secretly a prince.
“I think it’s safe to say you got it,” Bowen said. “We can practice some more tomorrow. Ready to run?”
She tucked her blond hair behind her ears. “Definitely.”
We watched as they took off. Within the first fifteen feet, Bowen adjusted his stride to match hers and they could’ve won the Olympic medal in synchronized running.
Cash groaned. “That is not good.”
“We say nothing,” I hissed. “Her DNA recognition system is just confused. They’re brothers. They look alike. A little.” My hands went to my cheeks. “At least in the jawline.”
“Eye shape? Kind of.” Cash scratched the back of his neck. “Noses are different though. And their foreheads.”
“Hair could not be less similar.” I moaned. Griff’s was a thick, stick-straight red, and Bowen’s a soft, wavy, almost-black. But then I snapped my fingers. “Their mouths are the same. Same lips!” I yipped.
“She’ll work through it,” Cash said, but it was tinged with worry.
I couldn’t blame Maggie. No shade to Griffin, but he still had the build of a human coat rack, while Bowen looked like he’d casually discovered weightlifting. Defined but not ‘I live off boiled chicken’ levels of swole. Just like Cash. Plus, Bowen had that broody, emotionally unavailable vibe girls eat up—like a fixer-upper boyfriend just waiting for the right woman to repair his storm-tossed soul.
Cash turned back to me. “We’re gonna shake that off. All right, partner. You ready to do this?”
I nodded. But then I shook my head. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
He didn’t respond, just cracked his thumb knuckle and stared at me—looking a tad helpless and like he was restraining himself. He probably wanted to be the third Dupree male of the day to use the ‘hands-on’ spear-throw teaching method. I kind of wanted him to. But I was the one who’d imposed the ‘no touching’ rule.
For a second, I thought about lifting it momentarily. But then I chucked the idea aside. Because if Cash put his hands on me, my reaction would be more of a dead giveaway than Maggie’s.
I stared at him, hugging myself.
Cash’s fingers locked together behind his neck—hopefully for safekeeping. “Let’s walk through the steps again.”