Chapter Sixteen #2
My lips tip up in a smirk as I stifle my laugh. This is going to drive him crazy, and I want to see his reaction.
I spin around, and he steps back, giving me just enough room to breathe.
I pat his chest and step partially out of his grasp. “Because I’m on Ross’s team.”
His jaw unhinges with disgust. “There’s no way you agreed to be on his team.”
Shrugging, I fully pull away from him and head to the back door. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”
He takes off after me, and I pick up pace, racing to the back door as his feet pound on the hardwood behind me, catching up fast. I slip through the door right before he reaches me.
Ross’s eyes land on me. “There you are! Come on. We’re up.”
His face lights up as he walks over to the far cornhole board, the one I’ll be aiming for with my beanbags.
Two-player teams. Two cornhole—or beanbag—boards set twenty-seven feet apart. And four bags for each team to throw. We’re red. And our opponents are Mason and Brock, tossing blue bags.
Ross tries to ease any nerves I might have. “Just try your best. No pressure!”
“Okay!” I say thankfully, although I won’t need it.
Do these guys not understand this is my house? That I grew up here, playing this for hours daily in the summertime? I could probably beat most of them with my eyes closed.
The thought reminds me that the time is running out on me calling this home mine. But I force the negativity from my brain, focusing on the current problem at hand. Winning this game.
Mason takes the spot next to Ross, staring me down the entire time with a burning fire in his eyes. “Who starts?”
“You guys can rock, paper, scissors, best of three, since neither of our teams has played yet,” I suggest. I can’t remember the actual rules, but that’s how we always played.
Ross beats Mason two out of three times, meaning I’m tossing first against Brock.
Lining the toes of my left foot up with the front of the board, I bend my knees, position the bag in my right hand—the weight balanced across my fingers—and launch it. It smacks the board and stops sliding two inches from the hole.
Dammit. I know I could have sunk that in.
“Oh shit! Daphne’s a hustler!” Zach jumps up and down on the outskirts of the game.
Looking up, I find Mason staring at me in annoyance and shock while Ross’s jaw is on the ground.
“You’re up,” I murmur to Brock, finding him matching my stance, readying to throw.
He launches it, and it lands at the bottom of the board, right on the grass.
“Brock, come on, man! I’m going to need you,” Mason says worriedly.
I’m making this one.
Bending down, I toss it, watching it fly and drop straight into the hole.
“Woo!” I jump up and spin around, dancing.
I’m going to beat these boys in two rounds, with or without Ross’s help.
Brock and I go back and forth, taking turns, and he’s getting better, but he’s nowhere close to keeping me from dominating.
Cornhole scoring can be a bit complicated, but essentially, it works like this: A bag on the board counts as one point. A bag in the hole counts as three. But our bags also cancel each other out.
After we’re done tossing our turns, I count the score.
I made three bags in the hole and one on the board.
While Brock made one on the board and missed three.
So, his one bag cancels out the one I had on the board, leaving my scoring bags being the ones in the hole, making the score nine to zero, us winning.
“Daphne, we’re going to win this thing!” Ross cheers with confidence, and he tosses his first bag, making it on the board.
Mason goes, matching it with one of his own. They go shot for shot, canceling each other’s points out each time. Now it’s our turn again.
The game is played to twenty-one, but not over. If you bust, you go back down to eleven. You can play with or without this rule, but it’s far more interesting with it.
I sink all four bags, some tosses prettier than others. Brock makes two on the board, canceling out two of my points, giving us ten more points on the scoreboard. Nineteen to zero.
“It’s going to be a shutout!” someone shouts as the other two begin throwing.
Mason sinks two of the bags, totaling six points, and Ross makes all four on the board, giving Ross four points. Leaving Mason and Brock to earn two points after removing the cancellation bags.
Nineteen to two.
Since Mason scored, Brock’s up first, which is really beneficial to me since I need to play against his points this round in order to stay at twenty-one and not bust.
Brock misses the first shot, and I lightly toss mine, landing it firmly on the wood. Brock puts the next one in the hole, and I follow suit, sinking it with a little slide up the middle.
“Dammit, Daphne. Can you let me have one?” he begs, laughing.
He throws the bag a little too hard, and it goes sailing into the grass.
“Sorry, no can do. No mercy points,” I say, launching my next bag and landing it on the board, giving us twenty-one points.
Mason holds my gaze, and I wink at him before spinning around and walking away a couple of steps while Brock tosses, making sure to sway my hips a little harder than normal.
Now I just have to outplay Brock’s next toss. Focusing on the game, I ignore Mason’s burning stare and watch as Brock lands one on the board.
I have to make the next one, or we go another round, which isn’t the end of the world, but, God, it would be so satisfying to beat them this fast.
Taking a breath, I bend my knees and throw the bag through the air, watching it land directly on top of his.
“Yes!” Ross shouts, running straight for me. He picks me up, his arm around my waist, and spins me around. “Daphne! Daphne! Daphne!”
Getting a bit dizzy, I tap his shoulder. “All right, all right. Put me down before I puke.”
He lowers me to the ground, and it takes me a moment for my balance to catch up with me, but a firm hand steadies me to help.
“Well played,” Mason whispers in my ear, goose bumps breaking across my body.
The next two teams get set up as we back out of the way, stepping out of the spotlight.
Ross walks over and gives me a high five. “I’m going to miss that talent of yours this next round.”
“You’re not playing anymore?” Mason asks softly.
“I was just filling in for Alex while he took a quick nap in the living room after one too many beers.” I point at him, a forward for the Mammoths, walking out to us in a much straighter line than before.
Maeve’s giggle carries across the lake water to me, where she and Jackson are out in the paddleboat.
God, they are so perfect together.
Ross walks over to join Alex, filling him in on the last game. Mason’s fingers wrap around my wrist, and he pulls me behind him, leading me back behind the big hedge bushes and out of view of the group.
“What are you doing?” I squeal as his hand goes over my mouth and the other goes around my waist as he pulls me forward into his chest.
His eyes are on fire as he looks straight down at me, a hint of alcohol on his breath.
“Do you have any idea how hard it has been, watching you all night?” he groans and trails a finger down my hairline, temple, and jaw, gradually lifting my chin.
“I’m a dying man right now, Daphne. Not being able to touch you or kiss you is slowly killing me. ”
My heart jumps into my throat, my eyes widening and my core pulsing. I wet my lips, my breathing shallowing out as I melt in his arms.
Sliding his hand down, he wraps it around my jaw, brushing my lower lip with his thumb.
“I know you feel it too. I can see it in your eyes, Sunset.” His eyes drop to my lips.
“Do you get off on teasing me in front of everyone? Swaying your hips when you know I’m watching.
” His grip on my waist tightens with his words.
I shrug with a bashful smile and fluttering lashes. I’ll admit, watching him squirm is bringing me more joy than I ever could’ve imagined. But this? It’s overstimulating. I can’t think straight.
He hovers his face over mine, our lips only two inches apart. “Go to the fair with me tomorrow.”
His question takes me by surprise. “What? W-why?”
“Can’t two friends just go have fun at the fair together?” he asks with a challenge in his gaze, knowing I’ll bite at his lure.
The word friends digs a knife into my chest.
I don’t know what I want with him yet or how this could ever possibly work after he graduates. Why hurt us both in the end when we could avoid it altogether?
But I can’t deny the pull I feel toward him. The need to be near him. The way he holds my focus in a room full of people. The way his touch makes me burn in all the right ways.
I’m probably going to regret doing this. But I don’t care.
Sticking my hand out between us, I murmur, “Deal. I’m in.”
He kisses my forehead, takes my hand, and shakes it. “It’s a date, Sunset.”