Chapter 1
RANSOM
She rounds the corner, just a blur of silky red hair, fleet feet, and a kamikaze heart.
Her white-and-orange pistol swings slowly as she hunts me.
From my hiding spot behind a dimly lit doorway, I narrow my gaze, take aim, and fire off a punishing round of green lasers at the lithe redhead. “You’re going down, King!”
I strike a fatal blast to her chest. Teagan goes all-in on the drama, letting her pistol clatter to the floor as she collapses to her knees.
Sputtering, she clutches her heart and coughs like she’s performing Shakespeare, going for the save.
Rules are rules, and our mutual friend Bryn devised them for today’s game of laser tag—if you can make your killer laugh while you’re dying in the last round of the battle royale, you can earn another life.
When it comes to sports, I don’t believe in do-overs or mulligans.
But sportsmanship also means respecting the rules of the game as they’re laid out, even the silly ones.
So my job here is to remain impervious to Teagan’s dramatics, implacable as she twists and writhes, contorting her face and making sounds reminiscent of a cat heaving up a hairball.
Ice.
I’m the North Pole, just like I am in the rink.
Nothing breaks me, and nothing breaks me down.
Though if something were to chip away at my armor, it might be gorgeous-as-anything Teagan King flopping onto her back, looking like a break-dancer doing the worm while being electrocuted.
Oh, hell.
She’s so ridiculous fake-dying that the seed of a chuckle takes root in me.
A kernel of a laugh sprouts and gathers strength in the center of my rib cage, gaining speed now.
Then she rises like the undead, reaching out her arms and groaning like a . . . sexy zombie.
How the fuck is that possible?
Zombies are not sexy, but my laugh grows faster, climbs higher, until it takes over my chest, gripping me in a quick convulsion.
Dammit.
Maybe the hot auburn-haired zombie didn’t notice.
But she sits up completely, points at me, and grins in epic satisfaction. “You laughed, North. Admit it, or forever be known as Laser Tag Liar.”
I clench my jaw, wanting to deny it. But I won’t do that. The gods of sports hate cheaters more than they hate commissioners and all-star games.
I give in with a long, frustrated groan. “Fine. I’ll admit it. I laughed for maybe one nanosecond. But only because you’re such a drama queen, King.”
“Come on, North. Admit it was funny.”
“Fine. It was a little funny, you going all undead.”
She pops up and shimmies her sexy hips. “Wait till you see my vampire. That’ll lead me to victory too.”
“You haven’t won yet, cocky vampire.”
She flips her hair off her shoulder in a sassy little move that I can’t look away from, because . . . that hair, that face, and most of all, that confidence. “Oh, but I will. Now, get your ass back out there, North, so I can take you down. Because I’m the only one who can.”
There is some truth to that.
The woman is a sick competitor, with a fearless heart and a ferocious appetite for victory. She makes the most of her second life in the arena, darting, dodging, and firing at me relentlessly.
We go mano a mano for ten, close to fifteen minutes.
And in this final shoot-out, her team against mine, there are no mulligans.
It’s a fight to the finish, ducking down hallways, turning through tunnels.
As I prowl around a dark corner, searching for my nemesis, she steps out from the shadows, aiming straight at my heart.
Cold. Ruthless. Determined.
She fires.
I’m dead. Just dead. Game over.
I curse, but fair is fair.
“Good job, killer.” I drop my gun and offer her a hand, since that’s what you do when you win or when you lose.
“I humbly accept your courteous adoration,” she says in her most gracious voice as we shake.
I roll my eyes. “I wouldn’t really say it was adoration.”
“Now, now. We both know it was.”
“I’ll let you have your delusion,” I say as we pick up our pistols and return them to the check-in counter. I gesture to the bar adjacent to the arena. “Want to join the crew, King?”
“Let’s do it,” she says, and I sweep my hand out for her to go first.
Because I’m a gentleman—and a wise gentleman always seizes the chance to enjoy the rear view.
Teagan’s ass is just so damn yummy, and I’m an ass man.
Wait. Nope. That’s not entirely fair to her breasts, which I very much enjoy checking out too.
But asses are easier to ogle. So I do that for a few seconds as she exits the game area.
I do it knowing the ogling will go nowhere.
Knowing, too, that she’s got so much more going on than a delicious form.
I enjoy her company too, so I don’t feel guilty about enjoying the sights when I can.
Some of our friends are waiting for us outside the arena.
With a victory dance, Teagan smacks palms with her laser-tag teammates—first with my good buddy Logan, then with Bryn, Teagan’s bestie and the reason we’re celebrating here today.
Bryn recently opened her own consulting firm.
She’s signed deals with a few marquee clients, so today’s laser-tag-plus-karaoke-plus-beer is on Logan as we toast to his woman’s career success.
“You brought it home for our team, girl. So proud of you,” Bryn tells Teagan.
“I’m all about teamwork. And beating Ransom,” she says.
Bryn smiles, sporting the happy look that Logan seems to put on her face constantly. Logan and Bryn met a year ago and are kind of ridiculously in love.
Which, come to think of it, is how I’d describe all my good buds these days. Logan, Oliver, and Fitz—all with hearts in their eyes, dopey grins on their mugs, life partners by their sides.
Logan pats Teagan on the shoulder. “I, for one, am glad you took down this competitive bastard.” He deals me a satisfied smirk. “Ransom has tried to destroy me in Ping-Pong far too many times, so I’m stoked someone can pummel him in laser tag.”
I snort-laugh. “You deserve to be pummeled in Ping-Pong, Logan.”
“Why? Why do I deserve it?” Logan fires back.
“Everyone who plays me deserves it,” I say as we head into the bar. “I don’t hold back in any game. Balls to the wall is the only way to play. If you can’t handle the heat I bring with a paddle, you need to get away from the Ping-Pong-table fire.”
Teagan cuts in, laughing. “You do know that sounds racy on ten million levels, Ransom? From the balls to the heat to the paddle.”
I wiggle my brow. “That’s what she said.”
She parks her hands on her hips. “Way to steal my punch line.”
“Guess I just beat you to it.” I set up the opening for her favorite zinger. Until very recently, the woman has dropped in that’s what she said with such gleeful abandon that it should be her nickname. Or it could, if it weren’t such a—ahem—mouthful.
That, and she’s made a resolution to stop saying her catchphrase, claiming it was going to get her in trouble at work. It’s been a blast trying to trip her up, but she’s a tough one to crack.
Like now, when she shoots me a saucy grin and resists with a shake of her head. “I’m not going to touch that one with a ten-foot pole.”
“Are you sure?” I say, egging her on. “A ten-foot pole might be fun—with the right person.”
“You two and your innuendos,” Bryn puts in. “Grab a table while we snag some beer, okay?”
“Will do,” I say as the lovebirds go place our orders.
Teagan and I snag a high top, while a familiar voice fills the bar with a mostly in-tune warble. On the low stage by the karaoke setup, my teammate Fitz belts out “The Time of My Life” in a duet with Summer, Logan’s twin sister.
Huh.
They’re not too shabby, but still deserve ribbing.
“Way to go, Kenny and Dolly,” I shout.
“Donny and Marie have nothing on you two,” Teagan seconds. Leaning toward me, she echoes my thoughts too, saying, “They’re not half bad.”
“Yeah, I know. Hidden talent, maybe?”
“I’m convinced everyone has one,” she says, and there’s some truth to that. I suppose we all have something we’re good at.
We watch them for a little longer. Fitz pretends he’s singing the love song to Summer, but he keeps making eyes at his fiancé, Dean, who moved here from London last year.
Dean’s a few tables away with his friend Leo, laughing.
It’s some kind of private joke, I’m guessing, since Dean and Fitz have plenty of those.
Good for them. They’re also ridiculously in love. All around me, every-damn-where, my band of brothers is toppling. Single soldiers have become fallen warriors, losing their minds to the siren call of love, leaving me the last man standing.
Well, I’ve already been there, done that, have the battle scars to prove it. I have no desire to repeat the experience.
But having fun? Bring it on. Light and easy? That fits with one of the top-tier items on my do-and-don’t list. Do be more chill.
“Best karaoke duet ever?” I toss the question to Teagan, staying on the train I like to travel with her.
She stares at the ceiling, brow furrowed, lips pursed. “‘Endless Love’ is pretty good.”
“For the cheese factor, right?”
“Of course. So much cheese, you could make a sandwich.”
“‘Endless Love’ is pure cheddar. But ‘Islands in the Stream’ is a classic duet too. A little schmaltzy, but easy for mere mortals to sing.”
She nods, eagerly agreeing. “Unlike, say, ‘Shallow.’ Why do people even attempt to duet that song?”
I hold up stop-sign palms. “Don’t look at me. I would never attempt to follow Gaga and Cooper.”
“Those are some words to live by.” She snaps her fingers, eyes lighting up. “I’ve got it! ‘Summer Nights.’ That’s the best karaoke duet ever.”
I sing, ask her to “tell me more, tell me more,” and she shimmies her shoulders, providing the harmony.
“We’re a good duo,” she says. “Maybe that’s our hidden talent.”
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t think you can trick me into being your teammate. You and I—we are competitors. And I still have a laser-tag score to settle with you.”
“Good luck with that.”