Chapter 8
Levi
“OMG, Levi, you totally have a thing for Tate!”
“Would you please keep it down?” I say, snapping after the third comment of the same nature.
Ever since Tate walked through those slider doors, Gabriella, who, for the record, turns out to be way more delusional than the girls I typically date, has been hounding me to, as she says, “embrace my feelings.” She’s leaning forward, elbows resting on her knees as her eyes dig into my soul with an ice pick.
Clay is leaning back in his chair with his third (fourth?) beer, pretending not to care, but every couple of seconds he looks back and tries to read me too.
“Look, Gabby—”
“Gabriella,” she corrects.
“Gabriella.” I swallow the annoyance that’s been slowly rising throughout the course of this conversation. “I appreciate your interest in my love life, but at this time, I’m not taking any applications. I’m here for one thing, and one thing only—to win this competition and get on with my life.”
“You really think you’re going to win, mate?” Clay perks up, turning his body to better face me. “There’s a hundred people here, the best of the best in all of the country, and you think you’re better than them?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
Clay nods slowly in understanding, his eyebrows following the jump before settling back into place.
“Well, I hope you’re wrong.” He smiles. “Because if I win, I’m going to use the purse money to buy an engagement ring for my girlfriend. We’ve been together since high school. Always my biggest supporter.”
“Girlfriend?!” Gabriella and I say at the exact same time.
“What was all that with Tate?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“I’m pretty sure all that stuff with Tate was you and Tate, not me and Tate.” He laughs.
“Annnd we’re back,” I say with a groan and an eye roll. “Earlier, at the bar, you saw Tate and said, ‘I’m going to go try and make a friend.’”
“Yeah, so? I did. I like Tate, but I don’t like Tate. Not like you like Tate.” He tosses a tiny wink at Gabriella which she eats up.
“YES! SEE!” she yells, vindication highlighting her features. She’s practically glowing.
“Y’all are like children. I’m going to bed.”
“I love when you say y’all. You’re like a real-life cowboy,” Clay says and it hits. My mouth splits into a smile that I don’t dare contain.
“That’s what they say.”