Chapter 5 #2
“Gee, thanks.” I step back from his reach. “Whatever ridiculous idea you’ve come up with, I’m not doing it.”
“Still thinking of the hot-dog competition last year?” he asks sympathetically. “I understand. Puking your guts up can’t have been fun, but was it actually a surprise when you lost? I had the home-ground advantage.”
“The what?”
“Swallowing weiners. I’ve had some practice.”
I can’t stop the small laugh that escapes me. “Again, too much information.”
“Come on, Rafe. One little competition. And you have the advantage this time.”
I’m curious but not falling for it. “I’ll pass.”
“It’s your chance to make me look stupid for a change.”
Now that’s a selling point. The problem is, I’ve learned that Campbell never looks stupid. Even those dumb Bassington school uniforms looked like they were made for him. “You don’t need my help with that,” I say anyway.
“I get it. You know you can’t win.”
“I know what you’re doing.”
“Stating a fact?”
“Trying to make me cave. I won’t do it.” But … I’m not walking away. I should be, but I’m not. “Your ideas are always dumb.”
“So leave.” Cam raises his voice. “Should have known you’d be too scared to do the dunk tank against me.”
Some of the people around us stop walking.
I can feel their stares. The anticipation.
Campbell likes to play into the friendly rivalry everyone else has insisted exists between us.
I hate it. And yet, I’m burdened by the same pressure that exists in the rest of my life to follow through and do what’s expected of me.
Dad chooses that moment to appear, and he claps like an overexcited child. “You’re getting involved, Rafe? Good, good. What’s the competition this time?”
“Three tries,” Cam quickly says, before I can point out that no, I’m not getting involved. “That’s all we get to dunk the other person. If Rafe wins, he gets to take all the donations we’ve earned tonight to add it to yours. If I win, it goes the other way.”
As far as prizes go, it’s low-risk for me. But for our parents, the money they raise has weight attached. Prestige. They fundraise because they’re good people, but they also enjoy making sure people know who made the most.
I wish I could tell Cam to fuck off, but Dad’s looking all excited, and I can’t help that pull inside me that demands Cam’s attention—whatever form that might take.
“It’s no risk, really,” Dad says. “They’ve got us beat with how much they’ve raised, so Lori’s going to get her way with the town hall. If you win this though, I’ll get my road. No harm in giving it a try …”
I eye the dunk tanks. They have pumpkins barely the size of my fist set up to throw at the targets. It looks too easy.
“You’re challenging an ex-quarterback to a throwing competition? Brave.”
“Like I said, you have the advantage.” Cam leans closer. “But I’m still going to win.”
His unwavering confidence is what finally does it. My decision has nothing to do with his aftershave that’s filling my nose. “You first, then, if you’re so confident.”
Dad claps again, and while Cam holds it in, I swear I can feel him gloating at how easy I am to play.
Whatever.
It’ll be nice to actually beat him for a change.
“Up top,” Cam says, holding up his hand for a high five.
I ignore it. “Let’s get this over with.”
Campbell strips off his shirt and makes his way up onto the ledge, while I try not to let my gaze linger on him. He’s always been in good shape from football, and now his body has filled out, so his muscles are less defined, his middle is softer, but his chest and arms look bigger somehow. Hotter.
My face heats as he sits down and dangles his legs in the water.
“Stage fright?” he calls out to me. We’ve gathered a bit of a crowd, which is spurring him on.
I block them out as I pick up a pumpkin, test its weight, then line up the shot. This is going to be too easy.
Then Cam wolf whistles right as I throw.
I overshoot by a long distance, and the pumpkin smashes open on the wall behind the target.
“Fuck.”
Campbell’s laughter rings in my ears.
I try again and miss.
What the fuck?
What is happening?
There is no way I should have missed the target the first time, let alone twice in a row. This was supposed to be an easy win.
The pressure thumps in my ears as I pick up a pumpkin for my last throw. I try to relax. Try to get in the zone and remind myself this is second nature. My muscles know what to do.
“Last try,” Cam reminds me. “Don’t choke.”
I shake my head and try to drown him out. Line up my aim. Draw my arm back, then—
“And don’t forget to cup the balls.”
I miss.
“Redo. You distracted me,” I demand.
“I get that from all the guys.”
“I’m serious, you cheated.”
Cam climbs down from the ledge, completely unfazed. “You can’t cheat when there are no rules.”
“I want another turn.”
“Too late, QB. Now let me show you what a tight end can do.” He winks and gestures for me to go up.
Shit.
I guess I’ll have to distract him too. It’s my only chance at getting out of this thing.
I go to pass Cam when his hand lightly presses to my chest, and he leans down to my ear. “I can’t wait to see you all wet.”
A shiver runs down my spine.
And even as I move away and climb onto the platform and sit the way Cam did, I can’t shake how his fingers felt on me.
And even as I try to think of a way to distract him, my brain is fixated on his voice in my ear.
Currents of electricity are rippling over my skin, and I’m barely aware of Cam picking up his pumpkin.
I try to shake it off, go to open my mouth and attempt some kind of heckling—
When the platform disappears and water rushes up around me.
Well, shit.