The Hating Game

“Only me and my brother live in the city.” He frowns at me and taps my gun with his. “Hold your gun up.”

“There’s two of you? Heaven help us.” I try to obey but my arms are watery.

“You’ll be pleased to know we’re nothing alike.”

“Do you see him much?”

“No.” He assesses the course in front of us.

“Why not?”

“None of your business.” Sheesh.

I can see Danny in the distance stalking through the trees in the skirmish happening on the next rotation over, a dividing rope between us. I give him a wave and he lifts a hand in response, a smile spreading. Joshua raises his gun and shoots him twice on the back of the thigh with sharpshooter accuracy, then sniffs derisively.

“What gives? I’m not against y

ou,” Danny shouts. He calls out to his flag marshal and resumes, this time with a slight limp.

“That was unnecessary, Joshua. Very bad sportsmanship.”

We begin to move forward, and he’s bent low at the waist, surprisingly light on his feet as he sidesteps a volley of shots, bumping me backward behind a tree. The flag is dangling close by, but there are still two of our opponents out there.

“Quiet,” we hiss to each other in unison and look at each other. The worst place to play the Staring Game is in the middle of a live paintball session.

I have to lean my helmet back against the tree to look up at him properly. His eyes are a color I’ve never seen. The thrill of live action combat electrifies him. He looks away to check behind us, a scowl darkening his face. How do I ever manage to keep my composure under those fierce eyes?

We’re pressed together. My skin instantly sensitizes, and when I glance sideways I get a peripheral glimpse of his curved, heavy bicep. My heart stutters when I remember how it felt to have his hand on my jaw, cradling it, tilting me up to meet his mouth. Tasting me like something sweet. He is looking at my mouth and I know he is remembering the exact same thing.

Chapter 9

You’re sweating.” Joshua frowns. Maybe not then.

I can hear a twig crack and realize someone is approaching behind us. I raise my eyebrows in askance and Joshua nods. My moment is here and he needs to get the flag. I grab handfuls of his paintball suit and swing him around behind me against the tree.

“What are you—” he starts to say behind my back, but I’m scanning the terrain for the ambush. I’m Lara Croft, raising her guns, eyes burning with retribution. I can see the shape of the enemy’s elbow behind the barrels.

“Go!” I yell. I fumble in my thick gloves for the trigger. “I’m covering you!”

It happens instantly. Pop, pop, pop. Pain radiates through me—arms, legs, stomach, boob. I howl, but the shots keep coming, white splats all over me. It’s complete overkill. Joshua pivots us neatly and blocks the shots with his body. I feel him jolting as he takes more hits and his arm rises to cradle my head. Can I freeze time and take a nap right here?

He turns his head and shouts angrily at our assailant. The shots stop, and nearby I hear Simon crow with triumph, standing on top of the mound and waving the flag. Dammit. My one job and he wouldn’t even let me do it.

“You should have gone. I was covering for you. Now we’ve lost.” Another wave of nausea nearly knocks me over.

“Sor-reeee,” Joshua says sarcastically. Rob is approaching, gun lowered. I’m making whimpering noises. The pain is throbbing in points all over me.

“Sorry, Lucy. I’m so sorry. I got a bit . . . excited. I play a lot of computer games.” Rob takes a few steps back when he sees Joshua’s expression.

“You’ve really hurt her,” Joshua snaps at him, and I feel his hand cup my head. He’s still pressing me against the tree, knee braced between mine, and when I look to my left I see Marion watching us with her binoculars. She drops them and writes something on her clipboard, a grin curling her mouth.

“Off.” I give him an almighty shove. His body is huge and heavy and I’m so boiling I want to rip my suit off and lie in cold paint. We’re all panting a little as we walk back to the starting point under the balcony. I’m limping and Joshua takes my arm brusquely, probably to move me on faster. I see Helene up ahead, lowering her sunglasses. I wave like a sad cartoon kitten; womp, womp.

Casualties abound. People groan as they press the painted parts of their bodies gingerly. Dozens of reenactments are taking place. I look down and realize my front is almost solid paint. Joshua’s front half is fine, but his back is a mess. Trust us to be opposites.

When I strip off my gloves and helmet, Joshua gives me his clipboard and a bottle of water. I raise it to my lips and it seems to be empty quickly. Everything feels weird. Joshua asks Sergeant Paintball if they have any aspirin.

Danny picks his way through our fallen comrades to join me. I’m acutely aware of how disgusting I must look. He looks at my front. “Ouch.”