I‘m going to destroy them all!
I wonder if we get to choose partners.
I start eyeing all the girls and get irritated when I realize that my best prospect would actually be my greatest enemy.
Ivy.
She played volleyball in college and was actually pretty good. She also did gymnastics in high school, not that I actually paid much attention.
Really, I didn’t. I mean, cool, you can do the splits and are super bendy, and that does not, at all, lead me to think about things we can do in bed.
I gulp. Ever.
She has an athletic body and would honestly be my only ticket to the top.
Damn it!
Why did we have to argue this morning?
Fucking staples.
“Now,” Max says as a crafty grin spreads across his face. “I’ll give you a second to digest the movie you just witnessed. This year, as I said, we will be doing things a bit different. First things first, you’re going to be allowed to choose your own partner since last time we paired people up, we almost had babies ha-ha, am I right?”
He holds his hand up for a high five to his assistant Dustin, whose eyes are twitching behind his black-rimmed glasses as he rocks back and forth and whispers, “We’re going to get sued again.”
I choke on my laugh.
“Nonsense.” Max smacks him on the back. The poor guy’s glasses come flying off. “That was one time.”
“That was last week,” he says through grit teeth.
“Dustin, Dustin, Dustin…” Max chuckles. “You’ll scare the littles.” He lowers his voice. “Look at their brains, like little gerbils running in their little cages on those circle things; what are they called again?”
“Wheels—”
“Never mind, I’m bored now. Did you start those dance lessons I asked you to?”
Dustin shakes his head.
I notice people start to get up like they’re going to pair up the way you would when working on a group project, so I do what any desperate guy does: I jump the seats and plop down next to Ivy with a grunt.
She jumps in response and leans so far away from me that I wonder if she’s going to fall on the floor. “Can I help you?”
“We can help each other,” I say. “Look, hear me out. I know you hate me, and I hate you, blah, blah, sorry for the staples, but…” I hold out my hands. “We would destroy the competition. We’re athletes in our prime, just graduated college. It’s not like we’re forty.”
Max clears his throat.
“Not that there is anything wrong with that,” I say loud enough for him and everyone else to hear.
“Better.” Max sniffs.
“Anyway…” I lower my voice. “If we get to choose our own partners, we’re each other’s best bet. Did you see what the winners get? That’s huge!”
Her eyes narrow. “But you’re rich?”
“And that automatically makes everything perfect?” I scowl. “The last thing I want is to work for my father and be stuck living at home until I’m forty!”
Max clears his throat again.
“Not that there is anything wrong with a finely dressed man in his prime!” I nearly yell it this time.
Max adjusts his tie and smiles. “I am, aren’t I?”
“Yes, sir,” Dustin answers so quick my head spins a bit.
“Wasn’t speaking to you,” Max snaps, then rolls his eyes. “Family, can’t live with them, can’t live without them. Then you end up hiring your cousin because your aunt has gout, and look at me now…”
“Still in your prime, sir,” Dustin says through clenched teeth.
I shake my head and look back to Ivy. Her brown eyes are studying me. She tucks her hair behind her ears and continues to stare. Shit, is she even breathing at this point?
She looks down at her clenched hands in her lap. “You do have a bit of a point.”
“Is that your way of saying I’m right?”
“Maybe.” She refuses to make eye contact and squirms in her seat; it’s kind of cute.
Wait, no, not at all, it’s hateful and immature, and girls are gross.
Fuck, what the hell is wrong with me?
She leans in. “What do I get out of this?”
“Um, a job?” Is she dense? “A bonus? Take your pick!”
She holds out her hand.
I reach for it, only for her to pull it back.
“I’m confused,” I say.
“I’ll shake on it, but I want something from you.” She leans in.
Her lips are shiny. Normally lip gloss scares me; so many ways that a kiss can taste horrible or go wrong, but hers is pink, and her tongue sneaks out to lick her bottom lip. I’m a bit too entranced when she snaps her fingers in front of me.
“Will you give it to me?”
Wait, what did she just ask me?
“Give it?” I repeat.
She leans in farther—shit, is it a billion degrees in the room? I lean in too.
Her mouth is so close to mine that it would take maybe another ten inches, and I could seal our deal with a really work-appropriate kiss, you know, like the Europeans do, right? That’s a thing. I saw a documentary about it once.