Elevator Kiss

“That, my dear Calvin, was acting.”

“Acting. Right.” I coughed. “Best-actress-worthy.” We walked again toward the hotel, still collecting all the little pieces of me that her kiss had shattered into the air around me.

“Thank you.” She sounded proud of herself—and not very affected by my kiss.

Ouch. But women loved to kiss me. They begged for more kisses. What was going on, and why didn’t I have my usual manly effect on Amanda Starkey? “Shine those skills up for tomorrow when you have to act like you’re great at archery.”

“I am great at archery.” She kept pace with me, but we didn’t hold hands. I wasn’t ready for more contact. I wasn’t asbestos. “I’ll bet I’m better than you.”

Bet? My neck stiffened. “That’s a bet you’ll lose.”

“And if I win?” She oozed confidence—likely sourced from the triumph of seeing me go to pieces in the wake of her explosive kiss. “You have to take me to see a waterfall. There are a few nearby.”

Waterfall, huh? “Fine, but if I win, you have to …” Kiss me again? Like that last one, but for an hour? Or five? Unfortunately, I wasn’t in a position to demand such favors. “Eat shrimp.”

“Ew. Can my punishment be doing something else? Anything else?”

“Fine, but it’s something of my choosing.” And that opened the door: my demand would definitely involve kissing. Hey, I’d given her another option, and she’d rejected it. It had to be kissing.

Man, my archery skills had better not have atrophied from my high school days. I wanted that prize.

???

Next morning, we stood on the grassy expanse of the archery range, a dozen of us holding bows, quivers slung over our shoulders. I was loaded for bear. Or, targets.

Amanda had promised to meet me at the range, and when she stalked in wearing a full warrior elf-ette costume, I dropped the arrow in my hand.

If my imagination for her Riders of Rohan black leather ensemble had been vivid, this was exponentially hotter. Her long blonde curls hung down her back, and every contour of her curves made my tongue roll out like I was a cartoon character. “Amanda,” I breathed.

“Calvin.” She sashayed past me, killing me with every hip sway. “Are you ready to compete? Can you hit the target?”

Uh-huh. Every time. “I’ve got extremely good aim.” I bent over and picked up my dropped arrow, stealing another glance at her insanely hot figure. I’ll never complain about another hobbit thing again as long as I live. This moment made all the other costume weirdness worthwhile.

“Everyone take your places.” The archery range official set us up at each of our stations.

While I waited, tapping my toe, Archery Dude took an extra long time helping Amanda with her gear and explaining how to aim. She gazed up at him with those green eyes that were, in fact, my favorite color like she’d pointed out last night.

A little fire raged inside me. Move off, dude. The warrior goddess belongs to me! My ears buzzed.

Which was stupid. She didn’t want me. This was all, as she’d said, an act. One I’d demanded of her.

I lifted my bow and nocked the arrow, my teeth on edge.

“Ready? Aim!” range-worker-dude hollered as my fingers trembled like traitors. “Fire!”

My arrow flew toward the target. Bull’s-eye! “Yes!” I’d nicked the very edge of it, if not dead-center. “Right on!” I turned to Amanda to revel in my victory.

She hadn’t shot her arrow yet. Her face went white as her ankle turned. She toppled sideways, and her arrow flew—at me.