Know Me Well (Wishful 3)

“That’s it. It’s officially done,” Norah announced.

Tools were set aside, and they all crowded around to look over the finished product.

Mitch had outdone himself with the design. In place of the old, boring playground, they’d built a veritable wooden Camelot, with turrets and bridges, climbing walls, slides, monkey bars, and two banks of swings. It almost made Liam wish he was a kid again.

“Well, the equipment is done, anyway,” Cam said. “It’ll take me another weekend to get all the landscaping done.”

“And Tyler’s still got to finish with the pickets for the fence,” Mitch added.

“I’m on duty to help put that together when it’s ready,” Liam said.

“Oh shush,” Norah scolded. “I’m enjoying the moment of having something finished.”

“Somebody’s got to test it out,” Liam remarked, eying the swings.

“What do you mean? It’s safe. Mitch went over all the specs.”

“As in make sure it will hold up to a proper swing long jump competition.”

Norah cocked her head. “A what?”

“You know, that thing we did when we were kids, where you swing as high as you possibly can and then jump out. Surely kids still do this.” Liam couldn’t imagine sedately using the swings only as intended. Where was the fun in that?

“I get someone at the clinic at least once or twice a year with a broken limb from that,” Miranda confirmed. “As adults, you’re all supposed to know better.”

“Psh. Knowing better is over-rated.” Liam pegged Riley with a look. “Weren’t you, like, reigning long jump champion in fourth grade?”

Brows up, she nodded. “I was. And how did you, from your vaunted position in the far off seventh grade, know that?”

“Because Wynne was always mad you beat her. She couldn’t figure out how you won since she was taller and should’ve had the longer reach

.”

“Reach isn’t everything. It’s all in the technique.”

“You up for a little friendly competition?”

Riley narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

Liam upped the stakes. “Loser buys pizza.”

“You’re on, Boy Scout.”

Of course, that led to bets being taken. Being a Marine, he was the clear favorite, but that didn’t seem to put Riley off one whit.

Liam slid into a swing, feeling the sides dig into his hips. “Hope you like pineapple.”

Riley sat down beside him, shoving back until she was straight-legged. “Pineapple doesn’t belong on a pizza. Not that it matters because you’re buying me chicken and bacon.”

“Cocky.”

“Confident,” she corrected. “On three. One. Two. Three!” She jumped back and swung forward.

Liam followed suit but was, as it turned out, at something of a disadvantage with his much longer legs. Riley laughed as his feet dragged, kicking hers until she rose higher and higher. Then he got the rhythm and figured out how to tuck his feet on the back swing and began to catch up. Liam swung higher, his stomach doing that altitude lurch as he neared the zenith of the arc. Beside him, he could see Riley preparing to jump, shifting her grip on the chains so her arms were free.

“Geronimo!” she shouted.

Riley went first, her sneakers leaving deep furrows in the rubber mulch as she skidded to a stop, arms pinwheeling. Liam readied for his own jump, eyes on Riley and the finish line. The moment he left the swing, he knew he’d miscalculated something. His body over-rotated, and he tried to twist in the air, to tuck and roll. His landing was an awkward, sideways crash of limbs. The impact radiated through his hip, his elbow, jarring loose a completely un-manly Ooph.