“Pretty sure that’s not how Candyland was designed,” I tease, watching him pour a glass and hand it to me. His fingers brush mine when I take it, lingering a second too long and causing my pulse to stutter.
He shrugs, pouring his own. “Then consider this the adult edition.”
I sip the smooth wine, warming me from the inside out. “You realize you’re going to regret this when you’re chugging glass after glass, right?”
Sterling chuckles low in his throat, leaning back on one arm, wine glass in the other. “Confidence looks dangerously good on you.” He raises his glass in a mock toast, eyes holding mine. “To dangerous confidence.”
I clink my glass against his, my heart racing. “And to your impending defeat.”
He grins, that slow, devastating grin that always undoes me, and sets his glass down beside the board.
“Let’s play.”
Sterling fans out the cards between his big hands, shaking them like he’s shuffling for high stakes poker instead of a kid’s game.
“Alright, rules are simple,” he says, a playful challenge in his eyes. “Every time you hit a setback—stuck square, licorice, whatever it’s called—you drink.”
I snort, tucking my legs under me as I settle closer to the fire. “Whatever.”
His smirk tilts. “You’re not backing down, are you?”
I meet his gaze head-on and lift my glass. “Not a chance.”
When we start, Sterling picks the blue game piece, and I pick the red. He pulls the first card, moves his piece, and smirks up at me like he’s already winning. I roll my eyes and take my turn.
When I land on a licorice square, Sterling leans toward me, my glass in his hand, and murmurs, “Drink up, Hart,” as he passes it to me.
I groan, taking a dramatic sip before narrowing my eyes at him. “Enjoy this moment, because it’s the last one you’re getting.”
“Big talk,” he teases, his knee bumping mine as he slides his pawn across the board. The touch should be casual, but he doesn’t move it, and neither do I.
The wine loosens us both while we play, and by the time I pull a card that rockets me ahead, I can’t help squealing with excitement. “Oh my God, yes!”
Sterling leans back on his hands, watching me with that slow grin. “Look at you. Smug as hell. I should make you drink for celebrating too hard.”
“Not in the rules,” I sing-song, taking a sip anyway, just to taunt him.
“I don’t remember making a rule that prevents adding rules while playing,” he says, eyes sliding down to my mouth before dragging back up.
I feel it like a spark under my skin, and my pulse skips. To cover it, I stick my tongue out at him and nudge his shoulder. “You’re just mad I’m winning.”
He leans in so close that the warmth of the fire, the wine, and his presence all blur together. “Maybe I’m letting you win, like I did on the slope.”
“I won fair and square,” I protest.
“Of course you did,” he says, with a lazy smirk.
His hand brushes mine when he goes for his glass, fingers grazing just enough to make my breath catch. I lift my own glass and sip to distract myself, but the glass trembles slightly in my grip.
“Careful, Mais,” he mumbles, watching me over the rim of his glass. “You’re gonna spill.”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, but my voice betrays me, soft and shaky.
He doesn’t call me out, his smirk lingering as he flips his next card and slides his pawn forward, like he’s playing two games at once—Candyland, and me.
And he’s winning both.
I move my pawn along the path, trying not to look too smug when I land on a shortcut. Sterling groans, dragging a hand through his hair like the fate of the world depends on Candyland.
