He dropped his hood. Rain soaked his waves, darkening his curls and sharpening the line of his jaw. “Aight then…what’s at stake? Be clear.”
She swallowed. “If I win…you stop avoiding me.”
His eyes tightened at the corners. “And if I win?”
Meadow inhaled. “You can have whatever you want. You can leave.” She almost choked on that part.
Zaire stepped up, the night pulling taut between them. “Whatever I want?”
“Yes, Zaire.”
He chuckled low. “Baby…you gon’ regret that.”
Baby.The word she hadn’t heard all day and didn’t know how long she’d actually been holding her breath because of it.
“No, I won’t.”
He tapped the ball into place. “First swing.”
She stood back, arms folded, pretending she wasn’t watching every inch of him. His shoulders loosened, posture aligned, and he hit the ball in one clean stroke that echoed across the rain-wet grass.
It dropped in the cup like it was scared to disappoint him.
“Jacket,” he said, no-nonsense in his tone but also no warm melody she craved for, and hung on every time he opened his mouth.
This was already brutal. Regret started to snake up her body.
Meadow sucked her teeth. “You cheated.”
“How I cheat?”
“You hella talented and irritating.”
Zaire motioned with two fingers. “Words? Trust?”
If she wanted to play this stupid ass game instead of just apologizing, then Zaire was going to make her feel it.
Meadow unzipped her jacket. His eyes dropped to her braless chest and back to her face.
“You petty,” he uttered, swiping his tongue over his lips.
“You asked for this.” Her body shivered.
“Words,” he demanded.
Meadow inhaled. “I’m scared.”
“Of me?” he asked quietly.
“Of us.”
Zaire gave a clipped nod, but didn’t say a word. He just stepped into the next swing. Another perfect shot. “Pants.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t, but you want to.”
Meadow slid the leggings down her body. Rain kissed her thighs and chill bumps rose everywhere.
