I scowl at him. He should be helping them. But I get the impression that Courtland would be happiest watching a mudwrestling match, so maybe this is as close as he can get. As though he can feel my eyes on him, he turns that full dangerous smile of his toward me, one brow arched in… challenge? Like he knows what I was just thinking.
I pointedly roll my eyes—which just makes him laugh again—and drag my attention away from him, only for it to snag on Forsythe and Isadora, standing close together, her hands brushing over the forearm porn he has on display in a move that is entirely familiar and comfortable, like she’s touched him like that a thousand times before.
She probably has.
Just like with Courtland, Forsythe seems to feel my gaze on him, and his own eyes snap up to meet mine. Warm, honey brown. Soft and sweet. Whatever he sees on my face has him taking a step away from Isadora, putting distance between them.
“It’s your turn!” Joanie says, all but shoving me toward the water and forcing my attention away from the prince.
I blink, discombobulated for a moment, before my body kicks itself into gear with no input from my brain. Before I really know what’s happened, I’m across the beam and staring up at the net, Thayer’s hand a steady solid presence at my lower back.
Fuck.
They left the second to highest for me. The one Deirdre was supposed to grab since she’s the tallest omega in our group.
“Oops! Sorry about that, babes,” Deirdre calls from the beach. “I didn’t see that one!”
What a little liar.
I should have expected that. Deirdre and Odette are friends with Isadora and I would guess they made some kind of deal to knock out who they see as the low hanging fruit. And I am the lowest of low hanging fruits.
Odette and Joanie immediately giggle like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever seen. One tosses her hair. The other angles herbody toward Thayer so he’ll see the way her sports bra sparkles in the sun and draws attention to her tits.
I swear, if they had feathers, they’d be preening.
Thayer doesn’t rise to it, but his jaw flexes in a flicker of irritation. Maybe at them for screwing with the plan… maybe at me for being rooted to the platform, staring up at the stupid maroon puff like it’s personally offended me.
Either way, it doesn’t matter.
They left the second highest for me.
And I’m going to take it.
I could be petty. I could grab Petal’s low-hanging key and let her deal with the mess they made. But no. I want to win. I want to prove to them—to myself—that I’m not the weak link they think I am.
Even if my knee throbs just imagining the climb.
“Ren,” Thayer murmurs, stepping close enough that his warmth brushes my back. “Ready?”
No.
Absolutely not.
Every part of my body is screaming no.
“Yes,” I say anyway.
His hands settle on my hips—big, steady, confident—and then I’m suddenly airborne as he lifts me halfway to the key. My breath stutters. I scramble for purchase, hooking fingers and the toes of my shoes into the netting. Thayer keeps his hands on me as long as physically possible, guiding, bracing, making sure I’m solid before he finally has to let go.
As soon as his warm hands leave my body, I risk a glance down, seeing him right under me, arms poised, eyes tracking every movement, ready to catch me if I falter, if I fall. My chest loosens, my muscles relax… which is just bizarre given the circumstances.
But his steady presence makes it easier to continue the climb, my gaze focused on the maroon puff.
Five feet.
Four.
Three.
