Kirby reluctantly glanced at Mara. Mara looked queasy, which almost made Kirby feel bad. But ultimately, Mara had snapped back in that interview just as harshly. She’d played her own role, and it had been incredible.
Mara’s best self was not the uptight little ice princess. It was the badass who could take Kirby down a million pegs with sharp words. But no one seemed to see that but Kirby.
Kirby couldn’t stick around watching Mara gape like a fish, so she bailed. Her body was buzzing. She had to get her pent-up energy out, and she knew the best way to do it.
She’d made it down one hallway, then another, before she realized she was being followed.
“Bonham!”
Mara’s shout was an arrow to Kirby’s chest. Kirby wanted to fight more, to push more, but she knew the fighting was already getting dangerously close to something else. Something tempting and complicated.
So she kept moving. Another hallway. Another turn, until she was fully lost.
“Hey!” Mara yelled again. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”
“To play Bunco. Where do you think I’m going?” Kirby said, not slowing down.
“Honestly, KB, I couldn’t begin to imagine.”
Kirby reeled back to Mara and trapped her against a white wall, backing her up with nothing but closeness. She didn’t touch her, but she wanted to.
Kirby had two inches on her, and it was way too satisfying to see how Mara had to tip her chin up to glare at her.
They were alone again. It had happened more often in the past few days than the four years before. They were usually surrounded by coaches, trainers, nutritionists, and peoplewhose sole purpose was to optimize their intervals, bodies, and mental states.
“You called me KB.” Kirby lifted her hand, and Mara flinched. Kirby pressed her palm directly above Mara’s shoulder, boxing her in. “Calm down. I’m not going to Nancy Kerrigan you.”
“Everyone calls you KB. Even Janette Collins called you that.” There was steel in Mara’s voice and a stubborn set to her jaw.
“You don’t.” Kirby smiled and ever-so-gently tapped her fingertip against the curve of Mara’s shoulder, trailing along the seam on her lime-green quarter zip. It was a ridiculous color, but it looked incredible on her. “You’ve always called me?—”
“Bonham, stop it,” Mara hissed and knocked Kirby’s hand away.
“Bonham. Yep. There it is. So sporty.”
“Stop.”
“Last names. Handshakes and fake smiles when I beat you. No smiles when you beat me because you’re too humble to be happy for yourself. But something got into you during that interview. It was hot, Mara May.”
“Stop.”
“Nah.” Kirby was getting into dangerous territory, but there was such an appealing frigidness to Mara’s glare, and Kirby wanted to feel the burn of frostbite for a bit longer. “What do you need?”
“I don’t—I don’t know. It feels like you stabbed me in the back in there. Why would you do that?”
“I don’t owe you anything. I control my own narrative, and I refuse to be a pitstop on the Mara May redemption tour. I won four years ago.I did that. But somehow your failures have fallen at my feet.”
“It wasn’t my idea. I didn’t ask to do this interview.”
“No. You just follow instructions.”
Mara glanced away from her, and a bloom of red rushed over her cheeks. Kirby didn’t want that. She wanted Mara’s focus on her.
Kirby stepped closer, and Mara’s gaze flew to her in surprise. Kirby could smell Mara’s fancy fucking perfume again. She smelled rich. And good.
Mara could have ducked under Kirby’s arm, could have stepped away at any point. She could have pushed past, and it would have been understandable. But she hadn’t. She’d stayed right there.
“I liked it,” Kirby said. “When you said KB. It sounds different when you say it.Meaner.” Fuck, she loved the way Mara’s lips pursed in anger, the way she was breathing hard. All pissed off and hot as hell. “I’m going to go find someone to fuck.”
