“Just trust me. All right. Show me how you hold the mallet.”
He puts it into my hands and I show him.
“Now hit the ball.”
As soon as I start to aim, the hoop jumps up and wiggles. This is what I hate about this version of the game. The hoop won’t sit still. It’s all cartoonish and leaps out of the way before your ball can go through it.
I always come in last place when I play against my family. Even Addison, who used to not have any magic to speak of, can beat me.
I hit the ball, and of course it misses the hoop, landing in the bushes.
“I see your problem.”
Before I can tell Devlin that he’s my only problem, he places his hand atop mine and presses his chest into my back.
Oh. My. God.
I think I might faint.
He smells like the ocean, like waves beating against the sand. He moves the hair off my neck, and of course while doing so his fingers brush against my flesh, sending a shiver cartwheeling down my spine.
His voice is low, husky. It sounds like sex. “When you aim, you have to anticipate where the hoop will move. It gives you a hint in how it dances. See? It’s wanting to go left.”
And I see it. The hoop doth dance too much, methinks. It wiggles and wobbles, looking very much like a croquet hoop that ended up in cartoon land.
Devlin, for some reason, is still behind me. His chest is still pressed to my back, and his mouth is dangerously close to my ear. Not exactly sure why that’s dangerous, but itfeelsdangerous. Risqué. Like his mouth could slowly make a play for my ear and begin nibbling it.
In public.
“Lightly tap the ball, and it’ll go in,” he murmurs so close to my skin that the hairs on the back of my neck soldier to attention.
His hand is still on mine, and heat sears my flesh. It feels like he’s branding me, like we’ve suddenly become conjoined twins and there’s no way to separate us.
I tip my face toward his, and his mouth is right there. Beside me. Next to mine.
I whisper, “Like this?”
Before he can answer, I hit the mallet against the ball, aiming just slightly left of the hoop. The ball flies across the lawn and plows through the hoop just as it wiggles left.
“Very nice,” Devlin says, still holding my arm, still with his back against mine, still cradling me in public.
“Storm,” someone shouts.
The announcement takes me by surprise, and I jump, elbowing Devlin in the gut in the process.
He grunts and rocks back. I turn to apologize, but he’s already straightened and is smoothing a hand over his hair.
Good. I need space. I don’t need his mouth by my ear or his hand touching my arm or his chest pressing against my back.
He doesn’t want me, remember?
I need Storm Grayson beside me, falling in love with my charming face and personality.
Devlin slips his hands into his pockets. “When you get paired up with Storm, just act natural. Smile. Be nice. I know it’s hard for you, at least with me, but do your best.”
I smirk. “How do you know I’m being paired with him?”
“Because I’ve already spoken to your aunt and made sure.”
