It’s so easy for them to relax. I don’t think I’ve relaxed since I was ten years old.
A football crashes into the sand at my feet, granules scattering against my shins. I bend, pick it up, and straighten, meeting Julian’s gaze as he jogs my way.
“You going to stand there brooding all day?” He grins.
“Considering it.” I twirl the ball in the air.
“That’s no way to be.” Julian slows to a stop and grabs the ball from my grasp. “Come on, we need a fourth. Maybe you’ll even get a shot in on Joe—ya know, for all those times he’s gotten close to your girl.”
He’s teasing me, I know he is. But it grates.
“She’s not my girl.” I hold his gaze, even though the words don’t feel entirely true. Still, I don’t like Julian talking about her like she’s a thing instead of a person.
“Don’t talk about her like that.”
Julian’s grin falters, just a fraction, like he hears more in my words than I intended. He gives a small nod before jogging backwards and motioning me forward.
“Whatever you say, man.”
It takes less than a second for me to take off after him. Blowing off some of this pent-up energy is the best thing I can do for myself right now. I’m wound so tight, one minor inconvenience and I might snap.
“Maybe I’ll get one in on you instead!”
The shit-eating grin on Julian’s face only spreads as he runs at me, faking left before spinning around to the right.
“Do your worst!” He taunts, before Brandon comes out of nowhere, tackling him to the ground and tossing the ball my way.
“Harrington’s with me!”
Everything in me cringes at the casual use of my last name, but a quick glance around confirms no one’s paying attention. I rake my lower lip between my teeth, clench my jaw, and sprint toward the guys. Because sometimes it’s easier to tackle something I can get my hands on.
Twenty minutes later, sweat drips down my chest, and my breath comes in shallow pants. My muscles buzz with the fading adrenaline and exertion. It feels good. I feel good.
I grab a bottle of water and gulp it down in one shot, then swipe a beer from the cooler. Dropping onto the sand with my knees bent, I scan the group, all of them in varying states of relaxation or entertainment.
That’s when my gaze finds Lila.
She’s already staring right at me.
I scoff and look away, uninterested in whatever it is she’s thinking or planning. But I’ve clearly pissed off the universe, because when I chance another look, she’s already smiling and walking toward me.
My gaze locks on the waves licking the shoreline. Maybe if I don’t make eye contact, she’ll course-correct on her own.
But she doesn’t.
Lila shakes out a towel beside me, then sits and edges a little closer. “You looked good out there, Alex.”
Heat from her sun-drenched skin bleeds into my side. I instinctively lean away. This isn’t a game I’m playing.
Her smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it sharpens into something harder, more calculated. “Relax,” she says lightly, brushing sand from her thigh. “It was just a compliment.”
The breeze kicks up, carrying the scent of sunscreen and salt between us. Her knee nudges mine. It’s brief enough to be dismissed as accidental, intentional enough for the cameras to catch.
I take a slow pull from my beer, letting the silence stretch. If she’s going to force me into this conversation, then I’m going to make her work for it.
“You’ve done well for yourself here. Everyone thinks you’re the frontrunner,” she says, softening her voice to something breathy, her nails tracing lightly along my forearm. “I think you’re going to win it all.”
I roll my eyes. Lila is a carbon copy of every pretty, vapid girl back home—looking for attention, opportunity, a leg up. And she knows exactly how to play this game.
