“Earth to Cora. Don’t you see that?” Lane’s hands wave in front of me, snapping me out of the list I’m making between him and my ex. His voice is pointed and on the fringe of annoyance. He’s pointing to a bunch of envelopes on the side of the science building. “This means we’re not last, right?”
“Didn’t know you were smartanda halfway decent hockey player,” I joke, the sarcasm heavy.
“I’m a lot of things. Some of those which you already know.” I swear, his lip trembles like he’s trying not to smile. “Also, halfway decent? That’s hilarious.”
The envelopes are too tall for either of us to reach on our own. I look around to see if there’s anything we can stand on, but there’s nothing. Maybe that’s why so many people got stuck here. We’ve made it to six stops, as the clues have been fairly easy for me this year, which means we’ve got to be close to the end.
Lane notices my search and sighs. “I’ll lift you.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll find something to stand on.” I keep looking around, as if a ladder or something useful is going to materialize out of thin air.
“Don’t be such a pain in the ass.” Lane’s hands are on his hips and I hate that I can’t stop staring at the scar on his lip. “You finally got us caught up. Can’t let it go to waste.” He gazes at the envelopes waiting to be grabbed.
The compliment is small, barely there and fleeting, but I hear it. It’s one of the first things he’s said to me that is a complete sentence and not full of distaste. The feeling of someone not liking me is like lemon juice falling over and over onto a cut. I know it’s out of my control but doesn’t make it hurt less. And to be fair, this one is sort of my fault.
Standing near the wall, Lane wraps his arms around my thighs, right above my knees. He lifts me with ease and I reach up, catching the paper of the envelope under my fingers. Surprisingly, it doesn’t come off the brick—they must’ve used something to really stick them up there.
“What are you doing?” Lane questions, his head turned against my belly, the vibration from his voice hitting my skin.
Stretching, I reach for the opposite corner, the one a little further and enough to make it awkward. “It’s stuck to something,” I grumble. I keep leaning forward, but when I grab the envelope corner, ready to peel it from the building, I lose my balance.
Shit, I’m going to fall. The only thought I have is that I hope I don’t break anything.
Underneath me, Lane takes a step, trying to offset me tipping, and loosens his grip. I slide down his body, his hands holding my sides. We’re almost nose to nose and his eyes, golden from the sun, steal any of my breath that’s left.
Fuck, he’s pretty.
His breath moves his chest into me, but he doesn’t let me down. My hands find the top of his shoulders, the flexed muscles strong under my fingers.
“You good?” His voice is like gravel; I have to remember that he can’t stand me as I nod.
The sounds of someone yelling, most likely our competition, rings out from behind us and he sets me down—eyes on the envelope.
Opening the envelope, I read the clue.
Not a library, yet full of lines. Not a chapel, yet reverent signs.
The bodies were hidden, until the start. Different way to play the part.
We speed walk, shoulder to shoulder, not wanting to give any of the guys help on finding their envelope as we both read the clue again.
“Where are we going?” Lane asks.
“I don’t know. I’m trying to think of something full of lines.” I read the words again, waiting for something to click, but there’s nothing.
Lane takes the paper, brows pulling together as he reads, lips pressed thin.
“The only thing I can think of is a theater. Maybe an auditorium? But the second part doesn’t quite fit.” He glances at me, waiting.
Theater.It’s solid. Then something pops up, like a story my dad used to tell—half laughing, drink in hand around a campfire.
“It is the theater,” I say, trying not to sound too excited. “There was a team back in the ’90s that did some hush-hush performance. No one knew it was a bunch of athletes.” I lower my voice. This could keep us ahead. There’s no way everyone knows that story.
“Okay?” Lane questions, following my lead, and I swear there’s a hint of approval in his tone.
The idea of him warming up to me makes me physically feel lighter. I know what I did was kind of shitty, even though I answered his question about being safe in a more literal way. I just needed to feel something other than not being good enough.
I’m riding my small victory high when we turn the corner and I run straight into someone’s chest. Hands catch my elbows, steadying me, and it’s all too familiar.
