“Yeah.” I reach for my eggs. “But I’m going to beat you.”
The corner of his mouth does the almost-smile thing again. “We’ll see.”
Noise from the doorway draws my attention. I turn to find Bash and Elias walking into the kitchen.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Morning,” they reply in perfect unison.
I laugh.
The surprised looks they exchange only make it worse.
Bash crosses the kitchen and presses a kiss to my forehead on his way past. My stomach immediately does an embarrassing little flip.
Elias stops beside me instead. His gaze moves over my face briefly, checking in the way he always does, making sure I'm okay without asking the question out loud.
“We have to go to set today, so you're stuck with Adrian, unfortunately,” Bash says as he fills a travel mug with coffee.
Adrian lets out an exaggerated gasp.
I laugh again, and even Elias cracks a smile.
Only then does it occur to me that I never actually asked how Adrian was planning to spend an entire day at a paintball course when he was supposed to be working.
After a little more conversation, Bash and Elias head out for the studio.
Not long after, Adrian and I leave as well.
Twenty minutes later, we're pulling into a parking lot.
The facility sits on the edge of the city, a plain commercial building with a small logo and very little else to distinguish it from the surrounding businesses.
Inside, it opens into a proper course. Barriers divide the space into winding lanes and choke points. Elevated platforms overlook sections of the floor. Everything appears arranged to create confusion on purpose.
It's empty except for us and a man in a company shirt who hands us our gear with the professional efficiency of someone who has given this orientation thousands of times.
The manager walks us through the safety rules, points out the boundaries of the course, and hands us our vests.
The vest sits slightly wrong on me. I adjust it twice. Adrian is already moving through the equipment check like someone who knows exactly what he's doing, which makes me immediately suspicious.
I look out at the course. The barriers cast clean shadows. The whole space smells like rubber padding, something slightly chemical, and the faint metallic edge of compressed air.
“Are you ready?” Adrian asks from beside me once he's finished strapping up for war.
“I’m ready,” I say, with considerably less confidence than I'd intended.
Adrian looks delighted and heads for the course before I can reconsider.
The first five minutes, I am objectively terrible.
I move through the course too slowly and hesitate at every corner, checking angles with a thoroughness that has more to do with anxiety than strategy. Adrian tags me twice before I manage a decent shot.
Then he rounds a barrier for the third time.
I turn and fire.
The paintball catches him square in the shoulder.
