Bridesmaid for Hire

I SIGH AS MORNING LIGHT shines against my face.

Once again, I slept incredibly well. Like some of the best sleep I’ve ever gotten.

And I hate it.

I hate it because I shouldn’t be sleeping this well next to a guy I should hate. A guy that I do hate.

I shouldn’t be comfortable around him, in bed.

My skin should be crawling as I slip under the sheets.

The smell of his freshly soaped body and warm skin shouldn’t lull me to sleep.

I should loathe every second this man is next to me, especially after what he said last night.

But with Brody, there is only comfort. A peaceful ease that flows through me when he’s near, when we’re both in this bed, sleeping.

I want to say it’s the resort.

The sound of the waves.

The smell of the ocean breeze.

The softness of this pillow…

I mean, it’s a really nice pillow. I snuggle in closer, letting my head sink into the plush—

“Ahem.”

I open my eyes, dread filling me as I look up toward the bumpy plane of washboard abs, thick pecs, and the confused look of Brody McFadden.

For God’s sake!

I shoot up from his crotch, where I’ve once again been snuggling, swat at my face, trying to rid the feel of him off my skin.

“Two days in a row. Care to explain?” he asks as he places both of his arms behind his head.

Yeah, care to explain what your perverted problem is, Maggie? Because as far as I’m concerned, there is a serious issue, one that I’m not sure could ever be fixed.

“I’m not used to sleeping with people,” I say as I bolt out of bed, making sure all boobs are covered and accounted for—they are—before I grab my phone and step outside, shutting the door behind me.

God, how humiliating.

I drag my hand over my face as I try to calm my racing heart. Last night, he made it quite clear, just like he did at Gary’s wedding, that I’m pretty much not worth his time. And here I am, the little sister, waking up with my face buried in his dick.

He must think I’m so pathetic.

Needy.

The nagging little sister that no one wants around.

I rub my eye with the palm of my hand.

It’s fine, Maggie.

You’re fine.

You have weird sleeping habits, but everything is fine.

No need to get overly self-conscious like every other time you’ve been around this man. Hold your head high and own it.

Yes, I sleep with my head in your crotch. Deal with it!

Tilting my chin up and feigning confidence, I open my emails on my phone to see if I won some of the bids I put in for.

I glance through my emails, deleting junk mail from bridal magazines that I should unsubscribe to but worry that if I unsubscribe from them, they’ll know and never want to feature me in their magazine. I scan over an email from a vendor letting me know about different cookie flavors they have available. I forward it to Everly to take care of.

And then I see two emails from two different brides.

The bids I’ve been looking forward to hearing from.

Smiling, I open one up and read through it quickly, but when I see the word unfortunately, my smile falters.

She’s going with the in-house planner at a Hopper Hotel, how ironic.

Sighing, I open the other one, and when I see that she’s chosen someone else as well, fear bolts through me. That’s two weddings I thought were in the bag but didn’t secure, and that’s concerning. One of them had a two-hundred-thousand-dollar budget that could have been extremely beneficial to growing my business.

Shit.

I rub my hand over my forehead and exit out of the email. I’ll reply later when I’m in a better headspace and can offer them any help if they need it during the process.

I go back to my inbox and click on an email from my accountant. It’s his midyear review, and I peer at it with one eye open, hoping for good news.

What kind of good news? Well, the dream has been to build the business, grow it to the point that I can open a storefront and provide a one-stop shop for brides. A place where they can plan their weddings, create an experience, and even participate in a pocket wedding—my brilliant idea of creating an elopement experience in a couple’s hometown. But I have to hit a certain income bracket in order to make the dream come true.

When I quickly read over his email, I feel my heart pounding, skipping over certain fluff words that I don’t care about. Just tell me…

Fuck.

Expenses too high. Income too low.

It’s all I see. Everything in me melts into fear, an uncomfortable feeling like my skin is itchy, but cold and damp. My heart is racing, but it also feels like I can’t breathe fast enough.

It’s panic.

Panic at failing.

Panic at not fulfilling my goals.

Panic at proving to everyone who didn’t believe in me that I wouldn’t be able to make something of myself.

And here I thought I was doing well.

I thought I was thriving.

I was busting my ass weekend after weekend, and for what? To have an email tell me that it’s still not enough?

I know what else the email is going to say.

I’ve been taking on too many free jobs, not charging enough, and the outcome will be that I won’t be able to hit my goals like I want to by the end of the year.

My accountant warned me about it, but the free work was for word of mouth. The low rates were so I could continue to have good reviews on my website. There’s a process to it, but apparently that process is not benefiting me in the way that I thought it was, which just makes me feel like that much more of a failure.

And that’s the worst feeling.

It’s sickening. And it makes me consider what I said to Brody yesterday. God, I hate how vulnerable that made me feel.

“I’m single because I’m a workaholic who has based her entire life and self-worth around her business.” I wasn’t exaggerating, but I hate that I told him. I’m feeling so out of control and lost and, before I can let those emotions take over me, I need someone to talk me down. I need Hattie.

Maggie: Do you think I’m wasting my life away being a workaholic?

I feel tears start to prick at my eyes and, and even though I attempt to breathe out the emotions clawing at me, it’s no use as everything hits me all at once.

Brody’s words from last night, pointing out that I’m the single one, and that he’d never make a real move on me.

The embarrassment of pawing at a man who clearly doesn’t want me.

The loss of bids.

The loss of a dream.

It’s all crashing around me at the same time and I don’t understand why.

I’ve put in the time.

I’ve put in the work.

I’ve done everything I’m supposed to do, and yet…I’ve never felt more like a failure. I’ve never felt more alone.

I tug my legs into my chest and stare out at the ocean as tears cascade down my cheeks.

Ugh, don’t cry, Maggie.

We don’t cry.

We’re tough.

So why don’t I feel so tough right now?

Why do I feel so raw? So exposed?

My phone buzzes in my hand and I see that it’s a text from Hattie. Thank God, I feel like I need her now more than ever.

Hattie: Where is this coming from? You’re not a workaholic. You’re a young businesswoman molding her career into something special. That doesn’t make you a workaholic and even if you were, there’s nothing wrong with that. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to put effort into work.

I swipe at my tears and text her back.

Maggie: There is something wrong with it when you’re a pathetic single person with no life.

Hattie: What did he say to you?

Maggie: This has nothing to do with Brody.

Hattie: This has everything to do with Brody because you weren’t feeling this way before you ran into him, so what did he say to you?

I let out a shaky breath and swipe at my eyes again.

Maggie: Everything is falling apart, Hattie. Yesterday, I said something out loud that never really hit me until I said it. We were talking about me being single and I said I’m not single because I’m bad at flirting, but because I’m a workaholic who bases her self-worth around her career. And it just made me think…is that sad? Like, I’ve spent so much time crafting this job and for what? For two brides to turn me down in one day and for my dreams at opening a storefront to be put on hold? I’m accomplishing nothing and I’m still single and still pathetically burying my head in the crotch of a man who doesn’t want me. He said that, you know, he said he didn’t want me.

Hattie: That’s a lot to unpack.

Hattie: First things first, everyone in this world is different. Our goals, our values, they’re all different and there is no right or wrong to them. Just because you want to build a business and be the best wedding planner in California does not mean your goals are any less important than let’s say, someone who wants to clean out the Great Pacific Garbage Patch.

Hattie: Second, you are not sad. You are a young entrepreneur who is helping to bring more love into this world. That’s something that should be celebrated, not looked down upon.

Hattie: Third, you’re going to face rejection, that’s bound to happen, but how you rise up from that rejection will define who you really are. So, you have two choices here. You can wallow in the rejection and let it shut down your creativity and love for what you do, or you can rise above it, figure out how to problem solve, and attack the next opportunity.

Hattie: Fourth, dreams don’t come true overnight. You and I both know that. The dream of the storefront isn’t dead—it’s just the milestone you have to keep working toward. It will happen. If I know anything about my best friend, it’s that you’re determined. This will not get you down. This will only light that extra fire you need to cross the finish line.

Hattie: And as for Brody, if he’s being a dick to you, then fuck him. This is a business transaction. If you happen to wake up with his penis tickling your ear, then so be it. Own it. Yup, Brody, she slept on your penis, what are you going to do about it? Nothing, because he probably likes it, and he’s the one in YOUR bed. He probably gets such joy out of having your face there. The motherfucker is lucky you’re even near him. And if he told you that he doesn’t want you…well guess what, Brody? We didn’t want you either. So suck on that.

I snort, a bubble of snot popping out of my nose as I wipe at my eyes again.

Maggie: I love you so much.

Hattie: I love you too. Remember, this is just a moment for you. Are you going to seize it like you initially did? Or are you going to let Mr. Three Nipples get you down?

Maggie: Brody doesn’t have three nipples.

Hattie: Are you sure?

Maggie: As far as I know. I haven’t seen a third.

Hattie: Huh, I for sure thought you told me he had a third one and you touched it.

Maggie: That did not happen. Apparently, I only cuddle his dick. No touching of third nipples.

Hattie: **Taps chin** you know, maybe it was a dream.

Maggie: If you’re dreaming about Brody’s third nipple, you can have him, and I’ll take Hayes.

Hattie: Nice try. After last night, there is no way I’ll ever let this man go.

Maggie: Ugh, what did he do this time? Make you come for a whole hour straight? I would believe it if he did.

Hattie: Let’s just say, we did some things we’d never done before on a new swing he had installed in the house.

Maggie: **clenches thighs** You’re getting swing action and I’m unconsciously attempting to slip my face through a man’s peephole in his briefs while he’s sleeping. One of us is having the time of their lives and the other is slowly starting to lose it.

Hattie: I don’t know, the peephole thing sounds like fun. Maybe I’ll try it with Hayes tonight.

Maggie: If you do, I’ll need the details about what he thinks. If he likes it, please tell him it’s the Maggie special.

Hattie: I’ll be sure to give you credit.

Maggie: And if he really likes it, add a kiss to his tip and let him know that’s the Maggie special with an extra yummy yummy from me.

Hattie: Not going to say that. Nope. Never. But glad to see my bestie’s sense of humor is back.

Maggie: Maybe just a little. Thank you for being there for me.

Hattie: Always. I will always be there for you. Love you.

Maggie: Love you, too.

I take a deep breath, letting her wise words sink in.

It’s the pep talk I needed to get my head on straight and back into what I need to be focusing on. I got caught up in the non-romance that is Brody McFadden and had forgotten exactly what I should be doing—helping Haisley.

I open up my contacts and dial up Everly, who I know is already at her computer, taking care of the business while I’m here.

She answers on the first ring, because that’s how efficient she is.

“Hey, Maggie. How’s vacation? Because you know, you’re on vacation, right?”

I chuckle. “Yes, I know I’m on vacation. And it’s okay. A few hiccups, but I’m enjoying myself for the most part.” Yesterday, I filled Everly in on what’s been going on through a long-winded email, and her response was, you should be vacationing, but OH MY GOD! “I saw that you got my email.”

“Yes, and I have two things to say that. First, I’m disappointed in you for not taking the time off that you need. I just want you to know, there’s heavy, deep-rooted disappointment that I’m harboring right now for you.”

“Understood,” I say with a smile.

“Now, onto thing number two.” She pauses for a second. “Holy shit, oh my God, you’re part of the Hopper wedding. But not just part of it, you’re a bridesmaid, which means you have full access. Have you talked to Reginald yet? What about Regina? I heard she’s really the brain behind the man at times. She might be the one to get close to. But Hudson and Hardy are also very good to be in cahoots with.”

“Did you just say cahoots?” I laugh.

“Yes, because they’re good ones to know. Although, Hudson more than Hardy because Hardy is more involved with the farming side of Hopper Industries, whereas Hudson is more involved with the commercial side—meaning hotels.”

“Is this what you’ve been doing for the last twenty-four hours? Research?”

“In fact, yes,” she answers. “I wrote up a three-page information sheet about the Hoppers, but I didn’t want to send it to you because you’re not supposed to be working, but I also want to send it to you so you can understand more about the family and use it to your advantage.”

“Send it. I might need it. We’re headed to a family fun games thing today. I had a dress fitting yesterday, so we are moving along, but I’m also semi-irritated because Haisley doesn’t really need me for anything. We are a few days from the wedding, and she just keeps saying the resort wedding planner has it covered, so how am I supposed to show her what an asset I am if I’m not provided the opportunity?”

“Do you want me to drum up some drama so you can fix it? I don’t mind making a few phone calls.”

I chuckle. “I like your thinking, but we don’t want to be tied to any wedding drama, even if our name is taken out of it. I just need to capitalize on smaller opportunities. Let’s start thinking of things that I can do to help her out. Maybe send little gifts to her room that a bridesmaid would send. Have a cute robe made for her that says Mrs. Galloway. Maybe some slippers. Let’s get a hanger for her dress that says Mrs. Galloway too. We’ll need them expressed here. And then I don’t know what she’s doing for a bachelorette party, but can you look into the hotel and see what we could possibly do, have a backup plan if nothing is in the works?”

“On it. This is perfect. I have a friend who’s started making beautiful bamboo ring holders. That would be perfect for the theme of the wedding. It’s small but makes for a beautiful picture. I’ll have their names and the wedding date wood-burned into it.”

“That’s so cute. Yes, send that. If you can try to get everything made today and shipped out tomorrow, I’d be grateful. Pull all the strings.”

“Not a problem. I know Francy down at the shop would appreciate the work. I’ll get everything ready and then I’ll send you pictures for approval. Look out for those.”

“Thank you, Everly. You’re the best.”

“I try.”

“By the way, how did the date go the other night?”

She scoffs. “Pathetic. Did you know there isn’t one good man out there?”

“There might be a few, but they’re hard to find.”

“Very hard,” she says. “This guy showed up to our date wearing two different shoes. A red low-top Vans and a New Balance 608, which was his dad’s shoe. When I asked him about his unique choice in footwear, he said it wasn’t for style, but that it was because he was lazy and couldn’t find either pair. So, he just went with what he could find in the shoe basket. Yeah, too lazy to look for a matching set of shoes. I mean…if he’s too lazy to find a shoe, how can I be sure he won’t be too lazy in bed to find all the pleasure points?”

“You can’t.” I shake my head. “Red flag.”

“Exactly.” She sighs. “I might just give up.”

“I think you just need to find someone older than you. Someone with more maturity. Maybe someone in their thirties.”

“Sounds appealing. Maybe someone who has a lot of money in their bank account with piercing blue eyes? You know, now that I think about it, you are hanging out with Hudson and Hardy Hopper. Maybe just flash them my picture and see what they think.”

“Don’t tempt me, you know I will.”

“Gah, you’re right, I take it back. Don’t show them. I don’t want them laughing at the sight of me.”

“Stop it,” I say. “They would never. They’d think, look at that beautiful lady looking for a man who knows how to find matching shoes.”

“Ah yes, every girl’s fairy tale, becoming a woman who demands matching shoes.”

I let out a low laugh. “Better than stank face.”

“Everything is better than stank face…everything.”

“You’re quiet,” Brody says as we walk—stupidly—hand in hand toward the beach where the Hoppers have set up what I can only imagine will be some sort of field day.

“Did you want me talking your ear off?” I ask him.

“Not really, but that’s the magic of our mornings. You talk a lot, I fight with you, and then we each try to pretend we’re not annoyed with each other.”

“Not in the mood,” I say as we near a large tent that’s been set up as well as some games scattered over the beach. Oh boy. I can only imagine what they have planned, especially now that a whiteboard is coming into view as well.

Brody stops the both of us and tugs me to the side, clearing the path for some of the guests coming to join the festivities.

Haisley texted me this morning that if Brody and I have anything black, we should wear it because that will be our team color. I chose a black sports bra and a black pair of bike shorts that ride pretty high on the thigh. Brody went with black board shorts and that’s it. He told me there was no point in wearing a shirt when he knew he was going to end up taking it off anyway.

So now I have to spend all day with a shirtless Brody. Not ideal.

Once the last couple passes us, he tilts my chin up and says, “About last night.”

“Nope, don’t want to talk about it.”

I try to walk around him, but he stops me and makes me look at him again. “Maggie, I’m sorry.”

The apology surprises me. Brody seems pretty stubborn, someone who doesn’t really give in to apologies very easily.

“Sorry for what?” I ask, unsure of what else to say to him.

“For what I said and how I treated you.” He pushes his hand through his floppy hair. “I got some shit news last night and took it out on you. I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry.”

Oh.

I press my lips together as I look up at him and when I see those sincere, chocolate-brown eyes, a wave of emotion pushes through me, shocking me as I feel tears spring to my eyes again.

No.

Oh my God, no.

Do not cry.

Unfortunately for me, he catches it and the concern on his face deepens.

“Maggie…”

I shake my head and take a step back, waving my hand over my eyes.

“What’s going on?”

“Please don’t,” I say as my eyes fill with tears.

He tugs me into the privacy of some bushes and bends at the knees to meet my gaze just as tears begin to fall.

“Did I…did I do this to you?” he asks, his voice breaking, as if he couldn’t possibly stomach the thought of making me cry.

I shake my head and take a deep breath.

“No, just a lot on my mind.”

“What’s going on? I can help.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to get into it, okay?” I dab at my eyes as the tears start to subside. “We’re here to do a job, we’re not here to form a bond, so let’s just keep it professional and not get into each other’s personal lives.”

“You’re still my best friend’s sister, so that gives me the right to care.”

I look up at him. “I’d rather you not. And I don’t mean that to sound rude, but…I just think it’s best that we keep things separate. Let’s do the job, okay?”

He studies me for a few seconds and when I think he’s going to push me deeper into the bushes to ask me more questions, he nods and takes my hand.

“When you’re ready,” he says. I assumed he’s snapped into business mode—like he wants this to be a job, then we can make it a job—but he doesn’t. His expression remains concerned, sincere.

I dab at my eyes again and take a few more deep breaths. When I look up at him, I ask, “Is my makeup smeared?”

He shakes his head. “No. It’s perfect.”

I offer him a soft smile. “Thank you.”

And without saying another word, we head out of the bushes and back down the path that leads to the beach, but as we walk, I notice one thing in particular. The hold on my hand is tighter, almost as if he’s telling me that despite me not wanting him to be there for me…he is.

“Team Black, I presume?” Hardy asks as I take a sip of some of the most delicious cucumber water I’ve ever tasted in my life. Leave it to the Hoppers to even make water fancy.

“Yes, and thank God, because the colorful clothes I have with me are not anything I could bounce around in.”

Hardy and Hudson both chuckle. “Haisley would have hooked you up with something, I’m sure.”

“And here I am, supposed to be helping her. I feel bad because every time I ask her what I can do to help prep for the day, she says nothing. I’ve been a bridesmaid a few times and I wrangle them all the time, so I know the responsibilities. Please tell me she’s not doing this all on her own.”

Hudson shakes his head. “No, the resort wedding planner and our mom have things handled. I truly think you just being here helps. Her best friend not being here has been pretty hard, but it seems like you guys get along well.”

Hardy nudges my shoulder with his. “We appreciate it.”

“Well, it’s my pleasure.” I glance around and see Brody staring at me, cup of water in hand as he talks to someone I’ve never met before. Must be another person from Hopper Industries he knows.

But what is the evil glare for? Is he irritated that I’m talking to the brothers and he’s not?

Ignoring him, I ask, “Do you guys do things like this often?”

“Games?” Hardy asks.

“Yeah, seems like your dad is ready to be an MC or something.”

“Oh, he is,” Hudson says as a few more stragglers join us.

It’s interesting that there’s been a mix of family, friends, and employees at the different events. Not a lot of friends, and I’m not sure why that is. Haisley seems like she’s a wonderful person. I would think she’d have more people supporting her, but then again, maybe because of her family, she’s kept her inner circle very small. I can understand that. I’m sure it’s not easy being an heiress to the biggest hotel chain in the country. She’s probably had her fair share of mean girls.

“Dad likes to host these weird tournaments at least once a year. He’ll do them at company parties, family events…and apparently weddings. But Haisley has always loved them, so it was a yes for her. Hudson, on the other hand, would rather be staring at a spreadsheet,” Hardy says.

“Says the guy who talks to his almond trees like they’re his own children,” Hudson cuts in.

“Over five hundred acres of babies. I’ve gotten around.” Hardy winks, making me laugh.

Hand to chest, I ask, “Hardy Hopper, are you telling me you’re a bit of a whore?”

“Whore for some good soil to plant my seed? I am.”

I burst out in laughter as Hudson shakes his head. “There are so many things wrong with that.”

I chuckle and glance back over at Brody. He’s now practically staring daggers in my direction. Jealous much?

I’m about to attempt to find a way to incorporate something nice about Brody into the conversation when Reginald clinks his glass with his fork, drawing attention from all the participants on the beach.

“Welcome to The Hopper Games,” Reginald says, raising his voice over the waves surging behind him. Brody makes his way toward me as everyone lines up along the sand. There’s a decent group of people participating and plenty of spectators enjoying in the food and drinks provided.

I glance around, trying to pick out the other teams. I see the twins are together, and so are Hudson and Hardy, who I heard each have to have one hand tied behind his back to even the score. Brody and I are obviously a team, as well as Haisley and Jude, and then Beatrice along with who I’m going to assume is her husband. There are a few others, but I haven’t met them. I should probably make it a point to introduce myself, get to know as many people as possible.

“We’ll have a series of games, with a final Nerf ball match as our grand finale,” Reginald says, his voice now booming over us. “Points will be tallied at the end, and the team with the most points will win the coveted Hopper trophy.” Regina walks in front of Reginald, performing her best Vanna White as she shows off what seems to be a wooden H spray-painted in gold and glued to the base of a tuna can.

I chuckle. That is fantastic. For a billionaire family, you’d think there’d be more effort put into the grand prize, but I love how ordinary this is. Yes, Reginald was pushy and had his way with these games, but apart from that, he’s actually seemed so down-to-earth. His generosity is a byproduct of who he is, it seems, and not just there to impress others. I like him. I don’t know Regina at all, but they’ve raised their sons to be good men. I really like Haisley too. And I want to win that trophy.

Hardy leans into me. “It’s what’s inside that can that you’re going to want.”

“Oh really? What’s inside it?” I ask, leaning into him as well.

“One hundred dollars.”

I snort because the way he said it had me thinking it was one million.

But trust me, I’d do anything for one hundred dollars. Hell, even twenty would have me transform into a competitive beast out for blood. But one hundred dollars is chump change for these people, which I guess makes this that much more fun.

The Hoppers are just full of surprises.

“One hundred dollars per person, or do we have to split it?” I ask.

“Per person,” Hudson chimes in as he leans forward so I can see him.

I point at the brothers flashing two fingers in the Meet the Fockers way. “You’d better watch out then, I’m coming for the both of you.”

“Good luck, you’re going to need it,” Hardy says as Reginald starts to explain the rules to the egg toss. I glance over at Brody to see if he’s listening and from the scowl on his face as a greeting, I can immediately tell he wasn’t paying attention, but rather listening in on my conversation with Hardy.

Ignoring him, I tune back to Reginald who explains the basics of the egg toss. When he’s done, he announces, “Get into position.”

Hardy nudges me. “Watch out, Maggie, we’re coming for you.”

“We shall see about that,” I say as I follow him, and Brody trails behind. I stand next to Hardy while Brody lines up across from us with Hudson.

Reginald walks down the aisle that we’ve created for him, and he hands the right side—my side—an egg.

“After two tosses, you’re to take a step back and then toss again. Understood? The only way you are eliminated is if your egg breaks. If you drop the egg and it miraculously doesn’t break, then you’re safe. Pick it up and keep going. May the best team score the most points. Go.”

Focusing on Brody, I toss the egg to him, and he catches it, giving it some cushion with his catch. We’re going to be good at this. I can feel it.

“Ready?” he asks, his eyes on me.

“Ready,” I say.

He tosses the egg and I catch it with both hands. “Eeep, I caught it!” I dance, shaking my booty in front of Hardy who also caught his. “Looks like you have some serious competition.”

“Yes, that first catch was a real doozy,” he deadpans.

Sure, we’re a few feet apart from our partners, but the first catch matters, as it sets the tone for success. And we’re going to have success today.

The next six catches test our ability to concentrate and communicate as a pair. Brody is soft with his tosses and his catches, whereas I’m a touch more erratic. But I’m getting the job done. Hardy and Hudson are struggling, as they’re each down to one hand, but are still in the game. So are Beatrice and her husband, and Jude and Haisley.

The other teams have scored their measly points before being eliminated and are now on the sidelines, cheering us on. And when I say us, I mean the soon-to-be married couple. Everyone seems to be team bride and groom. And I don’t blame them. I’d be the same way if I wasn’t out to win that tuna-can trophy.

“Let’s spice this up. Everyone, take two steps back instead of one,” Reginald says.

As a group, we take two steps back and the distance seems enormous. Now I’ve been pretty positive leading up to this point. I’ve seen the potential for victory, I’ve tasted it, but two steps back is way worse than one and, as I stare down the beach at Brody, who’s getting into position to catch my toss, I have this odd feeling that this very well might be the end of us.

I think our egg might be going down.

Like I said, Brody is pretty far back, and I’m not sure I’m going to be able to toss the egg that far. Despite my competitive optimism, a part of me is surprised I’ve made it to this level at all. The first catch was a miracle, the ones after that have been a true phenomenon. An act of unforeseen athleticism on my part. Maybe it’s the juggling of brides that has prepared me for this moment, but let’s see how far it will take me.

I get in position and drum up the energy I need to make this toss. Hardy tosses first and I watch the arch of the egg fly up in the air only for Hudson to catch it. Damn it. Was really hoping they would mess up on that.

Okay, you can do this.

I cock my arm back and then, with a Herculean effort, I toss the egg high into the air and shiver as I watch it come up short. Just as I feel it’s about to hit the sand, Brody lays out his body in one of the most athletic moves I’ve ever seen and catches the egg.

The egg remains unharmed.

Not a crack, not a yolk to be seen.

“Wooooo!” I scream as I jump up and down in celebration. “We…are…amazing!” I say, fist-pumping the air, right into Hardy’s arm by accident.

Unfortunately for him, it was at the exact time he was attempting to catch Hudson’s toss.

My fist pump diverts his hand and together we watch his free-flying egg fall past his outreached hand and right to the ground with a loud splat.

Yolk soaks the sand.

And I feel the earth shake beneath me as Hardy turns toward me. “Hey, now, Maggie Mitchell. Did you do that on—?”

“Maggie!” Brody yells, interrupting Hardy and pulling our attention to a floating white object in the air.

That’s not a bird turd.

It’s definitely not a UFO.

Nope, it’s floating dot that’s growing bigger and bigger with every second, that’s…oh God! That’s my egg.

Hardy steps forward, attempting to block me, only for the egg I’m tracking to land flat on his head, breaking with a giant splat in his hair.

Yolk flies across his face.

Eggshells scatter over the beach.

And my hopes for a win come to a crashing halt.

“Nooo,” I say as eggshells fall down the side of his face, making me chuckle. “You broke our egg with your head.”

His playful eyes widen. “You broke ours.”

“Not on purpose,” I say as I reach out and pick a piece of shell off his face, giggling.

“So, you just happened to whack my arm right before I was going to catch my egg?”

“Interference,” Hudson calls out as he points at me and jogs up to us.

“Not on purpose,” I say, defending myself, but finding the fighting all too humorous. I should have known these Hopper men would be competitive.

Hudson starts laying down the facts just as his dad announces, “Looks like Beatrice is the winner!” Both Hopper men turn around with me to find Reginald holding up Beatrice’s arm in victory. When the heck did that happen? What happened to Jude and Haisley?

Turning back toward me, Hardy points an accusing finger. “Watch your back, saboteur.”

And then he walks away to wash off the egg.

I’m chuckling as I hear, “Maggie.” I have just enough time to turn my head before Brody has his hand on my arm.

“Tough luck, huh?” I ask. “Didn’t know Hardy was going to try to catch that with his head.”

“Contract,” he whispers with the venom of a thousand poisonous snakes.

Taken back, I ask, “Huh?”

“The contract.”

I glance around, unsure what he means. “What are you talking about?”

I can feel the tension between us.

The irritation radiating off of him.

But why?

And when I’m about to ask him for more explanation, he instead closes the distance between us, pinches my chin with his thumb and forefinger, and tilts my head back.

Our eyes meet momentarily, his dark to my light and, when I search his, the only answer I get is his lips pressing against mine.

I’m caught off guard.

Confused.

But also aroused because I don’t think there will ever be a moment when this man kisses me, and I don’t feel it all the way down to my toes.

When I don’t swoon from the way his lips work over mine.

Or where I don’t want to melt into his arms and stay there for as long as he allows me.

And that’s what I can’t stand about myself. I really shouldn’t enjoy his kisses.

I actually hate that I like his lips on mine because this man is infuriating. One moment he’s snapping at me, saying things to me that…that make me feel less than I should and then the next, he’s apologizing and kissing me.

It doesn’t make sense.

It’s toxic.

And it’s not behavior I want to participate in no matter how much it makes droves of butterflies take flight in my stomach.

This is exactly the reminder that I need to stay away from him. To detach myself.

But God does his mouth feel so good.

His lips.

The hold he has on me.

I hate that I like it so much.

When he releases my mouth, I feel satisfied that it’s over, saddened that we aren’t doing it anymore, and so distraught over my emotional roller coaster that I don’t notice him leaning in close enough so his mouth is on my ear as he says, “Don’t forget that you belong to me, Maggie. Stop flirting with Hardy and Hudson or I’m going to make more of a display, so they know exactly whose bed you’re sleeping in tonight. Got it?”

“Excuse me?” I ask, pulling away just enough to catch his expression. “You can’t be serious.”

His eyes meet mine. “I’ve never been more fucking serious.”

“You’re acting like a Neanderthal. I was not flirting.”

“Could have fooled me.”

My eyes narrow and I poke him in the chest. “Do not accuse me of flirting with anyone. It’s called getting to know people, getting on their good side. Maybe you should try it instead of scowling in the freaking corner. Remember what I said. We’re here for business, so start acting like it.”

I try to move past him, but he stops me, his hand to my stomach. “Do not fucking walk away from me.”

This man. He’s so infuriating.

So up and down.

Pick a freaking lane, man.

“Don’t give me a reason to,” I say.

I’m just about to pull away again, but he takes my hand in his and brings my knuckles up to his lips. All for show, for the crowd to see that we aren’t having a lover’s spat, but rather intimately talking. He presses a few kisses to my knuckles, which only makes me want to flick him in the nose.

Flirting.

Please, if I was flirting, he’d know it.

We head back to the group where the whiteboard has our first round of points calculated. Currently we’re third place. Not too bad. Beatrice and her husband are first, followed by Haisley and Jude, us—the loving couple—and then Hudson and Hardy.

While the second game is being set up, I notice the tension in Brody’s shoulders. Any other time—maybe—I’d pull Brody to the side, dust the sand off his stomach, and tell him that I wasn’t flirting. That I signed the contract and will abide by any means necessary.

But guess who poked the bear? Brody did. Now I’m not only feeling very irritated, but vengeful.

I’m irritated with a lot of things.

I’m irritated about last night, when he hovered over me, ran his fingers along my side, and convinced me for a brief moment that he found me attractive, only to then insult me and wipe that thought clean out of my head.

I’m irritated that he’s irritated when he should be focusing on what he’s here for…rather than focusing on me.

And I’m irritated that he looks so freaking good in his black shorts that hang stupidly low on his hips. Jerks, idiots, and morons should never look good in a pair of board shorts. They should look like one-eyed trolls with long toenails and oddly-shaped belly buttons that resemble more of a broken chip than a circle.

And of course, my irritation gets the better of me.

A plan starts to form in my head.

A vengeful, devious plan.

“You know your scowl is very unbecoming. Maybe if you scowled less and actually put in the work, you wouldn’t be in your current position.” I fold my arms over my chest.

I feel his eyes land on me. “You know nothing about my position.”

“You’re right, I don’t, but coming from someone who works more than the average person, I’d think if this mattered that much to you, you wouldn’t be scowling over the fact that you thought I was flirting. You’d be networking, getting to know the guys. Joking around with them about a freaking egg cracking on Hardy’s head. The opportunity was there for you, but instead you’re worried that I might be flirting with someone else.”

“Because you were.”

I turn to him, keeping my voice down, “I wasn’t flirting, Brody.”

“Sure as fuck looked like it.”

Ooh, he’s in a mood. Makes me want to kick him in the shin. Teach him not to mess with me, but I don’t think a kick to the shin of the man I’m supposed to be madly in love with is a great look.

“I wasn’t. I was trying to be friendly. I’m here to make sure the Hopper family likes me, appreciates me, sees how smart, talented, and kind I am. You’re here for the same reason. Act like it.”

And for any spectators who might be watching us, I brush the accumulated sand off his abs. Each and every single one of them.

Every.

Single.

Delicious.

One.

It started as a way to save face for the crowd, but now that I’m in the middle of dusting, I can’t help but want to fondle his stomach, lick it, rub my cheek along the ridges. His abs are so hot. They’re like their own personal island on his stomach.

His body contracts beneath my touch, defining his abs even more and when I glance up at him, I no longer see anger, but more like heat…hunger.

Dude is all over the place.

Then again, I might be too.

Not wanting this to go any further because, Jesus Christ, we all know I’m a loose cannon when it comes to this man—with my luck, my hand would end up down his pants, all the way through his leg hole where I would be waving to everyone around us. Nope, I’m not to be trusted, so I remove my hand and clear my throat. “I just wanted you to know I wasn’t doing anything to make you look bad if that’s what you were thinking. But if you want me to make you look bad, I have no problem doing that. Take your pick, a story, actual flirting…maybe I trip and fall, and a breast pops out. I’m not opposed to any.”

“Just act normal.” He pushes a stray hair behind my ear. “You might be vying for popularity, but this is my goddamn job that’s at stake.”

I get closer to him and press my hand to his pec as I whisper, “My job is at stake too. You’re not the only one floundering right now.”

“You can’t sleep your way into the family,” he says.

And that makes my nostrils flare. I run my thumb over his nipple, desperately wanting to pluck it off his chest. “Why would I possibly want to do that when I have such an antagonistic anus in my bed?”

And I leave it at that, because how dare he even question me?

“To the right,” Brody says as my chest presses against his back, my arms under his and in front of him. I’m blindfolded and he’s unable to help me other than tell me what to do and where to move.

The goal: to finish the bowl of whipped cream with the least amount of mess. Communication with your teammate is key. The team with the smallest mess and to finish first wins the most points.

My goal…to piss Brody off as much as possible by missing his mouth and smearing the whipped cream all over his face.

But he started this.

Remember that when you’re thinking about him, his gorgeous smile, his impeccable abs, and his charming wit. He was the one who accused ME—me of all people—of flirting with other men in front of him. It’s called, having a conversation, Brody. Try it.

He’s the one who teased me last night.

He’s the one who left me aroused and ready for a romp without an explanation at my brother’s wedding.

Okay, don’t forget that. Don’t forget the wrongs he’s tallied at this point.

And just to remind you as well, he’s the one who crashed my bungalow, making a disaster of it with his unkempt suitcase and toiletries.

We women must band together. Boo to Brody. Yay to Maggie.

Now, back to the whipped cream.

“Yes, Maggie, right there,” he says, sounding like I’m tickling his perineum in just the right spot. “Yup, just go straight.”

Smiling behind him, I move my hand straight and then just at the last moment, when I feel the heat of his mouth, I divert to the right and smear the whipped cream across his cheek.

“Oops, was that another miss?” I ask, trying to hold back the laughter in my voice.

His body tenses, and I can feel him taking a few deep breaths instead of snapping at me. At least good on him for controlling his temper. Maybe he learned something after accusing me of wanting to sleep around.

Ass.

“Thirty seconds left,” Reginald calls out.

“Think we can get another one?” I ask.

“If you’re not a dick about it,” he mutters.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” I scoop some more whipped cream out of the bowl and bring it up to his face. “Where do I go? Left? Right? Lower?”

“Like you really care.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” I say as I bring my hand up to what I assume is his forehead and smear it all over him. “Oh no, I think I missed again,” I mumble, trying to hold back my chuckle.

“Time’s up,” Reginald calls out.

I release myself from him and lean forward, lifting my blindfold to get a look at him.

Sitting there, with an adult bib over his chest, is Brody with a face covered in whipped cream. Hairline, eyebrows, eyelashes, scruff. It’s all covered in white, and it’s the best thing I’ve ever seen. And how I wish I could capture this on my camera. It would be worth money someday.

“Oh goodness.” I cover my mouth. “I think you need to work on your communication, Brody. I don’t think we got one good handful in your mouth.”

He picks up a towel and wipes his face. When his eyes meet mine, I realize maybe I was wrong. He’s very good at communication. Without having to say a damn thing, he’s telling me I’m a dead woman.

Well, we should win some points for that.

I stare down at my leg that’s tied to Brody’s and then back up at him. “You realize you’re almost a foot taller than I am, which means our strides will be different.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” he asks as he stands near the starting line with his hands on his hips, waiting for the rest of the teams to finish tying themselves together.

“Well, you can’t just take off. We have to work together or else I’m going to fall.”

“I understand the logic of the game, Maggie.”

“Really?” I ask. “Because it looks like you’re about to leap off like a gazelle when Reginald gives us the go-ahead.”

“I’m not.”

Hardy and Hudson walk up to us, their legs tied together, looking like a well-oiled machine. After the egg toss, they upped their game, taking first place in nearly every event, besides the whipped cream. Hardy took the same approach as me—piss off your partner as much as you can. Apparently one year, Hudson did the same thing to him, so it was payback.

But the fact that we’re losing to them doesn’t seem to be sitting well with Brody. Not sure if he’s trying to prove something, like he’s the better man, but he’s picking a battle with the wrong people.

“If Beatrice takes the win on this one, I’m quitting life,” Hardy says.

“We’re taking the W,” Hudson says who lifts up his shirt, showing off a very flat and defined set of abs as he wipes his forehead.

Is every man in this group ripped?

And are we not eating carbs to get to that point in the formation of our bodies? Because I’ve tried eating salads for a month with no dressing and it did nothing other than make me cranky and horrible to be around.

“I don’t know,” Brody says as he brings his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in tight to his side. Could he be any more obvious? It’s not even like the Hopper boys are trying to get close to me. “We have a solid chance at winning this.”

Oh boy, the competitiveness is coming out.

Hudson smiles and places his hand on Brody’s shoulder. “We’ve been doing this for years, Brody. We have a process.”

“Don’t let them scare you,” Haisley says, coming up to us as well, Jude tied to her side. “They’ve fallen many times in their pursuit of the W. They communicate, they yell. Jude and I are taking the W on this.”

“Racers, get in line,” Reginald says. Brody moves us toward the starting line and with a Hopper on either side of us, the tension of competition sparks in the air.

Not sure who will win, but there’s one thing I can guarantee: this is going to be an all-out brawl for first place.

I tug on Brody’s arm. “Remember what I said about stride.”

But he doesn’t acknowledge me. He gets into what I can only describe as a runner’s stance, ready to shoot out of the block. Dear God, I fear for what’s going to happen next.

“Ready? Three…two…one…go,” Reginald yells, and like a bat out of hell, Brody surges us forward.

Lord in heaven, the bucking bronco has been released.

I grip my bouncing bosom, thinking that it’s the only thing I can hold that will keep me safe as I’m flung across the sand, one giant leap right after the other.

And for a moment, pride surges through me as I realize that even though Brody is taking monstrous steps the likes of a yeti could only keep up with, I’m staying in line with him through sheer will and tenacity.

But that moment is short-lived. His pace is far too demanding for a peon like me.

And just like I thought, I lose balance.

But I think quick. It’s the event planner in me.

Reading my options, I let go of my bosom and reach for Brody to steady myself…only to be dragged by his momentum as I tumble to the ground.

As I tip over like a freshly cut tree, I reach for the raging bull that is Brody McFadden, grabbing on to the closest thing I can find as I descend to my imminent death in the sand.

Unfortunately for everyone, the closest thing…are his loose-fitting board shorts.

With one tug, I’m met face to ass with his bright, white rear end as my nose slams into one of his firm, taut cheeks.

“Ahhhhhh!” I scream, my voice vibrating against his pasty skin. “Your ass is on my face!”

“Jesus fuck,” he yells as he swats at me, his finger tickling my nose.

My nostrils flare.

My nasal mucosa is disturbed.

And as my head rears back, I prepare for the worst as I let out an uproarious sneeze…right into his crack.

Got to say, not my best moment as I feel my nose glide right along his ass cleavage.

“What in the actual fuck,” he says as he tumbles forward, his hand going straight to his butt.

Don’t blame him. There’s snot in there now.

And as he scrambles against the sand, dick down, butt up to the bright sun, I stare up at the heavens, pleading with the gods to please release me from this moment.

He growls next to me, pulling his shorts up while the rest of the couples charge forward, leaving us in the kicked-up sand with a few spectators giggling and pointing at our demise.

After a few seconds, I say, “I told you to watch your stride.”

He shoots a glare at me that is so dangerous I can actually feel my eyelashes curl in horror. “I did, you just weren’t moving.”

“Uh, yes, I was. I was a gallant partner, strutting through the sands with you.”

“You were a nearly dead, flopping fish that I had to drag.”

“Care to keep your pants on next time, McFadden?” Reginald calls out, a smarmy smirk on his face. “This is a family event.” With that, he turns back to the teams still left in the race while Brody stares me down with what I can only describe as human death rays.

“Was pantsing me really necessary?” he asks.

I swipe at my face again and look him in the eyes. “Trust me when I say, I wish that never…ever…happened. Having my face on your ass is literally in the top five worst moments of my life.”

“Says the girl who treats my dick as her own personal safety blanket,” he mumbles.

Gah!

Low blow, Brody. Low blow.

“Just sit on my lap. That’s all you have to do,” Brody says as he takes a seat on the sand, hands behind his back.

“I understand how to pop a balloon, Brody.”

“Do you?” he asks. “Because you also told me you understood how to feed me whipped cream and I wound up with more in my nose than my mouth. And on top of that, you claimed you knew how to walk when in reality, you were only able to sneeze in my ass crack.”

Ooh is he spicy right now.

For his information, the sneezing in his crack was more unpleasant for me than him.

I move in close to his face, acting like I’m very much in love as I press my hand delicately to his cheek. “You, darling, were the one directing my hand with the whipped cream, so anything that went up your nose is due to your poor captain skills. As for the sneeze in your crack, you can only blame yourself. I told you that you couldn’t go fast, and you didn’t listen. Maybe next time, you will.” I lean forward and plant a kiss to his nose. “You’re the one who is losing this game for us, snookums.”

“Don’t even try to blame this on me, princess.”

I run my finger over his cheek, my lips incredibly close to his. “Oh, I am.”

“You realize just how annoying you are, right?” He sucks in a sharp breath as my lips move along his nose for added effect.

“And you realize that you’re so incredibly unlikable”—I lean in close and press a kiss to his cheek—“that I would rather stand on a bed of razors than have to hold your hand one more time.”

“The feeling is mutual,” he says as I straighten up. His eyes remain on mine. “Just sit on the balloon in my lap. That’s it.”

“I know.” I move away from him and join the other line of contestants, each of us standing beside a bin filled with five balloons inside, ready to be popped.

Object of the game: pop the balloon between you and your partner using any means necessary besides hands.

Doesn’t seem that hard.

“Dude, don’t slam on me like last time,” Hardy calls out to Hudson who has an evil grin on his face.

Seems like there’s some history there, just like every other game. Makes me chuckle.

“Everyone ready?” Reginald calls out. We all give our nod of readiness. “Can we get a reminder of what we’re playing for?” he asks.

“Sure thing,” Regina says as she walks in front of us one more time, displaying the trophy. I hold back my laugh at how poised and proper Regina looks, in her elegant caftan and designer sunglasses, just in case she’s not doing it ironically. Not here to insult anyone, especially the mother of the bride.

“Thank you, my love,” Reginald says before he turns back to the contestants. “Stakes are high. Three, two, one…go.” Hudson takes off in an all-out sprint and I watch him leap into the air, ass first, balloon under him, and land directly on Hardy, popping the balloon and knocking Hardy back with an umph.

“Fuck…you,” he says as Hudson laughs and gets up to grab another. And I thought this was the guy who’d rather be doing spreadsheets than playing games with his family. Looks like Hardy was wrong.

Okay, I can do that.

I charge toward Brody—who looks unfazed—leap into the air and move the balloon to my butt, only for it to slip from my grasp and for my ass to land directly on Brody’s face, shooting him back to the sand, our balloon being blown away and thankfully caught by a worker standing off to the side.

“I think I missed,” I say as I sit there, right on Brody’s face.

He mumbles something, but I can’t hear him, so I lift one cheek and ask, “What?”

“Get…off,” he says.

“Oh right.” I stand and run back to the balloons, grabbing another one. This time I decide to take a different approach. I set the balloon on his lap, squat over him and then drop on top of him. It seems like a smart idea, but the only problem is, I don’t pop the balloon.

So, I hippity hop on top of the balloon, which is on top of his lap.

Bouncy bounce bounce.

“What are these made of?” I ask. “Steel?”

“Ooof, fuck,” he says when I slam down on him again.

“Jeeze, this sucker doesn’t want to pop.” I grip his shoulders and start bouncing up and down on him, with each plant of my ass on the balloon, he crunches over. “Come…on…you…stubborn…”

Pop.

I land flat on his lap, and he grunts in pain.

“Fuck,” he groans.

“Did that hurt?”

He glares at me. “You tell me.”

“Uh, you told me to sit on your lap. I’m just doing what you asked.”

“You’re turning my dick into applesauce, that’s what you’re doing.”

“Ew.” I cringe. “Don’t say that.”

Pop.

“Wooooo!” Hudson yells as he raises his hands above his head while Hardy lays flat on the sand, looking like he just took a brutal beating.

“At least you’re not the only one whose dick was turned into applesauce.” I pat his cheek. “Be glad it wasn’t by your brother.”

Brody pours some water over his face while Reginald splits the group into two large teams of two. The game is still up in the air. Hardy and Hudson are in the lead, but not by much. Beatrice and her husband are in third while Haisley and Jude are second. We’re fifth, but we still have a shot—points are awarded to the overall team that wins, and also to the individuals that score.

The game is like flag football. But instead of scoring a touchdown, you’re required to toss the ball in a bin at the end zone. If both of your flags are pulled, you’re out of the game. You can only have a flag pulled if you have the ball. First team to score three points wins.

Hardy and Hudson are on the opposing team while Jude and Haisley are on our team. I watch carefully as Reginald divides the rest of us up and when he places Beatrice on Hardy and Hudson’s team, I mentally fist pump. She may be good at the egg toss, but I should be able to outrun her.

Okay, we’ve got this one in the bag.

I turn to Brody. “We have to score if we’re going to climb the leaderboard. So, get the ball to me and I’ll score.”

His brows raise. “You want to score?”

“Uh, yeah. If you try to score, both Hardy and Hudson are going to go after you. But if I try to score, they’ll be dainty about it.”

“Hudson popped a balloon on Hardy’s face, there is nothing dainty about them.”

“Trust me, they won’t attack me like they’ll attack you. Plus”—I pat my bicep—“I have one hell of a stiff arm. If they come at me, I’ll just, bam.” I stiff-arm Brody in the chest. “Block them like this. They’re hosed.”

“You’re going to break your arm if you try to stiff-arm them. They have at least seventy-five pounds on you.”

“Do you not have faith in me?”

“Honestly?” He grips the back of his neck. “No. After today’s events, I have no faith in you. My faith in you is actually in the negative.”

“Well, be prepared to be proved wrong because this girl is scoring all three points. I have moves. I can juke. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

He drags his hand over his face and mutters, “Jesus.”

A staffer from the hotel hands out belts with flags attached to them and while we strap them on, Reginald walks by, sizing up our team.

“Let’s see something impressive, McFadden.” He pats Brody on the shoulder and walks away, leaving Brody looking frustrated.

“Hard to be impressive when I’m teamed up with this…” He gestures at me with disgust.

“Uh, excuse me, but that’s insulting.”

He leans in close. “And it’s insulting that I’ve had to endure this day with you.”

“Why are you in a bad mood?”

“Why?” he asks, looking as if I should know the answer to that. “Maybe because you’ve embarrassed me all day.”

“I have not. I’ve played the games.” Besides the whipped cream one, but we weren’t winning that anyway. Beatrice and the boys both unhinged their jaws like snakes trying to swallow an ostrich egg. At least that’s what I was told—I didn’t see since I was blindfolded.

“I’ve looked like an idiot all day.” He tightens his flag belt.

“If you looked like an idiot, that’s on you, not me.” I tighten my belt as well and then jog in place. Got to loosen up these steam engine legs that are going to plow down the competition. “Now, maybe you can stop worrying about your image and start winning. Pass the ball to me. I guarantee we score and move up the leaderboard.”

“I’m not passing it to you.”

“Are you going to try to be a hero?” I ask, hands on my hips. “Because that will make you look more ridiculous. Sorry to say but Hardy and Hudson have an edge on you. And I’m not saying that to hurt your fragile man ego. I’m saying that because they’ve played this before, so they have experience. Trust me with this, just pass me the ball. I’ll take care of the rest.”

I pat his chest and move onto the playing area, essentially a large rectangle of sand demarked by cones. I offer some high fives all around and eye the bin behind the towering Hopper boys. That bin is mine.

Brody walks up next to me, clearly not as enthusiastic. We’ll just say he has his game face on, not his grumpy pants. Because grumpy pants never won any games.

“The blue team wins the coin toss,” Reginald says. “They’re choosing to start with the ball.”

“Who is the blue team?” I look around and then notice our flags are blue. “Oh.” I chuckle as I place my hand on Brody’s arm. “We’re blue.”

He’s not amused.

Okay, moving on from him, I lean forward, rub my hands together. “Remember what I said. Get the ball to me.”

Reginald rings a bell—one of those handheld bells from an old schoolhouse—and the game begins.

Haisley starts with the ball as the other team comes after us. She tosses it to Jude who charges forward, twirling and spinning away from the boys with ease, only to dunk the ball into the bin no problem. Wow, that was like, ten seconds. The man is a beast.

“Woooo!” I cheer, raising my arms up. “Good job, Jude.” I offer him a high five and then turn toward Brody. “See, that’s what I’m going to do, but with my stiff -arm.” I pat my arm again to show him just how tough I am.

“You’re delusional,” he says as the ball is put into play again.

This time, Hardy has it and Jude rushes him, so he passes it to Hudson. Brody runs over to grab Hudson’s flag, but Hudson jukes him so hard that Brody falls face first into the sand and Hudson scores.

Ooof, that was not good for him.

See, I’m not the one who’s humiliating the man, that’s a him issue. Not a me issue.

But just to be the doting girlfriend, I walk over to him and pat him on the back as he rises from the sand. “Solid attempt, but next time try to grab a flag.”

When his eyes meet mine, I can see just how murderous he is.

Oh boy.

Maybe I should step away.

“You’re going to have to be quicker than that,” Reginald says to Brody. “Those boys are fast.”

“Sure are,” Brody says in the fakest voice I’ve ever heard before walking back to the start of our side, sand encrusted on his sweaty chest.

“Do you need anything to wipe that brown off your nose?”

Why are you poking the bear, Maggie?

He ignores me and gets into position.

“Remember, toss me the ball,” I whisper. “This is our point.”

He doesn’t even acknowledge me but keeps his eyes on the ball in front of us. Reginald holds it up, tosses it in the air to our side and Brody runs up, leaps into the air, and catches it.

Oh look, there’s some athleticism. He tucks the ball under his arm, charges toward the left side of the pitch, slipping for a second in the sand, but takes off on the opposite side from where Hudson and Hardy are, giving him a clear path straight to the bin where he dunks the ball.

Well, well, well, look who showed up. Golf clap for the sand man.

And dear God, look at that man puff his chest, trying to act like it was no big deal that he just showed the entire beach the raw potential billowing out of him. Hell, I was impressed.

When he comes back to our side, he hands out some high fives and then looks up at me, a smug smile on his face.

“Told you I could handle it.”

“That you did.” I offer him up a small clap because he deserves it. “But now they know what you can do, which means it’s my turn.” I point to my chest. “They won’t expect it. They’re going to be going for you or Jude. So, toss me the ball and watch us win this sucker.”

Once again, he ignores me and focuses on the players in front of us. Okay, he’s in game mode, that’s fine. Let him do his thing.

Reginald tosses the ball and this time, Beatrice gets it and, man oh man, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Brody take off like he did because he sprints across the sand, like one of those lizards who can run on water, and leaps toward Beatrice, reaching for her flag just as she tosses the ball to Hardy, who then chucks it down the field to Hudson who is cherry-picking at the bin. He catches it and tosses the ball in.

That was painful to watch.

Brody stands from where his arms and legs are buried in the fine white sand and he brushes himself off as he approaches me.

“You almost took out the old lady—good job.”

“Your commentary isn’t needed,” he mutters as he pushes his hand through his hair.

“Is it not helping?” I ask.

His angry eyes fall to mine. “Not even a little.”

“And here I thought I was being charming,” I say.

Reginald holds the ball up and says, “If the blue team scores, they win.”

“Hear that?” I say, nudging him with my elbow. “Toss me the ball. The boys will be out for blood. They won’t hurt a little old thing like me.”

Brody ignores me and gets into position. Reginald tosses the ball in the air, and Brody and Jude both go for it, but Jude picks it up first. He starts down the field, but Hudson and Hardy crowd him so he tosses the ball to Haisley who then tosses it to Brody. Brody tucks the ball and starts to drive forward but Hudson and Hardy come screaming toward him. I dash forward and clap my hands together, telling him to toss it to me.

He glances at the boys one more time and then—reluctantly—tosses me the ball.

I catch it like freaking Jerry Rice in his heyday and I prop out my stiff arm, ready to block these motherfuckers—oh yes, my stiff arm brings out the swear words.

“Look out, the Maggie train is coming through. Toot. Toot!” I yell right before I start to run, only to stop after two steps when I see both Hardy and Hudson charging toward me, like I’m the red flag and they’re two bulls fresh from the stalls, looking to kill.

Snarling.

Huffing.

Barreling toward me with no regret.

I’ve never seen anything more terrifying in my life.

And I realize in that moment, Brody was right. My arm will be broken if I try to use it.

So out of pure self-preservation, I scream bloody murder and chuck the ball, not wanting to be the victim of a Hopper takedown.

Unfortunately for Brody though, I wasn’t quite looking where I was throwing and neither was he.

Because low and behold, my chucking of the ball results in a direct hit, right to his penis.

Brace for impact, because man down!

Brody stills, clutching his crotch, and then tips over into the sand as a look of pure nausea rolls over his face.

What.

Have.

I.

Done?

The ball rolls to the left where Hardy picks it up, hops over a hissing Brody and takes it right to the bin where he scores.

Ending the game.

That is not good for us.

And as I glance down at Brody, I realize it’s going to be a rough night.

Because, if I didn’t turn his penis into applesauce with the balloon popping, I probably did just now.

Fear prickles the back of my neck as I carefully kneel in front of Brody and place my hand on his shoulder. The other team wildly cheers their victory while I try to make things right with Brody. “Uh…you know that loss, that one is on me.” I pat my chest. “I can understand where I went wrong. The stiff-arm was ineffective, so, I’m going to take the L on this.”

“Move…over,” he mumbles.

“Huh?”

“Move,” he shouts just as he rolls to the side and then pukes right into the sand.

My innards shrivel up as I stare down at him.

Universe, please save me from the wrath of this man, because I know he will never…ever forgive me for this.

Nope, he’s going to murder me in my sleep tonight. Goodbye, world. It was nice knowing you.