She wheels around to face me, triumphant. “You stopped playing. That’s on you.”
My jaw drops. “You faked an injury!”
“I took advantage of your lack of focus,” she counters. “Very different.”
Our arms brush as we both step back, the contact brief but electric, and for the span of a half second, I wish we really were here on a date—just us—not trapped in this ridiculousnot-friendsthing that’s happening completely against my will.
Our gazes cross, and we both pause, something unspoken hanging there…
And then Hawthorne slaps me on the back.
“It’s all right, bro.”
“No way,” Miles says, groaning. “You’re paying.”
“What happened towe’re a team?” I fire back, gesturing between us. “I didn’t lose this on my own, you know.”
“We don’t care who’s paying,” Marissa says, grinning. “As long as it’s not us.”
The guys groan, and the girls cheer obnoxiously.
As we step aside to let the next group play, I narrow my eyes at Harper.
“You’re ruthless,” I mutter. “You know that?”
“It’s called seizing the opportunity.” She winks. “Now I’ve scored myself a nice dinner tomorrow night. And you’d better believe I’ll go for the most expensive thing on the menu.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “I wouldn’t expect any less.”
The girls may be the ones celebrating, but I don’t think I lost tonight.
If anything, I gained something invaluable.
More time with Harper.
We play a few more games, even though our team’s fate is already sealed. At this point, it’s just stubborn pride and muscle memory. We lose gloriously, loudly, and with a lot of trash talk.
What can I say? We’re hockey players. We don’t quit just because the scoreboard tells us to.
Eventually, it’s time for the fireworks show, and we follow the flow of the crowd toward the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool to try to snag a spot.
But of course it’s packed. And of course we can’t do anything without arguing.
“Too close to the water,” Miles complains.
“Too far from the screen,” Adler counters.
“Do you want to actually see the fireworks or just whine about them?” Beth snaps.
Finally, Aria drops down onto the grass with a dramatic sigh.
“I’m sitting,” she announces. “Anyone who wants to keep walking is welcome to wander around until sunrise.”
That settles it.
We all lower ourselves onto the plush lawn, passing around jackets to sit on. I end up next to Harper, close enough that our arms brush when we shift our bodies. The grass is still warm from the day, slightly damp, the scent of earth and summer rising as more people sit down around us.
Families wander past. Some kids are waving glow sticks, others already perched on parents’ shoulders. A little boy in light-up sneakers stops near us, staring openly.
