I slip a glowing vest over my head, feigning ignorance. “What do you mean?”
“I was pretty clear in my request,” he chides.
“Which one was that?”
Slowly, he takes me in and says, gruffly, “You. Clothes.”
I’m wearing a navy sports bra and matching bike shorts. Since MASH Me is allergic to black, this was the darkest athleisure I could find. A deliberate choice, too. Now that we’re basically living out a kid’s birthday party, I have to pull out every stop if I want Penn to see me differently.
“These are clothes,” I point out.
He shakes his head. “No. Those are calculated underclothes.”
“Laser Tag is a sport, Penn. So I’m dressed to sport.”
“Spoken like someone who’s never sported once in her life.” He crosses his arms. “Admit it. It’s a tactic. You’re trying to distract me.”
A triumphant laugh slips out of me. “God, Penn, hasn’t anyone ever told you to keep a poker face? You’re not supposed to show your cards. Or tell your opponent how to get to you.”
His eyes lower again, and his stare holds steady as he steps toward me. The dark room closes in on us, and his voice slips into a low rasp. “C’mon, Wynne. You already know.”
My breath catches. “I know what?”
His eyes are two dark, endless pools. “How to get to me.”
I thought I’d felt tension earlier, but now the charge between us is a live wire. Heat flashes in Penn’s expression, and I wonder if he’s right. If in this world I’ve always known that he could want me. Because it is brand-new information to me and surprisingly satisfying. Ruffling Penn has always been my favorite game, but I especially love it like this.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” I lie. “How, exactly, do I get to you?”
I need him to spell it out before I make a move. I can’t risk being wrong.
Penn works his jaw. He scans my face, deliberating, and his fingers flex at his side. Abruptly, he sets down his laser gun, and with a smirk that makes me terribly nervous, he says, “You know what? You’re right. We should dress to sport.”
He unbuckles his vest, takes it off, and lets it fall to the floor before he reaches for the hem of his shirt. My gaze drops to his waistband without my permission, zeroed in on a sliver of tan skin. As he pulls the shirt overhead, I take it all in at once: Penn’s broad, smooth shoulders. How his waist narrows into his shorts. The top of his black boxer briefs.
It’s a taste of my own medicine.
He’s trying to one-up me, and it’s working.
Standing in front of shirtless Penn, trapped in this dim room, already half-clothed myself, it takes a Herculean effort to keep my expression neutral.
Penn, obnoxiously calm, picks up his vest and slips it back on, his bare shoulders right there, assaulting my peripheral vision. “Had to level the playing field,” he deadpans. “Plus, now I can be more aerodynamic in there.”
“Oh, okay, Peter Pan. Do you plan to fly around the room?”
His mouth twitches. “Maybe. You don’t know all my tricks.”
Leave it to Penn to turn Laser Tag into some kind of weird foreplay.
“Show me what you’ve got,” I scoff, pushing past him. “Game on.”
We run and duck and fire and adjust to the layout of the space. For someone as tall and broad as Penn is, he’s pretty stealthy. With good aim. I’ve taken cover in the darkest corner of the room, backed against a wall with my light-up gun clutchedto my chest, listening as thepoom-whoosh-zapof Penn’s shots gets closer.
He shoots at the mirror in front of me, trying to blast at my light-up vest in the reflection. When he misses, he shouts, “You’re cheating!”
“Am not!” I cover the target on my chest with both hands. “Hiding isn’t cheating. It’s strategy.”
“It’s weak!”
