“Hey!” she says, wiggling again. “The game’s done.”
“Sure is.”
“So let me down!”
“No can do, Boston. You need a lesson about self-preservation.”
She snorts, falling limp again. “What are you going to do? Just cart me around? That’s fine. My legs are tired from whooping your ass.”
I don’t bother replying to her sass.
Instead, I step up to my truck, turn around, and gently press her torso between my back and the metal, effectively trapping her.
Realizing her predicament, she tenses. “Grayson?”
A giant grin on my face, I tighten my grip on her so she doesn’t fall.
Then I start tickling the backs of her legs.
Immediately, she’s a fish out of water, flopping against me as she squeals. “No no no!” Trapped as she is, her efforts don’t do much, and I pick up the pace, gleeful as Dave when he catches a worm.
Discovering that she’s ticklish might be one of my favorite revelations from the last two months.
“This isn’t fair!” she pants out, trying to shove us away from the truck. But I’m too heavy to budge.
“With all that chirping you did on the court? This isdefinitelyfair play, baby.”
She tries tickling me back, but my nerve endings don’t work that way. “This—this is—” she squeals as I tickle her inner thighs— “bullying!”
I snort. “Bullying implies I’ve got power over you, but everyone knows it’s the other way around.”
“Grayson!Please!”
My fingers stop, drifting up to her ass as I hum to myself. “That’s a nice word, Boston.”
“You’re insufferable.”
My fingers return to her legs in warning. “Now, that’snota nice word.”
Her body shakes against me, a laugh bubbling out of her. “Put me down.”
“Ask nicely.”
She huffs, and it’s an effort to stem my chuckle. “Pleaseput me down.”
“There. That wasn’t so hard.” I step away from the truck, open the back door, and swing her down, careful her head doesn’t hit the doorway as I place her gently on the seat.
Her face is flushed red from being upside down, hair all over her cheeks, lips twisted in a scowl, but her eyes are bright and lively.
Happy.
It’s a familiar sight, but it still hits me in the sternum every time—seeing her glow, watching her thrive. Knowing I contribute to it.
I reach out, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You mightnot care about getting yourself run over for a casual basketball game. But I do.”
She half-heartedly rolls her eyes. “You wouldn’t have run me over.”
“Did you forget what happened last time?”
