Assists: 16
Ground balls: 31
Ainsley
Goals: 23
Assists: 9
Ground balls: 38
It’s color-coded, of course.
I tap my pen against the paper. “I’m beating you in goals. No way you’re gonna out-score me this weekend.”
One of his dark-brown eyebrows jumps. “You say it like it’s a sure thing.”
“Iama sure thing.”
“Look at my assists.”
I roll my eyes. “Congrats, you can pass the ball to someone else.”
“To the person who scored the goal. It’s called being a team player.”
“I’m also ahead on ground balls.” I flip the book closed. “Looks to me like I’m dominating this little bet of yours.”
“Dominating?” His brown eyes widen. “We’re practically even.”
“I think you need to refresh yourself on the definition of the wordeven.”
“And I think you’re afraid of the idea that someone is as good as you.”
My eyes narrow as I lean forward. “Maybe you’re just afraid that a girl is better than you.”
The bell rings and Mr. Lambert closes the classroom door before taking his spot at the front.
Landon shoots me a wink before turning around in his seat. I bite my bottom lip to hide my smile.
I try to concentrate on the lesson, but biology is about as riveting as watching paint dry. My eyes gravitate to Landon.
His leg bounces under the desk, and I watch the clock to see how long he can go. The kid is anxious as hell.
And a damn good lacrosse player. Not as good as I am, but he’s the closest thing our school has.
We’ve been competing against each other since we were freshman. Our lacrosse teams host a fundraiser each year, and I made it my mission to raise more money than the boys. They play on the pristine turf—we need the money more than they do. Landon caught wind of what I was doing, and stepped up to the challenge. We’ve been trying to one-up each other ever since.
I raised twenty-dollars more than he did in the end. I plan on doubling it this year.
Landon must be as bored as I am because his arm snakes back and he slips a small paper onto my desk. I wait until the teacher turns to write on the board before unfolding the note.
You’re going down, Morgan.
A silent laugh has my shoulders shaking as I scribble my response and toss the note over his shoulder.
Not a chance, Golden Boy.
I’m a competitive person, but there’s something about Landon Fletcher that stokes that flame in me.
