Page 11 of Enemy Games

She offered a small wave, and the guy with the top knot that had been at the door yesterday was the first to respond.

“I’m Ethan.” He pointed over his shoulder to the guy with dark hair first. “That’s Reid, and that’s Hunter.”

My eyes landed on Hunter, the bronzed god who seemed familiar. His name didn’t trigger my memory for how I might know him.

“Nice to meet you all,” Chris said when I went silent. I couldn’t figure out what about him that was tugging at my mind.

“You too,” Reid said. “What year are you guys?”

“Juniors,” she answered.

“Nice, we’re all seniors.” Reid gestured to his friends.

“Oh, man, and I thought the pressure on us was bad,” Chris joked.

Ethan chuckled. “I don’t think either of us really has it easy right now.”

“Shaw!”

I glanced over my shoulder to see Benjamin waving someone over.

“Sorry, Captain calls.” Hunter jogged away from us, and it was like getting a cold bucket of water dropped on my head.

Hunter Shaw.

No wonder the name Hunter hadn’t sparked my memory. Everyone back home called him Shaw. And I hadn’t recognized him well enough to place him, because he was about three inches taller and had added on at least thirty pounds of muscle. His hair was shorter, and his face had leaned out, leaving behind the boyish youth I’d once known.

Freaking Shaw.

Of all the schools in the country, why did I have to end up at his?

I’d glanced over the men’s roster, but obviously hadn’t paid close enough attention, plus he was just far off enough from my radar for me to forget about him. Until now.

“You okay?” Chris whispered while leading me away from the guys. “You look ready to fight someone.”

I sucked in a breath, “Yeah, I just realized I know one of them.”

Her brows shot up. “Who?”

Before responding, I checked that no one was close enough to overhear. “Hunter Shaw.”

“Really? How do you know him?”

“He was my childhood bully,” I gritted out between clenched teeth.

She barked out a laugh, then covered her mouth. “Sorry.”

I narrowed my eyes at her but wasn’t really mad. It sounded a bit ridiculous, but I couldn’t tell her the full story, and I wouldn’t until we were safely alone, back in our room.

“Do you want me to beat him up for you?” she asked in all seriousness.

I chuckled and nodded. “Would you? I’d appreciate that.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “I might be short, but I’m pretty sure I could take him.”

As much as the eight-year-old in me would love to throw a punch in his face, I knew I’d have to wait for a better moment. It sucked to realize who he was, and it was even worse that he didn’t seem to remember me at all.

How could he forget the girl he teased and mocked and belittled for years?