Page 68 of The Next Lie

“Again.”

“Stop cheating.”

“He’s gonna cheat,” Ever says.

“Who is he? The theoretical kidnapper?”

“Yes.”

“Rude.”

Shiloh comes closer, circling us like he is watching a performance. “Don’t announce it with your whole body, Red. You telegraph everything. Rage is fun, but it has terrible handwriting.”

Ever releases me, and I turn, breathing harder than I want to admit. “Again,” he says.

We do it again.

And again.

And again.

My shoulder starts to ache. Sweat gathers at the back of my neck. Shiloh corrects my stance with two fingers against my hip, then taps the inside of my knee with the side of his foot.

“Lower,” he says. “You’re trying to be tall. Stop that. Tall is not happening for you, sweetheart.”

“I hate you.”

“You adore me.”

“I contain multitudes.”

Ever reaches for me again.

This time, when his hand closes around my arm, I do not twist away immediately. I shift my weight first, drop my center like Shiloh showed me, then drive my heel down toward Ever’s instep.

He moves, but not fast enough. My heel catches the edge of his foot.

It’s not a solid strike, but it’s enough to make his grip loosen.

I jab my elbow back toward his ribs. He blocks most of it, but the movement gives me a sliver of space. I turn into it, driving my knee upward.

Ever catches it before I connect.

“You suck,” I gasp.

But he has to step back to do it. Only one step.

Still. It’s a step.

Shiloh’s grin spreads slowly. “There she is.”

I point at him while trying to breathe. “That phrase is still retired.”

“Temporarily suspended in honor of progress.”

Ever releases my knee and steps back.

His expression is unreadable, but quiet approval shines in his eyes. It warms something in me.