Page 90 of Glitched Play

“Yes.”

“Because of my job?”

“Because you’re competitive and slightly irritating.”

I gasp. “Slightly?”

His mouth twitches. “Moderately.”

The race starts.

And for two minutes, I forget about almost kisses and unsent letters and whether I belong in Witt’s home or just his office. I forget about Glitch sitting in an envelope in my purse. I forget about the way my heart keeps splitting itself between a past I haven’t let go of and a present I’m starting to want too much, but that is probably out of reach.

All I care about is beating Witt O’Ryan.

He is annoyingly good.

Of course he is.

He takes corners too cleanly, times boosts perfectly, and never once looks rattled. I, however, use strategy, aggression, and possibly one accidental elbow bump that makes Parker yell, “Illegal contact!”

“Arcade racing has no officials,” I shout back.

Witt glances at me. “Convenient.”

“For me? Yes.”

The final stretch appears on screen.

We’re neck and neck.

Witley is screaming. Parker is screaming. I’m pretty sure Birdie is screaming and she doesn’t even know what game we’re playing.

I hit the boost at the last second and slide across the finish line half a car length ahead.

The machine flashes WINNER over my screen.

For one stunned second, I just stare.

Then I jump up with a ridiculous victory scream and turn toward Witt without thinking.

I throw my arms around him.

It’s pure instinct. A teammate hug. A walk-off home run hug. A holy-crap-I-beat-the-untouchable-genius hug.

Except the second my body hits his, my brain catches up.

Witt goes still.

I go still.

My arms are around his neck. His hands hover near my waist like they’re waiting for a clear instruction manual. The entire arcade seems to shrink around us, all the noise fading under the realization that I am hugging my boss in front of his entire family.

I start to pull back.

His hands settle lightly at my sides.

Not gripping.