Page 47 of Ruthless Edge

Emma turns and gives me a look.

"What?"

She keeps walking. "Come on, Knox."

"Seriously, I don’t understand what you’re saying."

"Yes you do."

"Emma, I genuinely do not know what that means."

She opens her mouth.

"Emma!"

I close my eyes for exactly one second. Seriously? Again?

Owen is jogging toward us from the direction of the café, far cleaner than us, looking like a man who just finished third overall and would like everyone to know it. He's been on the periphery of my entire day like a splinter I can't locate, and here he is again, materializing out of nowhere with perfect timing, because apparently that's who Owen Bennett is. A highly educated, psychologically informed recurring inconvenience.

"Hey." He falls into step on Emma's other side, which puts her between us, which I'm sure he finds very comfortable. "Thought you might need an extra pair of hands for cleanup."

"Great," Emma says, glancing up ahead at the mess of a relay race’s area. "They're taking down the foam tunnel. You two can handle that while I check in with the volunteers."

We all walk to the relay race field. She peels off toward the registration table and Owen and I are left standing in the field next to the deflating foam cannon tunnel, which is still substantial, still full of foam residue, and now apparently our shared responsibility.

We work in silence for about three minutes. We're on opposite sides of the tunnel, rolling it down, and it should be fine, it's a cleanup task, it requires zero conversation.

"You're into her," Owen says.

I keep rolling. "Yep."

That stops him. He straightens up and looks at me over the top of the tunnel. "You're not going to deny it?"

"Why would I deny it?"

He studies me for a second. "It's not going to happen. Emma and me, we've got a hell of a lot more in common. She's not interested in hockey players."

"She's not interested in anyone who assumes what she is and isn't interested in," I say. "That I know for certain."

Owen's jaw tightens slightly. "I've already seen her twice this week, and she agreed to a second date."

"Good for you." I go back to rolling. "I've known her for three years, and I've had a front-row seat to pretty much every interaction you've had with her."

"Then you've had three years to do something about it and you didn't."

That one lands in a place I'd rather it hadn't, which Owen can probably see on my face because he keeps going.

He drops the tunnel and moves so he’s way too close to me. "She'll be in my bed before the week's out.”

I put down the section of tunnel I'm holding.

Owen doesn't back up.

I push him.

Not hard, not with intent to put him on the ground, just a hand flat against his chest and enough force to make a point. He takes few steps back.

Then he shoves me back, harder, and we're past the polite version of this.