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Unfortunately, I can now confirm that it isn’t algae.
Because it’s moving. And it’s coming right at me.
My breath catches in my chest for two horrific, world-ending, slow-motion seconds. Then…
“EEEEEEE!”
I barrel out of the change room. Trip on the curtain and fly forward, right coverall sleeve flapping in the wind as I tumble towards the ground.
Then, Ethan’s right in front of me. Catching me again.
“It’s over there! There’s a… it’s huge!” I’m panting, eyes wide as I stare in horror at the change room. I take a moment to thank my lucky stars that I’m still wearing my white tank top. Though the “Boys XL” tag is probably on display for everyone and anyone to see.
“What?” Ethan asks, his grip firm as he keeps me from basically crawling on top of him.
“A spi–spider!” I sputter. “In the change room!”
Ethan freezes for a breath, then relaxes in a laugh. It’s at that moment that I realize his coveralls are also only half done-up, and he’s wearing a gray undershirt. His bare, muscled arms are wrapped tight around me, holding me against him. On his right forearm, I see the edge of a small tattoo.
Hm. That’s new.
His firewood scent surrounds me and suddenly I’m not thinking of the tattoo, or paintball, or the spider anymore. All I can feel is his chest rising and falling beneath my palms, hear his heartbeat near my cheek.
A wave of heat courses through my body. I force myself to push away, but this proves to be a bad idea as I’m now staring into those warm, dark brown eyes. Eyes swirling with something intense and smoldering…
I give my head a shake and take a HUGE step backwards. Because no, Ethan’s eyes are not and will never again smolder.
“I’ll take care of it,” he says. He walks towards the change room and my traitor gaze follows his every movement.
Until I realize what he’s about to do.
“Don’t kill it!” I shout. “Just trap it and carry it out.”
Ethan throws a glance over his shoulder, another smirk that makes my stomach do a series of flutters. “I wouldn’t, Val. You know I wouldn’t.”
12
Ethan
“Shoot!” I holler. “You have a clear shot!”
Val stares at her paintball gun in confusion. “How do you work this thing?!”
She continues to fiddle with the hopper on her gun. I consider going over to help her, but if I know Val, she won’t want my help. Not at this stage anyway. She likes to give things a good try before she asks for outside assistance.
It’s both one of her most admirable and infuriating qualities.
“Don’t worry about it.” I shake my head. “He got away.”
Val follows my gaze to where the boy is currently skittering off behind a haybale. He high-fives his friends and they burst into raucous laughter.
How we got paired up to play against this group of kids, I’ll never know. But it’s Val and me against four power-hungry, loud-mouthed, prepubescent teen boys and one girl. Who keeps looking around with her nose crinkled and rolling her eyes at a boy I can only assume is her brother.
“Grrr,” Val grunts again.
Then, something clicks. She smiles.
Points the gun straight at me.
