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“Mason chose her last night,” Lucy said, and I realized my sister was peering at Mya now as well. “You think—”
“All I know is you need to be careful,” I finished for her, then forced myself to watch the last punch thrown to end the match. Mason’s left hook snapped Oliver’s head to the right, and ouch, that had to hurt.
But Oliver didn’t hold his jaw. Maybe it’d been more for show and less painful than it’d appeared. They were good actors, I’d give them that.
“Thank God that’s over,” Lucy murmured, holding a hand to her heart as she watched Oliver exit the fighting area, his eyes intensely focused on Mya by the pool.
Oliver hung his head as if angry at something—maybe himself—then stood alongside Carter outside the grassy ring, swapping places with Jack. And I felt like I was swapping places with Mya, and it was my turn for my heart to catch in my throat.
As Stephen went over the rules, as if they both hadn’t already heard them multiple times, Jack looked my way and frowned. Was he upset about me watching him throw down? Or that he’d be slugging someone he so clearly knew?
His chest had smudges of dirt and grass stains on it from the previous matches, and something told me his heavy breathing had more to do with me than with the adrenaline pumping through him for the fight.
For whatever reason, when Mason threw his first punch, Jack didn’t duck. He took it in the chin. Almost as if he wanted some sense to be knocked from him. Or into him.
Jack didn’t waste time taking Mason down after that, though. Efficient and quick movements. Hell, he won within two minutes.
“I guess your guy is the tougher one,” Lucy commented.
“He’s not my anything,” I reminded her.
“Sure.” She poked me in the side. “But Carter is a whole hell of a lot scarier. So, I think he’ll win.”
I kept my mouth closed and just gave her a little shrug.
Jack rotated his shoulders, then his neck. They both loosened up while circling each other, waiting for the go-ahead to fight.
When Stephen abruptly announced, “Fight!” my shoulders jerked, and Carter came at Jack fast. It was a blur of swift movements and Carter had Jack on the ground in seconds, pinning him beneath his body, forcing Jack to tap out.
Carter offered Jack a hand to stand for the next round. I expected him to back off a bit, maybe feign exhaustion after going so hard so fast, but then Carter surprised me by going after Jack without missing a beat yet again.
Carter didn’t land his punch, though. He pulled his arm back only to go completely still. His gaze snapped to someone or something off in the distance, and his hand fell to his side as he took a step back.
I turned to see what had thrown him off, but there was nothing there. Mya was back by the ring now, so it hadn’t been her who’d stolen his focus.
Weird. Oddly, Jack chose not to use that moment to his advantage. He didn’t take a shot at Carter while the man had been distracted. And damn that said so much to me about his character.
“You good?” Jack asked him, more than a casual hint of unease in his tone. Carter erased what I’d swear was alarm or concern from his face, then peered at Jack and gave him a tight nod.
Jack scored the next point with an elbow just below Carter’s cheekbone that would more than likely leave a mark.
They traded points again. Carter. Then Jack.
“Last point for the winner. And if your team wins the final event tonight, tug-of-war, that means whoever wins this fight winds up in the treehouse. So, make this last point count,” Stephen shared.
Tug-of-war?
Carter looked over at Gwen, shook his head as if not wanting to spend the night alone with her, then fixed his eyes back on his target, on Jack.
Jack dropped to a knee and swiveled out of the way as Carter rushed him, avoiding the punch aimed at his face. He used his momentum from the turn to pivot back to his feet, and just as Carter faced him, Jack sent a roundhouse kick to Carter’s jaw, scoring the final point.
Carter closed one eye and held his jaw, shaking his head as I read his lips when he mouthed to Jack, “Fuck you very much for that.”
Well, I was pretty sure it’d been a “fuck you” not a “thank you.” Carter seemed more like a “fuck you” guy than a “thank you” one.
I was sure a lot of women found him extremely attractive and would happily take “fuck you” from Carter entirely literally. But not me. No, there was only one man who kept making my heart do a tap dance, and he was currently lifting his hands in apology to Carter.
As if his thoughts were already resting in the same treehouse mine were, Jack turned toward us and set his eyes on me.
