Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Maybe we can make something work. Not a relationship or anything; I’m still doing my best to keep my heart disengaged. But who says we can’t keep sleeping together? Hooking up when we have the opportunity? We’re not sick of each other yet, so doesn’t it make sense to keep the fling going until we are? That is, if Tate’s even interested in extending the fling.
For some reason, though, I get the feeling he is.
“We’ll do a random draw to determine the order for the toss,” Deb says, and a volunteer rushes over with a baseball cap containing slips of paper with our team names. “Up first will be … the handsome sailors from the Manor!”
The rest of the names are pulled from the hat, and we’re gratified to hear we’ll be going last. Gives us an opportunity to watch the other teams and learn from their mistakes.
As Tate and his team come forward, Deb quickly goes over the rules again. The water balloon toss requires all four members to stand in a line, starting at about two feet apart. The balloon is thrown down the line from one person to the next, and after each completed leg, the team members must take a step back. The distance between each person gets bigger and bigger, and the team that makes it the farthest distance without popping their balloon wins those coveted three points.
“Ready?” Deb shouts. “Annnd toss!”
This is it. Do or die.
Team Yacht Club makes it to a distance of fifteen feet separating each member before the balloon hits Luke in the face and explodes, soaking him. Tate shoots me a wry look as they return to the sidelines, as if to say, you win some, you lose some. He takes everything in stride. I love that about him.
“Fifteen feet is the distance to beat!” announces Deb.
The bakers and mechanics are up next, finishing with an impressive twenty-two feet for the former and a dismal twelve for the latter. The firefighters finish with twenty feet. The Sharkey’s staff with nine.
Then it’s Team Soapery, working together like a well-oiled machine. Each time Deb shouts, “Annnd step!” the four ladies take a step to widen the distance. Deb shouts, “Annnd toss!” and the balloon exchanges hands.
Three minutes in, and they’re already twenty feet apart.
“Whoa,” Zale marvels.
“It’s the underhand throw,” Mac whispers to our team. “We need to go underhand.”
Team Soapery makes it a spectacular twenty-nine feet before Felice catches the balloon wrong and it bursts in her outstretched hands. Still, the ladies know they kicked ass, grinning from ear to ear as they head for the sidelines. They’ve got a good seven feet on the best team, the bakers.
“Hartley and Sons, you’re up!”
Cooper smirks at his girlfriend as he saunters by. “You’re saying all we have to do is beat twenty feet and we’re guaranteed to place? Oh no! So hard!”
Mackenzie and Genevieve simultaneously throw up their middle fingers, sparking a burst of laughter from the gathering crowd. When I glance toward the onlookers, I’m alarmed to spot my dad’s face. He’s with Nia and the twins, and they all smile and wave when they notice me looking. Shit. I didn’t know they were coming back today. Mom and Grandma are supposed to show up too. For the winners’ ceremony.
Panic flares inside me, while I strain to remember the last time Mom and Dad were in the same vicinity.
The saving grace here is that Mom and Grandma haven’t arrived yet. That means I have time to warn Dad off before they get here. But first, we need to murder this water balloon event.
On the field of play, the Team Hartley line moves with swift precision. They nail their five-foot throws. Ten. Fifteen.
At nineteen feet, the biggest upset of today’s Beach Games occurs.
Spencer, their day laborer, tosses the balloon to Evan. His hand slips on the release, just slightly, but it’s enough to alter the trajectory. The balloon veers toward Evan’s right, forcing him to take an abrupt step, and his body isn’t quite in position as he attempts the catch.
Splat.
The water explodes in Evan’s hand.
“Man down!” Deb crows into the mic, and the firefighters cheer loudly, maintaining their current third-place score of twenty feet.
“Oh baby, why are you all wet?” Genevieve coos when Evan stomps back. She pretends to be confused. “What happened? I wasn’t looking. Did it pop?”
“Use that little-girl voice again”—he narrows his eyes—“and it better be tonight. In bed.”
Mac winks at Cooper as he passes. “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t twenty feet …”
He snorts. “You haven’t placed yet, princess. And right now we’re still beating you by one point.”
Finally, it’s our turn. I can’t even believe how nerve-wracking this is. How is this low-stakes, small-town beach competition making me sweat this much?
“We got this,” Zale says.
“We got this,” Gen echoes.