He chuckles. “Good.”

The lights go crazy again, but I barely notice. We’re in a darkened part of the yard so the flashing doesn’t quite reach us. The sounds of people out in the yard laughing and partying fade away. The heat of his gaze trails a line down my face, to my lips.

One of his hands, the one not holding the gun, cups the side of my face, his thumb rubbing over my cheek and then lower, tracing my bottom lip.

“Reese.” His voice is a low murmur in the dark and I’m leaning toward him like he’s reeling me in with a tractor beam.

My hand lifts to cover his, holding it there against my face as I lift up on my toes.

Yodel-ay-hee-whoooo!

I jerk back as my vest lights up and the yodeling shrieks between us.

Jude yells, “We have a winner!”

Fitz is already moving away from me. The porch lights flood on, filling the backyard with bright light.

My eyes meet Fitz and his brows lift and he’s staring at the gun in his hand like it’s suddenly morphed into a Whataburger. “I didn’t mean to . . .”

I don’t know if he finishes the sentence because people have infiltrated the space and are cheering and stepping in between us.

Jude’s there, handing the key to Fitz, lifting his arm in the air and declaring him the winner of the fifth challenge.

There’s the usual applause and groans from the winners and losers and I realize we only have two more to go. It’s three to two and Fitz is up by one. I have to win the next two or I’m sunk.

My stomach churns in agitation. Memories flash in my head, pulsing like the laser tag lights. Fitz’s warm hand on my face, his thumb on my lips. Restlessness makes me pull away from the crowd. A strange sense of anticipation fills me, like a sneeze that won’t materialize. I’m teetering on the brink of something.

If he hadn’t accidently shot me, would we have kissed? Would we have kissed in the barn the other night if we hadn’t been interrupted?

Clearly, there’s an attraction there, but I don’t know what to do with it. From what I’ve observed of others, most people don’t think twice about acting on lustful moods with random hookups and then moving on the next day, but I’m not sure it’s something I can do. Or something I want to do.

I catch sight of Annabel in the crowd and head toward her.

On my way through the throng, I pass Abby. She doesn’t see me, focused on a point to the side. I follow her gaze. Of course, she’s staring at Fitz. He doesn’t see her, talking to Jude and a few other people.

She’s not drunk this time, but she does look exhausted—not wearing her normal layer of makeup. Her hair is pulled back instead of styled. Her jeans are cute, but her hoodie sweater dwarfs her narrow frame.