“Looks like we’re going up against each other. It feels just like yesterday we were neck and neck for valedictorian, doesn’t it? We both recall how that ended.”

Yeah, we do. With him on stage giving the keynote speech that should have been mine while I sat in the audience, watching from afar, ambitions foiled by the dark-haired devil in front of me.

“This is my dream job,” I say, adding as much conviction behind the statement as possible. “I will do whatever it takes to earn it, and I don’t care if your poor, fragile male ego doesn’t survive.”

Henry hums, trying—and failing—to suppress a smile. “What if I want you to get it, Burnsie?”

Bravely taking a step closer to him, my pointer finger presses into the center of his chest, met with firm muscles hiding deceptively under the soft fabric.

Dang it.

I was right. Obnoxiously perfect.

I try to not let the distraction deter me.

“You’re lying.”

“Am I?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. His shoulders hunch, shrinking in size, and the height change brings us mere centimeters apart. Our breaths mingle together as one, and it’s indiscernible to decipher where I stop and Henry starts. “Maybe nothing would make me happier than watching you succeed.”

I raise my chin, refusing to falter at his proximity or the way I can count the trail of light freckles dancing across the bridge of his perfectly aligned nose. How this near to him, I can see the laugh lines outlining his mouth, years of happiness etched on his face.

Henry pauses his verbal onslaught, eyes taking a moment to traverse over the expanse of my face like he’s studying a roadmap or difficult math problem.

He’s never looked at me like this before.

It’s intimate. Questioning. Alarming.

And… heart-stopping. My pulse quickens the longer his attention stays on me.

“You don’t mean that,” I whisper. I can smell him, traces of peppermint and pine, with a faint hint of spice clinging to his body. It’s a lethal combination that mystifies the hell out of me. I shouldn’t be inhaling deeper, the scent whirling through me, eager for more, more, more. Yet here I am, leaning a fraction of an inch closer to his sturdy stature, wondering if he would catch me if I fall.

These musings are new and unfounded. His charm never works on me, but for some unexplainable reason, it’s as if I’m under a spell, brought on by Henry’s hands.

“Maybe I do,” he continues. “Or maybe I’m going to relish in competing against you, head-to-head. It’s always been my favorite game.”

“I will go to war for this. I’m not going to yield. I’m not afraid.”

He grins, wide and bright, and I feel it deep within my soul.