“Asshole!”
By the time he returned to the room, I had ordered room service. I didn’t wait for Grant, still peeved at his teasing and, if I wasn’t mistaken, flirting. Plus, I had no idea how to handle this new development. Was he seriously interested, or simply joking around? And if he was into me, what did that mean for us when we would be fighting to the death in a few short days for a singular chance to return to life?
We were doomed from the start, friendship or otherwise. It was safer to cut our losses, wasn’t it? Growing attached would only hurt worse in the end, especially if, by some miracle, I survived long enough in the third task to face him.
When Grant strode confidently from the bathroom, his hair tamed and eyes bright, I still hadn’t come to a decision. So, I ignored him completely, scooping spoonfuls of light green oatmeal into my mouth. I focused on the TV to give my eyes something to do that wasn’t devouring his delectable self.
His pajama pants hung low on his hips, and when he stretched his arms above his head, his shirt rode up to reveal his dark happy trail. His joints popped, and he sighed, meeting my wide-eyed gaze. Winking, he investigated the breakfast options on the cart, and I tore my gaze away, chiding myself for staring as I dabbed at the spilled oatmeal splattering my pants.
“So, what do you wanna do today?” Grant asked as I finished my bowl of oatmeal.
I shrugged. “We only have two days left. We should train, shouldn’t we?”
Lips pursed, he nodded. “Yeah, I guess we should.”
After breakfast, we went our separate ways to change. Dressed in workout shorts and a loose T-shirt, I headed down to the training center. We went through our normal routine, stopping by the shooting range, then taking a long, brisk jog. I worked on the elliptical, then the bench press as Grant cycled until sweat darkened his shirt.
Once we finished our cool down, we took a break for lunch. I snuck back to my room for a short nap, but Grant dragged my lazy ass back to the training room an hour later. I practiced with a few of the weapons, the bow and arrows and crossbow being my strongest skill after the gun. Being the slave driver he was, Grant made us eat a light dinner before ordering me to the sparring mat.
Sparring was both a blessing and a curse. I learned a lot, strengthening my reflexes and building muscle I never knew I had. But Grant’s close proximity, the heat of his body, and, yes, even the scent of his sweat mixing with his deodorant destroyed me.
I wanted to tackle him to the floor and thrust my tongue into his mouth to discover exactly what he tasted like. But I couldn’t. He would probably beat the crap out of me, rules be damned.
“Lea, get your head in the game.” Grant cuffed the side of my head, effectively jerking me from my thoughts.
Dazed for a moment, I shook my head and focused on our exhausting dance. Grant feigned punches as I attempted to actually hit him. I never made contact. He was too fast for me.
He faked a punch to my gut before aiming a hit at my face. Having grown accustomed to some of his more predictable moves, I blocked, then jabbed my fist forward. For the first time, I actually connected. My knuckles cracked against his jaw, and though there wasn’t too much power behind the hit, Grant stumbled half a step. He regained his balance almost instantaneously, but the fact I had actually hit him flooded my veins with pride.
“I did it!” I threw my hands up with a joyous whoop. “In your face, Boston. How’s your jaw? Or better yet, your pride?”
Singing the Rocky theme song, I broke into a ridiculous victory dance, flailing around like a fish out of water. Grant straightened his spine, his head cocked, eyes wide. He judged me as I danced, his expression labeling me a lunatic, and I shimmied and wagged my butt as I laughed.
“Okay, you got a lucky hit. This isn’t a Superbowl win.”
I pantomimed spiking the football, grunting in the manliest voice I could muster. “Get some!”
With a sputter, Grant lost his composure, guffawing into his hand. “What the fuck is happenin’?”
“Victory dance, bitch!” I undulated obnoxiously. “Oh, yeah. Come on, Boston. You know you wanna get in on this action.”
“I don’t dance, especially like” —he waved his hand at me— “whatever the fuck that is.”
Pouting, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Oh my God. Don’t tell me you were the kind of guy to go to prom and sit at the table all night?” He didn’t answer as he began unwrapping his knuckles. “You were, weren’t you? You probably never danced with your date. For shame, Mr. Barone! How did she feel about that?”
With a mischievous grin, he eyed me over his shoulder. “Dunno. Guess you’ll have to ask him about it sometime.”
My jaw dropped, eyes round as saucers, and I gawked as Grant sauntered to one of the tables and snatched a water bottle. He guzzled it down, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every swallow, and I tracked a stray rivulet carving a path from his mouth to the collar of his sweat-soaked tank top.
“Hold the phone. Him? You took a dude to prom?”
When he emptied the bottle, he tossed it in the trash and faced me. “Maybe.”
“Wait, like, for real? Or are you just fucking with me?” It seemed like something he would use to tease me, yet the hope exploding in my chest begged for him to confirm the truth.
“I’m always fuckin’ with you,” he joked, and I pursed my lips in annoyance.
“Did you or did you not take a boy as your date to prom?”
His lips tipped in a sly grin. “Which prom?” He chuckled at my impatient snarl. “Sophomore year, Tricia Kramer—a junior—took me as her date, and I totally got to second base.”
“I just threw up in my mouth,” I said as he swaggered toward me, a devious grin on his stupidly handsome face.
“And junior year, I went with my girlfriend, Brie. Got farther than second base.” He winked, and I stuck my fingers in my ears.
“La, la, la! I can’t hear you.”
As he came to a stop, uncomfortably close to me, I tracked a drop of sweat rolling over his temple, disappearing into his hair. My hands dropped to my sides as the air between us charge with static.
“And senior year, I went with Cameron.”
With a glare, I grunted. “That’s not fair! Cameron is a gender-neutral name.”
Triumphant, he forced innocence. “Oh, is it? Fancy that.”
And with that, he waltzed away, whistling a jaunty tune. Asshole!
“Come on, Lea. Let’s go for a swim.”
He didn’t wait for a reply, instead reaching over his head and dragging his sticky tank top up, up, up. Flinging the thing to the floor with a plop, he cracked his neck and raked a hand through his onyx locks. His olive skin stretched over the hard muscles of his back, and I swallowed thickly as my blood rushed south. Death bless those basketball shorts, dropping low on his hips, revealing the black band of his boxers. Hot damn.
“S-Swimming?” I stuttered like an idiot.
Casting a challenging smirk over his shoulder, he danced his gaze over my sweaty self, his eyes latching on the obvious hard-on in my work out shorts. “Yeah, you look like you could use a cool down.”
Okay, seriously? That was definitely flirting!
“Are you offering to help with that?” I threw out the suggestive question, laying the insinuation on thick.
Shirtless, slick, and hotter than sin, Grant rested his hands on his hips and met my gaze with his dark eyes burning with intensity. He smiled, briefly erasing the mocking flavor to his expression, and for a moment, his boyish charm shone through, inviting, tempting.
“How about you come with me and find out?”
Chapter 14
Marco Polo
I followed Grant out of the training room, and we rode the elevator to the ground floor as the small box filled with expectant silence. Like literal static sparking between us, the hairs on my arms stood on end in anticipation as he used his sweat-splotched shirt to mop up the musty moisture dotting his brow. When the lift finally arri
ved with a ding, I sighed in relief as I bolted from its close confines.
“Where to?”
It was a stupid question, really. I knew where the pool was, but the knowledge evaporated the moment my eyes latched on his firm pecs. Thankfully, he didn’t tease me. He simply nodded toward the doors, and I trailed his every step as we exited the building and traversed the vast grounds. The pool was dimly lit, a shady beacon in the distance, and I squinted through the twilight, tripping over rocks and loose gravel.
“Walk much?” Grant knocked my shoulder, nearly sending me tumbling when my foot caught on a jagged stone. “Oops, sorry.”
“Fuck off.” I shook off his steadying grip on my elbow.
Chuckling, he released me and picked up his pace. “Come on, green. Last one there has to moon the audience during the third task.”
With an embarrassing snort, I burst into laughter as Grant waggled his dark eyebrows. “Pretty sure there’s cameras on us most of the time. They’ve probably seen both our asses by now.”
“Yeah, but they’ll be wantin’ seconds.” He waved his hands over his body like a prize on The Price Is Right. “I mean, I’m a pretty damn fine specimen.”
“Don’t forget humble, you jackass.” I shoved his chest, upsetting his balance, and he sprawled on his ass as I sprinted toward the pool. “Guess it’s your ass the audience will be seeing!”
My shirt caught on my nose as I raced to the edge of the pool, and I stumbled around blind for several seconds before I ripped the sweaty material from my head just in time to watch Grant leap into the pool buck-ass naked. His gym shorts and boxers lay at the edge. Bats swarmed to life in my gut as the pool lights highlighted Grant’s bare body under the water.
Shit, I was two seconds away from sporting wood, and he would be surfacing any moment. Without thinking, I yanked off my shorts, leaving my boxer-briefs on, and jumped into the pool. The frigid water enveloped my head, and I shrieked in shock. Goose bumps exploded over my skin as I broke the surface, sputtering.
“What the fuckery? It’s freezing!”
Grant’s laughter lifted to the night sky as he lounged against the side of the pool, and I doggy-paddled to the opposite side, gripping the edge of the cement for dear life. At least I didn’t have to worry about an erection, now. My balls shot into my body as my cock shriveled. I gritted my teeth to stop their chattering.
“Did you know it would be this cold?” I glowered at his chuckle.
“Of course, I didn’t.” His smug grin belied his words, and I flipped him the bird. “But I guessed it might be.”
“Asshole.”
Laughing, he shrugged, then closed his eyes. “Marco.”
Water dripped from my curls and down my face as I lowered further into the pool, creeping along the wall away from Grant. “Polo,” I whispered.
His head angled in my direction, that boyish grin lighting his face. “I can’t hear you. Marco.”
Instead of answering, I giggled and took a breath, sinking beneath the surface and darting toward the opposite end of the rectangle. As I surfaced, I released my air slowly, quietly, so as not to alert my stalker. Megan and I used to play this game growing up, but she always cheated and peeked.
“I should have known you’d cheat.” Grant spun in a circle with his eyes still closed and dark hair plastered to his forehead. “Marco.”
“Polo.”
He lunged toward me, too far away to touch as I squealed and ducked under the water again. We dodged each other for a good ten minutes, my days swimming in the creek behind our field finally paying off. He almost caught me a few times, but I managed to evade him.
At long last, he caught on to my strategy, and instead of grabbing for me above water, he dove with me as I tried to swim away. His hand snagged my ankle, and bubbles erupted from my mouth in a garbled scream as he dragged me back. Spluttering and laughing, I broke the surface as a strong arm circled my waist.
“Gotcha.”
“About time.” I shimmied out of his hold, nerves returning at his proximity. He was way too naked to be that close to me. “You kinda suck at this game.”
With an arched eyebrow, Grant glided through the water toward me, his dark eyes intense. My stomach trembled as my blood buzzed, and I backed up instinctively. No straight guy should ever look as good as he did in this moment. It simply wasn’t fair.
Unbidden, my eyes dropped from his, following the slope of his broad nose to his strong jaw peppered in a day’s worth of black scruff. A stray droplet dripped from his black locks onto his neck and wiggled its way down the column of his throat, over his chest, and between his toned pecs. His sparse chest hair stuck to his olive skin, fine and coarse-looking, and it momentarily distracted me as he came to a stop a foot away.
“Do you shave your chest?” The question was out before I could stop it, and his eyes widened. I backtracked as my spine met the side of the pool, mortified at my lack of filter. “Uh, I mean, I wasn’t looking at your chest. Stop talking about your chest hair, weirdo.”
His lips tipped in the corners as he took another step toward me, the water lapping at his ribcage. “I might have shaved my chest a few times. What’s it to you?”
My face broiled as I forced my gaze anywhere but his abs. “Nothing, I mean, I don’t care. Though you were obviously whipped to shave for some girl with a wrestler-complex.”
As his hands landed on the edge of the cement on either side of my shoulders, my breath caught, and he craned his neck to remain at my eye level. “I was a wrestler, remember?” he said with a flirty wink. “For the record, lots of wrestlers shave their bodies. It makes it harder for your opponents to grab hold of you. And actually, it was a boyfriend who preferred me shaven.” Eyes the size of dinner plates met his playful stare. “You know, Cameron, the guy I took to prom?”
Irrational anger ignited in my blood, and I scowled. “Stop fucking with me.”
His teasing grin softened. “I’m not fuckin’ with you, Lea.” When my frown deepened, he dropped the smirk entirely. His cheeks darkened. Was he blushing? “He was the first guy I ever dated. Good guy, but we went off to two different colleges. We didn’t last long after that.”
“You dated a guy?” I scoffed in disbelief, and he nodded. “You’re gay?”
Another shrug. “Not exactly, but I’m also not straight either. I had a couple boyfriends, but it didn’t work out. Had some girlfriends… Guess it never stuck.”
For some reason, betrayal speared through my chest, and I fisted my hands in preparation to deck him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
It was his turn to be confused. “I didn’t think it mattered. I mean, I entered into a competition to the death, and sharin’ my sexual preferences while we sing kumbaya around the campfire wasn’t in the cards. Like I told you before, I didn’t come here to make friends.”
“You should’ve told me,” I grumbled like a kid, crossing my arms as a barrier between us as my gaze lowered. Immediately, I jerked my head up with a growl as I did my best to forget the warped image of his cock nestled in a patch of dark pubic hair beneath the water. “You’re naked!”
His shit-eating grin returned. “Yeah. Does that bother you?”
Crowding me, his chest brushed my forearms, and I inhaled sharply, my voice shaky, weak. “N-No.”
As he leaned in, my eyes shuttered closed, and the tip of his nose skimmed my cheek until his hot breath fanned over my ear. “You’re a shitty liar, green.” Icy water clashed with the overwhelming heat of his body, and I swore I melted into a puddle of Lea-pudding. “By the way, you’re it.”
A wave splashed over my face, dousing the arousal swelling in my underwear, and I gaped in fury as Grant fled with a chortle. He kicked more water in my face with his departure, and my heart, which had been galloping with desire and hope, pounded rage through my veins. I didn’t think it was humorous; playing with someone’s emotions wasn’t funny or sexy.
Gritting my teeth, I swiped the excess water from eyes and ignored
his gleeful smirk as I spun and lifted myself out of the pool. “You’re a fucking prick, you know that?”
“Lea?”
Did he really feel the need to fabricate that shit as a joke? Or was he cruel enough to get a kick out of teasing the gay kid? It wasn’t like it was the first time a straight jock feigned interest just to mock me. It was why I didn’t date much in high school until Andrew came along. Showing up to a fake date where the entire baseball team waited to laugh at me had taught me to be cautious, to not trust easily. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
“Lea, wait!”
Water sloshed behind me as I yanked on my sweaty shirt, straightened my workout shorts, and broke into a jog toward the building. Grant was a faster runner, but he had to get somewhat dressed. I utilized my head start and dashed across the grounds, ignoring Grant’s snarled orders to stop.
Arriving at the elevators out of breath and with a stitch in my side, I staggered inside and smashed my fist into the button to close the doors. I pressed it repeatedly as Grant burst through the front doors, his shirt half over his head, and the doors finally eased shut.
“Lea, don’t you dar—” The doors shut on his furious scowl, and I collapsed against the wall and scrubbed my face.
Was this his plan all along? Was it all some ruse to psyche me out for the games? To get in my head so he could beat me? If so, it was a shitty plan, and he was an even shittier person.
Minutes later, I stormed into my room, my anger giving way to hurt the moment I crossed the threshold, and my knees threatened to buckle as a strangled sob scratched my throat. No! I would not cry, damn it. I wouldn’t.
My bedroom door flew open with a crash, and I was shocked the hinges didn’t shatter. Yelping, I raised my fists in defense as Grant barreled into the room. “What the fuck was that?”
“Get out of my room!” I squared my shoulders, readying to wrestle him out if I had to. I didn’t care if he was three times my weight in muscles. I’d go Donkey Kong on his ass. “I’m serious, Grant. Get the fuck out.”
The Death Games Page 15