Page 22 of False Start, Real Passion

“Depends,” he says, helping me in. “Ever been in sync with another person before?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” I lie, refusing to let him see how unprepared I feel.

The lake glistens as we push off, and I pretend the choppy water is nothing but another chance to prove myself. Our paddles hit the surface at different times, the canoe zig-zagging across the lake while other teams find their rhythm.

Jaxon slows, lets me catch up. His arms flex with every stroke, his movements fluid and sure. “Having trouble back there?” he asks, just to make sure I know he’s showing off.

I grit my teeth. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

“I can help,” he says. “But you’ll have to trust me.”

More trust. Less composure. I’m screwed. “Just paddle,” I mutter, but my determination not to sink keeps me pushing through.

The competition is fierce, but my stubborn streak is fiercer. We hit our stride halfway to the far shore, and Jaxon’s satisfaction rolls off him like the light breeze that just messed up my hair.

He turns to say something and I’m ready, but it’s not words that hit me. It’s a cold splash of water, right to the face.

“You did not just—” I gasp, the initial shock turning into something hotter, brighter.

“Yes, I did,” he says, eyes glinting like the sun off the water.

Two can play at this game. And I’m a quick learner.

I splash back, and his surprise sends a thrill through me, electric and wild. “Didn’t know you had it in you,” he says, his laugh just the right side of genuine.

Before I know it, we’re in a full-blown war. Water flies as our paddles take turns assaulting each other instead of the lake. He soaks me. I retaliate. I’m so focused on keeping up with his hits and keeping him from seeing how much I like it that I don’t notice the canoe tipping until it’s too late.

We go over, laughter and limbs and adrenaline. The lake is shockingly cold. Jaxon surfaces first, water streaming from his hair, making him look impossibly—well, Jaxon.

I sputter, pulling my drenched ponytail from my eyes. “You planned this,” I accuse, but there’s no real edge to it. My heart’s too busy racing, my brain too busy storing the memory of his smile.

“You caught me,” he admits, half-triumph, half-relief. Like he didn’t know he was going to get a reaction out of me until just now.

I kick toward the dock, too breathless to say more. Too confused, too exhilarated, too aware that he’s close and only getting closer. We climb out of the water, soaked to the bone, shivering and laughing like we’re alone on this damn retreat.

It’s a long walk to where towels are piled near the canoes, and a longer walk back to wherever my dignity is. When we’re halfway there, he tugs my arm, pulls me down to the rough planks of the dock.

“No more running off,” he says, but he doesn’t mean it like he thinks I do.

The next second, I’m flat on my back, and he’s over me, dripping, wrestling for control in a way that’s playful and not at all. He pins my hands to the dock. I could break free if I wanted. I don’t.

There’s no way to hide the spark between us now, the heat despite the cold. “This wasn’t part of the plan,” I say, but it comes out weak. He can tell.

His face is intense, unreadable. I could drown in it, drown in him, and for one heartbeat-stopping moment, I almost let myself.

“Better than your plan Tori,” he murmurs.

My heart thunders in my ears. This is dangerous territory. The lines are blurring, the game feeling all too real. I swallow hard, scrambling for a witty retort, a way to diffuse the tension.

But I’m saved by a shout from the shore. “You two okay?”

Jaxon rolls off me, sitting up. He pastes on a grin, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’re good! Just a little swim.”

I sit up too, hastily finger-combing my drenched hair. Crisis averted.

“Round two later?” he asks, like we’re still playing a game.

I don’t have an answer, but he doesn’t need one. Not this time.

---