Page 110 of Tourist Trap

His jaw goes tight. "You were flirting with me when I needed lifeguards, and you came to my bar that first night, flirted with me, and then left withhim. Then I get you on a date, and he carts you off again. I cannot stand for that kind of disrespect."

I shake my head in disbelief. "So you're doing this because ofme?" I ask, understanding sinking in.

"Claire—" Miles starts, but I shake my head.

"No, you're doing this because I'm dating him, too? You needed to best him by throwing your money around? You two are unbelievable," I say it with a laugh. "You couldn't beat Miles at anything, you loser. That's why you're doing this. Because you're so butt hurt that you suck at everything."

Brad puffs out his chest as if that will prove something.

"I disagree."

"With what? That you're a loser?" I ask, and Miles snorts out a laugh behind me.

"No, that he is better than me at everything. Clearly, I got the property, and now we get to battle about who is better at acquiring and keeping real estate."

"So you agree that you're a loser?" I ask. "That's good to?—"

Miles pinches my side, and when I look at him, he's smiling wide.

"You really think you're better than me?" Miles asks, a smile pulling at his lips. He might also be insane because why does he look so…happy?

"Well, of course," Brad says.

"Prove it."

“What?"

"Prove it, Brad. You said money is nothing to you, right?"

Brad's chest puffs out somehow further, and I roll my eyes so hard it makes my head hurt.

"Yeah. That's why you're screwed. I can spend years in court fighting for you to sell to me now that I own a chunk of that property."

Years that Miles could never afford.

"So prove it. You're a big man; beat me."

"I'm not fighting you, Miles," Brad says unsurprisingly.

"Because you'd lose," I say under my breath, and again, Miles's fingers tighten on my side.

"Claire," he says low.

"What? He would."

Miles stifles another laugh before speaking again. "Not a fight. A competition."

"A competition?"

"Your beach olympics? You make a team. I'll make a team."

"And what? We compete for your house?"

"Miles," I say, my voice a whisper as I understand where he's going with this.

"I've got this,” he says just as low, looking down at me.

"You win at the beach games, and we settle the ownership the next week, no questions asked. I win; the place is mine, free and clear."

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