Page 105 of The Ruthless Rivalry

He doesn’t touch the oars, doesn’t shout instructions, doesn’t tell me what to do. He just waits. It’s like this is a different game to him.

“Are you really not going to help? Take the oars? Give me instructions? Something?” I snap, my frustration growing by the second.

He shrugs, looking completely bored. “I’m tired,” he points out, his voice annoyingly calm. “You do it. I’ll instruct.”

Now he decides he’s tired? Now he decides he doesn’t care about taking control?

“So you’re not going to help beyond that?” I ask, the words escaping before I can stop them. I can feel my pulse quickening as the other boats speed away, leaving us behind.

“Nope.”

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, my anger rising. It’s infuriating. Everyone else is moving ahead, and here I am, stuck with him, helpless.

He casually rubs a nonexistent speck of lint off his pants, completely unfazed by my mounting frustration. “I’ve decided to try something new,” he says, and the smug bastard knows exactly how this is going to play out. He’s fully aware of how much I’m struggling, how badly I want him to take control, to make this easier for me. But he’s not going to.

And that only makes me angrier.

“Bishop.” I bite out, trying to keep my temper in check.

“Yes?” Bishop’s smirk widens. “You know how much I like it when you say my name, especially when there’s a hint of fear inyour voice. Careful, I might just take advantage, troublemaker.” He winks.

I gawk. This guy can’t be serious right now. I’m terrified, and all he can do is make remarks that somehow make me feel hotter than I should, considering our current predicament.

“I’d rather drown,” I grit out, not entirely sure I even believe myself at this point. But still…ugh! Why does he have to be like this?

“Go ahead then,” he says nonchalantly, splashing a bit of water in my direction.

I shoot him a glare, still not moving from our spot.

I glance off in the distance and spot the other students closing in on the second buoy, their boats cutting through the water with steady rhythm. Bishop leans back slightly behind me, just enough for his voice to curl around my ear, his eyes glinting with that maddeningly knowing look. “Well, I don’t mind you being stuck with me a little longer, but I’m starting to think you might want to actually do something—unless you’re enjoying the view.” I reluctantly grab the oars, trying to ignore the way my palms are already starting to sweat. The last thing I want is to fall into the water. While rowing. By myself.

My first stroke is awkward, and the boat jerks sideways, almost tipping over. I bite my lip, frustrated with myself. My hands feel cold against the wood, but I can’t stop now. I push again, the boat moving slowly through the water, and I feel like I’m getting nowhere.

Bishop doesn’t move to help, just watching me with that calm, smug look in his eyes. His lack of reaction makes me angrier. The way he’s just sitting there, letting me struggle, enjoying this in a way I can’t quite put my finger on.

“Will you at least make yourself somewhat helpful and attempt to guide me?” I snap, glaring over my shoulder at him. “Not just sit there like an idiot.”

“Would an idiot do this?” Bishop asks, sitting up and purposefully rocking the boat enough to make my hands stutter on the oars and momentarily lose my rhythm—if you could even call it that. “I mean, an idiot would probably have tipped the boat by now, but here we are, still floating. Funny how that works.”

The fact that he’s right only makes me even more pissed. I shove the oars into the water again, this time with a little more force, but the action is jerkier than before as the other students race back around the isolated bend where the third buoy is located. The boat shifts again, the waves a bit rougher this far out, and it catches me off guard enough to send a wave of water slapping over one side of the boat.

He laughs, his tone light. “You know, you might want to try a little harder, unless you’re really trying to sink us.”

The laugh hits me like a slap, and for a moment, I can’t even process his words. My lungs still as the boat tilts again, the water sloshing too close for comfort. I grip the oars even tighter, but my hands are starting to feel numb. My breath quickens.Focus, Alex. Just focus.

“Can you shut up for a second?” I snap, trying to mask the panic rising in my chest. It doesn’t work. My pulse is pounding in my ears. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore, and the cold water splashing against the sides of the boat makes it worse.

Bishop’s smile fades, and I see something shift in his eyes. He doesn’t respond immediately. For a moment, all I hear is the sound of the water lapping against the boat. We’re already so close, his knees practically bracketing mine, but then he shifts forward, his front pressing lightly against my back—deliberate, unhurried. Then, in a tone that’s different, softer, he says, “Come here.”

What? He wants me to go where exactly? We’re stuck out here and I…I…

What does that even mean—come here? I’m already practically in his lap. There’s nowhere else to go, but the way he says it makes my pulse trip anyway.

I hesitate, my eyes darting between him and the open water. Then he shifts again, his hands finding my hips—gentle, firm—as if guiding me the final inch into place. “Your fine,” he murmurs, his voice low. “I’ve got you.”

I blink, my stomach flipping. I don’t know what’s worse—the idea of sitting this close to him or the idea of staying where I am, struggling to row and feeling the boat teeter dangerously with every wave. But... I don’t know what else to do.

I glance over my shoulder. The other teams are gone, their boats distant dots on the water. We’re alone now—isolated. The panic rises in my chest again, tighter this time.

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