Page 113 of The Ruthless Rivalry

But just as I lean in—just as my eyes flutter shut and I brace for whatever nonsense this is going to turn into—his hand shifts toward the door handle.

Before I can react, he yanks the door open, a sharp, cold rush of air sweeping in as the Ferris wheel lurches to a stop. Bishop steps out smoothly and flashes me a cocky grin over his shoulder. “I knew you wanted me,” he says, his voice dripping with playful arrogance.

And with that, he walks off, leaving me sitting there, mouth slightly open, completely thrown off balance.

I feel my pulse spike with sudden irritation. Without even thinking, I jump to my feet and charge after him, pushing past the stunned worker.

But as I rush toward the exit, something catches my attention. The unmistakable sound of Aubrey’s voice rings out, amplified through the speakers. She’s up on stage now, getting ready for the next round of volunteers for the improv show.

Without thinking, I call out, “Bishop!” It’s a sharp, instinctive shout, fueled by pure annoyance, but it’s loud enough that the entire crowd seems to freeze for a moment.

I blink in disbelief as I watch the entire audience go quiet, the sudden hush making the air feel heavier. My eyes flicker back to Bishop, who’s somewhat buried in the crowd. I watch as the muscles in his back flex—his posture tense and rigid, just for a second.

I smirk to myself, thinking I’ve won, but deep down, I should’ve known better. I should’ve realized that when it comes to my shadow, nothing ever goes as expected.

Aubrey’s voice rings out again, louder this time, calling his name to join her on stage. And just like that, I can feel the shift in the atmosphere. A cold wave of realization crashes over me too slow, as the tension in his back suddenly melts, replaced by a cocky confidence. There’s no sign of the hesitation or discomfort I noticed earlier, just that grin, the one that always makes me want to punch him.

Before I can even think to protest, he raises his hand, his voice cutting through the crowd like a blade. “I’ll join,” he says, and the smug self-assurance in his tone is like a punch to the gut.

I’m about to open my mouth and tell him off when he looks in my direction, and I swear, it’s like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. The look that tells me, once again, I’m out of my league.

“Actually,” he calls to the crowd, his grin spreading wider as he takes his victory lap, “I’ll be volunteering Prescott here as well.”

I feel my stomach drop.

He’s messing with me. Again.

His eyes flick back to me, and his voice, dripping with that same smugness, lands like a final blow: “What’s a comedian without his joke and an audience, right?”

The audacity.

He’s won. Again.

And I’m left being stuck as the punchline to his joke.

Chapter 24

Sutton

Tonight had surpassed my wildest dreams. Our joint booth was a smash hit with the students, the line snaking through the trees at one point as everyone eagerly awaited their turn. The amount of praise I’d received from classmates, professors, and even board members was more than I could have imagined. The carnival had been in full swing for hours now, and most of the targets had been hit. We’d given out a plethora of prizes.

Amid the crowd, my attention drifted to the stage where Bishop and Alex were currently up there doing improv. The theme of their skit was “frienemies,” so it was no surprise to see them go back-and-forth, tossing sharp-witted jabs at eachother, each one landing just a little too close to the bone. Their exchanges were laced with mockery, but something in the way they delivered them felt more real than the crowd likely realized.

The crowd erupted in laughter as Alex called Bishop a “trust fund baby who still thinks his allowance is a paycheck,” and Bishop shot back with, “at least I’m not still getting my wardrobe approved by my mom.”

The back-and-forth continued, each insult sharper than the last, but the audience was so caught up in the act that they didn’t seem to notice the underlying hostility.

Finally, the performance wrapped up, the crowd clapping loudly, and the two of them exited the stage in opposite directions—Alex with a tight-lipped smile and Bishop with his jaw set, his posture stiff.

I turned back to the booth, catching Cam’s eyes as he handed a student a prize. “That’s another one down. I think we had one of the most successful booths of the night,” he says, rotating his wrist in one direction while I do the opposite. I laugh, agreeing with him, and complete our childhood handshake by rotating my arm to meet his thumb.

Just as we finish, I hear footsteps approaching from behind, and Reith steps up to join us. “Hey, mind if I give it a shot?” he asks, glancing over the setup. But just as he gets in position, he stumbles over a loose cord, nearly tripping. Cam scowls.

“Watch where you’re going,” he says, his tone carrying an edge of irritation.

Reith, unbothered, shrugs it off with a grin. “Guess the cord just wanted some attention,” he says, then adds under his breath, but not low enough that Cam can’t hear, “Not as much attention as your friend’s new hair color, though.”

My lips curl into a small, amused grin. Cam’s face, however, shoots even further into a frown, his brows furrowing.

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