Page 157 of Mine Again
I roll my eyes, but the warmth lingers. I’m still not sure how I feel about Luca tracking my every move.
It’s stalkerish. Obsessive. Wrong on so many levels.
And yet… I’ve never felt more seen. Or more wanted.
He grabs the second bow, his fingers inspecting the cams and cables before he tests the draw.
“I’ve been practicing too.” He pulls on an armguard and hands me one, turning toward the target. “Three rounds. Best groupings out of five arrows per round. Closest to center takes the point. First to two wins. Winner gets bragging rights.”
“That’s it?” I cock a brow. “Kind of a weak prize, don’t you think?”
He grins, the slow, confident kind that always meant trouble.
“Fine. If I win, you owe me one truth.”
I fight the smile tugging at my lips. I’ve got a pretty good idea of what he wants to ask. And I’m sure as hell not offering it up for free.
“You’re on. But I’ll be the one asking, because I’m the one winning.”
I nock my first arrow and draw the bowstring, the familiar tension grounding me. The storm inside me settles. The fluttering fades. All that’s left is calm focus.
I really needed this. And like always, Luca knew.
So easily, we fall back into something we used to be.
Something that still fits.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Isabella
The first round went to me by a pinkie finger’s width, but getting cocky would be a mistake.
Back in our teens, Luca always excelled in the final stretch, his unshakable calm outpacing the way I let adrenaline cloud my aim.
But I’m not that girl anymore. I’m sharper. And I want this win.
“Round two,” I announce, nocking my arrow, eyes locked on the target.
But I sense him.
Luca moves behind me. It’s slow and deliberate.
He wants me to notice.
It’s close enough that I sense the shift in the air when he exhales. Close enough that I know he isn’t looking at the target.
He’s watching me… to distract me.
That used to be one of his tactics. Round one was always fair. After that? All bets were off.
Which, if I’m being honest, is why I liked our competitions so much.
“Don’t miss,” he murmurs into my ear. “Your stance is almost perfect… if not for that one little quirk.”
I don’t take the bait. “Trying to mess with my head, Caruso?”
“Not at all,” he says, but I can hear the grin in his voice. “I like watching you shoot. You get this little crease between your brows when you concentrate. Very serious. Very sexy.”
