Page 51 of Eight Count Heat
"Call me 'lady fair' again and I'll make you do extra burpees at next practice," Reese says, sliding into the booth next to Tyler.
"Promises, promises," Beckett grins.
I take the last open spot next to Cameron, noting how his body tenses slightly when Reese sits directly across from him. His eyes track her movements with subtle attention that most would miss.
Very interesting.
"We ordered for you," Gray tells me. "Usual."
"And Callahan?" I ask.
"I can order for myself," she says, reaching for a menu.
"Already done," Gray says. "Egg white omelet, whole wheat toast, side of fruit. Black coffee."
She raises an eyebrow. "Assuming a lot there, Lockwood."
"Nutritionally optimal," he says. "And if memory serves, exactly what you ordered last time."
"Maybe I wanted something different today."
"Did you?"
Her lips press together, clearly annoyed at being so easily read. "No."
I hide a smile behind my water glass. For all their friction, Gray and Reese are more alike than either would admit. Both control freaks. Both perfectionists. Both using those traits to hide whatever's underneath.
"We need to discuss the Riverside Invitational," Gray says, pulling out his tablet. "It's in five days, and we need to finalize travel arrangements."
"Five days?" Reese's voice has an edge I can't quite place. Something close to alarm.
"Problem?" Gray asks.
"No." She composes herself quickly. "Just making sure I have the schedule right."
Gray swipes through screens on his tablet. "We'll load the equipment Thursday after practice, drive up Friday evening, and check into the hotel. Races start early Saturday morning, finals are Saturday afternoon if we qualify, which we will."
"Confident," Beckett comments.
"Realistic," Gray corrects. "Our times have improved significantly over the past week." He doesn't look at Reese when he says this, but the implication is clear.
"Hotel arrangements?" Eli asks.
"The coaches have their suites and we have four double rooms and a single for Reese," Gray says. "I'll email the room assignments later today."
Conversation shifts to race strategy, boat positioning, the competition we'll face. I contribute where needed, but most of my attention is on the undercurrents. The way Jackson tenses whenever Eli speaks. How Reese keeps glancing at her watch, fingers drumming a nervous pattern on the table edge. The slight flush that colors her cheeks when Cameron's gaze meets hers across the table. The tiny smirk on his lips when she quickly looks away.
Our food arrives, temporarily halting conversation. I dig into my pancakes, watching as Gray passes Reese the coffee pot without being asked. She seems surprised by the gesture but accepts it with a nod.
"Did you hear about Westlake?" Beckett asks, drizzling syrup over his waffles. "Their stroke got suspended for doping. Right before regionals."
I notice how Reese's hand tightens around her fork.
"Their loss," Gray says dismissively. "They were our biggest competition."
"Still are," Tyler corrects. "I ran some numbers on their replacement stroke. He's only going to slow them down by maybe three percent. They're still going to be tough to beat."
"Who's their coxswain now?" Zane asks. "They replaced Marshall, right?"
