Page 79 of The One Night Dash
Caleb, puffing, says, “You’re in our house, Sterling!”
“Then thanks for letting me redecorate … with my footprints all over your finish line.”
“Cocky?” Ethan says, actually laughing.
“It’s confidence, and you can only see the difference when you can back it up.”
Caleb comes back with, “Keep running your mouth, man. Eventually, you’ll run out of steam.”
“I play hockey, not football. Game average is four to six miles, compared to football’s one to one and a half, tops.” He grins. “And we don’t get boo-boo breaks when we fall down.”
He’s not wrong.
“We could tackle you,” they both say at the same time.
“Yeah, but you’d have to catch me first.”
Caleb growls, “You keep running your mouth, and I swear?—”
“You’ll what?” Dash cuts in, smirking. “Flag me? Blow a whistle? Call a timeout?”
Ethan snorts so hard he almost stumbles.
Caleb narrows his eyes. “You think you’re funny?”
“I don’t think,” Dash says, sliding between them and me. “Iknow.”
He spreads his arms wide like he’s on the penalty kill, body blocking both brothers. “And right now, my job’s making sure your sister gets the W.”
“What the hell?” Caleb tries to dart around him, but Dash shifts, cutting him off without even breaking stride.
“Pick and roll,” Ethan mutters, but he’s grinning, and I swear Dash is loving every second of it.
“Run, Pembrooke,” he calls over his shoulder, grinning at me. “Run!”
And I do. Legs burning, tutu bouncing, cornucopia hat sliding down over one eye, but I surge past them while Dash plays wall, laughing like a maniac.
“Unfair!” Caleb shouts.
“Unsportsmanlike!” Ethan adds.
“Strategic,” Dash fires back. Then, because he can’t help himself, he jogs backward again, keeping his body between them and me. “Thanks for the assist, boys. Your sister’s about to hit the finish line first.”
And just like that, I do. I stumble across the chalk line, half-laughing, half-gasping for air, the cheers of strangers at the finish line, and the sight of my brothers laughing through their fake annoyance.
Dash jogs up a second later, still fresh, still cocky, and throws an arm around my shoulders. “Told you, Pembrooke, we’re a team.”
“You’re almost intolerable,” I gasp, but I’m grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.
“Yeah,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to the top of my ridiculous cornucopia hat. “But now my favorite turkey trotter has bragging rights.”
“Turkey trotter?” I ask, still smiling.
“I’d rather call you my girlfriend. What do you say? That way, we both win today.”
I shake my head then nod, smiling. “Fine, yeah, okay.”
“Okay?” He grins.
