Page 105 of Pack Frenzy
His mouth twitches. Almost a smile. Almost an apology.
I shrug one shoulder.Yeah. I know.
Eli breaks it with a low whistle. “Boys, is this a contest or a pissing match?”
“Same thing,” I mutter.
Rowan actually smirks. “At least I can aim.”
I bark a laugh, a real one this time. “Touché, Doc.”
Rowan’s smirk softens into something almost genuine, and for a second, we’re just two guys who’ve known each other long enough to throw shit and take it.
He tips his chin at me—a brief acknowledgment of the truce we’re both holding onto. Yeah, we both want her. Yeah, it’s complicated as hell, but we’re not enemies.
Jess rolls her eyes and tees off. Ball shoots up a ramp, loops a fake cannon, and drops straight in.
She throws both arms up. “That’s right, gentlemen. Bow to your captain.”
Eli claps, and Rowan gives a stiff nod, mouth too tight. His hand twitches at his side like he wants to touch her shoulder and can’t decide if he’s allowed.
I see it. Hell, Ifeelit.
I want to punch something just to bleed the tension out of the air.
Instead, I grin. “Captain’s on a hot streak. Might need to handicap her next round.”
She smirks. “Keep talking, muscle. I’ll bury you at Hole Nine.”
“Promise?” slips out before I can stop it.
Her eyes spark. “Careful. I might.”
We move on. Eli narrates like a sports announcer, Rowan tracks every score like the fate of the world depends on it.
Jess keeps winning despite not making another hole in one again. I keep cheating just enough to irritate her. The sun bakes the damp turf, her scent cuts through the plastic air, and somewhere between the fake kraken and one of the pirate ships, I realize I’m smiling for real.
Rowan’s wound tight, quieter than usual. When Jess brushes his arm to hand him the pencil, he goes still, not breathing, then pulls away like the contact burned.
Her scent hits me at the same time—jasmine and citrus, sharp enough to trip my pulse. Instinct flares before I can choke it down, and I look away fast, pretending I didn’t just feel every cell in me react.
His fingers curl into a fist. Yeah. He’s gone for her, too. At least I’m honest about it.
He hasn’t touched her yet. Not really. That has to be eating him alive.
If it were me in his place—watching, waiting, holding the line—I’d lose my damn mind.
Hell, maybe I already am.
I hit my next shot too hard, sending the ball flying off course into the pirate lagoon. A toddler cheers. Jess laughs so hard she almost drops her putter.
“Retrieval mission?” she asks.
I watch the ball float toward the plastic alligator and shrug. “Lost cause. Happens.”
She shakes her head, still smiling. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah, but I make you smile.”
