The Singles Table (Marriage Game #3)(6)

“I’ve survived as long as you in my pink dress,” she countered. “I plan to take the flag just for the thrill of running through the bush in a blaze of glory with the blue team hot on my heels.”

“It’s not about having fun.” He flipped to his front and inched forward, his heavy body crushing the leaves and sticks beneath him. “It’s about winning the game.”

“I didn’t realize they were mutually exclusive.”

“Now you do.”

Zara lifted her weapon and aimed it at the unmarked side of his ass. If anybody deserved a second shot it was him.

“I wouldn’t advise it,” he said without turning around. “Your ammo is better served taking out the enemy.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

He huffed out an irritated breath and moved forward another few inches. “Follow me. I have a plan.”

Amused by his overly serious nature, Zara mirrored his movements. When he moved his left hand two inches, she moved her left hand two inches. When he crawled, she crawled. When his ass—and it was a magnificent ass—wiggled, she wiggled, too. She was almost on top of him when she noticed he had turned his head to watch her.

“Are you mocking me?” His voice rose, incredulous.

“Mocking means ‘tease or laugh at in a scornful or contemptuous manner,’?” she retorted. “I haven’t said a word, but I am following you, just as you ordered.”

She had been so right about him. He was exactly the type of man she went to great pains to avoid. Arrogant, egotistical, sucking the joy out of life like a black hole.

He held up a hand and pointed forward. “Enemy ahead. Seventeen degrees northeast.”

She looked up and laughed when she saw her friend Kamal leaning against a tree, helmet off, his focus on his phone instead of the blue flag tied to a nearby bush. “Why didn’t you just say behind the big tree?”

“I like to be accurate.”

Of course. “If we’re being accurate, then he’s not an enemy. That’s Kamal Chandra. He’s the brother of one of my college friends. He’s a graphic designer and plays the ukulele, aka a huge disappointment to his desi family. He won’t shoot me, so if he’s the only one left guarding the flag, then it makes sense for me to get it.”

“How do you know he won’t shoot you?”

“Parvati said so. She thinks he has a crush on me.”

“Who’s Parvati?”

“My roommate. She was wearing the blue dress. You paired her up with one of your sweethearts.” On impulse, she pushed to stand. “I’m getting the flag. Cover me.”

Ignoring his bark of protest, she raced toward the blue flag, leaves falling off her dress as she pounded through the bushes. A paintball whizzed past her. Mystery Man swore. She heard the crack of a paintball gun. The rapid exchange of gunfire. Kamal jumped out from behind his tree, weapon at the ready.

Zara lifted her visor as she ran past him. “It’s me!”

“Damn.” Kamal lowered his gun. “Pretend I didn’t see you. The others will kill me if they knew I let you get away.”

“I’ll buy you a thank-you drink at the sangeet next Thursday.” She grabbed the flag from the bush and turned to assess the forest ahead. One drink at the big dance party that preceded Tarun and Maria’s wedding day was a small price to pay to stick it to Mystery Man.

“Two drinks and a dance,” Kamal called out when she took off through the forest.

“Done.” She heard more swearing, the crunching of leaves, heavy footsteps, and then Mystery Man appeared in front of her, cutting her off, his gun pointed at her middle.

Zara’s breath caught in her throat. “Are you covering me? Or are you going to snatch the flag away like a petulant schoolchild and go for the win? If so, I’ll warn you that I have martial arts training. I can have your sorry ass on the ground before you know what happened.”

“Give me the flag.” He held out his hand. “You’ll never make it. A straight run is suicide.”

“Or what? You’re going to shoot me? Your own teammate?” Her heart pounded even though the gun was only loaded with paint pellets, and at most she’d get a little sting. She wasn’t a competitive person, but today she wanted to take the flag home, not for her team, but just so Mystery Man didn’t get all the glory. His ego was big enough.

Taking a chance, she held out her arms. “Go ahead. Shoot me. Snatch the flag away. If it really is all about the win, you’ll do what it takes.”

For a long moment they just stared at each other. She could see her visor reflected in his and wondered what she would have read on his face at that moment. His weapon dropped an inch and then another, but before she could be sure he was giving her a pass, a gun cracked the silence and blue paint splattered across his shoulder.

“I got him,” Kamal yelled from deep in the forest. “Go, Zara. Don’t forget you owe me.”

Without hesitating, Zara took off, sprinting through the bush, the blue flag clutched in her hand. It was only when she reached home base to the cheers of her team that she realized her victory wasn’t as sweet without the snarl of the man she’d left behind.





? 3 ?



Jay pushed open the door to the sports bar where the post-paintball party was already in full swing. He’d stayed behind with one of the groomsmen to shoot a few rounds at the practice range, but even that hadn’t been enough to release his pent-up frustration. He’d had to put up with Zara’s high-spirited energy for the entire afternoon. She had broken formation, sneaked across enemy lines, taunted the blue team with catcalls and dances, and reduced their team to laughing tears with her antics. He couldn’t understand why she couldn’t take the game seriously. After all, what was the point of playing if you weren’t trying to win?