The Trade(34)

“Are you claiming to be a cheater right off the bat, Potter?”

“Never a cheater, even if I’m a Rebel now.”

I laugh again, loving that he can make fun of his . . . misfortune. Too bad Jason has the same misfortune. “With you and Jason, you might be able to turn that image around.”

“One can only hope. Now let’s play.”





“Double war,” we both shout at the same time, laughing and laying down one more set of three cards. I’m down to my last card. He’s crushed me the entire game and I’ve held on by a thread. I know the cards I have in my pile aren’t large, but I’m counting on the one ten I have to pop up right now, not the three twos I’ve somehow kept throughout this game.

“Are you nervous?” he asks, waving his card around. “Scared? Shaking in your polka-dot pajamas?”

After I housed my dinner, I changed into my pajamas, which aren’t the least bit sexy. They’re a matching pink and white polka-dot short and shirt combo. If I knew I’d be sharing a hotel room with Cory Potter, I would have brought some indecent negligee and acted like it’s what I always wear. But alas, here we are, no makeup, hair air-dried, and my polka-dot pajamas setting the mood.

But even in my dismay of looking like a na?ve eighteen-year-old rather than a competent and put-together twenty-six-year-old, it doesn’t stop my body from heating up when he smirks at me, or my thighs clenching when he laughs, or my heart tripping when our hands accidentally touch while collecting cards.

I’m hopeless, and I really pray the attraction I’m feeling is not showing, because I’m sure he gets this all the time. Girls swooning at his feet just because he’s a nice guy; girls thinking he’s interested when in fact he was taught how to respect others and treat them with kindness.

Steeling my shoulders, I say, “You’re going to be embarrassed when I flip my last card over and you realize, I just bounced back into this game with a ten.”

“Is that the card you think you have?” I nod and he laughs. “Nah, you have a two right there.”

“This is not a two. It’s a ten, and boy, oh boy, are you going to be sad when you flip your cards over and see I took all of your aces.”

“All of them? That’s a bold statement.”

“Your shuffling is crap.”

His eyes light up as he casually leans back against the screened-in balcony. “My shuffling has gotten me pretty far already. Maybe you should have been taking notes.”

“No need.” I shake my head, trying to be as confident as possible. “Not when I’ve been tricking you this entire time, making you think you’re going to annihilate me when in fact, this is the pivotal moment that you will forever remember in war history. The moment I take the game back with a”—I throw my card down without looking at it—“ten.”

We keep eye contact, neither of us chancing a glance to see what card I threw down. I hold back my smile. I remain stoic and proud that this really is the turning point, that this is when I take back the entire game.

“You’re that confident?”

“Yup.”

“Fine, if that’s a ten, then I’ll stay on the couch for the rest of the vacation, but if that’s anything other than a ten, we rotate between couch and bed.”

“That seems like a fair deal.”

And in a moment of silence, both our mouths curve up as we stare at each other, and I realize I’m completely fucked. This is the first night, we have six more of these, six more nights with this handsome man sharing the same air in this generously sized hotel room. Six more nights of getting ready for bed side by side. Six more nights of possible conversation, possible games of war on the screened-in balcony, of swapping beds, catching his scent on the pillow. I’m supposed to be living it up, finding someone on the island who might want to have a fling, but instead, here I am in my polka-dot pajamas unable to take my eyes off the man in front of me, the man I have zero chance with.

Shaking the thoughts out of my head, I clear my throat and say, “On three, we’ll look.”

He nods.

“One, two, three . . .”

We both glance at the two of hearts staring back at us.

Crap.

I groan, while he roars with laughter and claps his hands, louder than expected. Joy crosses his lips as they stretch beautifully, scrunching up his cheeks and emphasizing the small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

Everything about this brings happiness to my heart.

His unfiltered laughter.

His addicting grin.

The playful nudge of his foot against mine.

And how even though I lost, I genuinely feel like I won.





Chapter Nine





CORY





SPOTTED: Potter Playing with the Enemy

Conspiracies have been running rampant since Potter became a Rebel.

He was paid to suck.

Traded by his beloved Storm because of a sex addiction.

Secretly had pec enhancement surgery.

We’re not saying these conspiracies are true, probably very unlikely, but the one conspiracy we see becoming clearer every day: Potter wishes he was a Bobbie.

That much is evident from these recent pictures. Spotted at the airport, about to go on vacation with Bobbies starting shortstop and second baseman, Knox Gentry and Carson Stone. Where the boys are headed, we’re unsure, but they look awfully comfortable together, which makes you wonder . . . is Potter giving away all the Rebels secrets? Or is he secretly finding a way to take the L across the city to the Bobcats stadium? Fans are saying he would rather bleed blue and red.