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He eyes me warily, like he already knows he’ll regret whatever comes out of my mouth next.
“A challenge,” I announce, “since you’re obviously dying for a distraction.”
Brody holds the handle of the rake tight. “You want to compete again? After I let you win?”
“Yep,” I say, deadpan, noticing his usual pleasantries have disappeared. “I actually demand a rematch. Higher stakes. No pity wins. Understand?”
He chuckles low under his breath, and, damn it, the sound buries itself under my skin. “And what are these high stakes you’re proposing, Harp?”
I grin. “Best out of three. The loser has to do a dare. No backing out, no whining, and no rules.”
His jaw flexes like he’s considering it, weighing how badly he wants to avoid whatever conversation we’re not having.
I can see the exact moment he caves because he wants to win. He’s just as competitive as me.
“Fine,” he says. “Explain.”
“We’ll play three games, and whoever wins two out of three, well, wins one single dare.”
“Great. Prepare to lose,” he says.
I bounce on my toes, already acting as if I won. I step forward, digging my finger into his chest. “Prepare to be humiliated.”
Brody shoots me a look—one that’s hot and heavy as he grabs my wrist.
His thumb brushes across my racing pulse, and his brow quirks up as if he feels it.
“You’re dangerous,” he says under his breath, like he doesn’t want me to hear.
I freeze for just a second. It’s playful and honest. Brody releases me and is already turning away like it meant nothing, but I know better. I’m not dangerous because I could hurt him physically, but because I matter. Way more than either of us planned. I shake it off, jogging after him and throwing him my best smirk.
“Don’t worry. I promise to go easy on you this time.” I snort beside him, amused.
When I glance over at him, he’s already watching me with that unreadable look. Something that feels a little too much like trouble.
Brody leads me inside and grabs a worn deck of cards that looks like it’s been shuffled thousands of times, along with a checkers board and some dice. It’s like he’s assembling weapons for a game war.
I stretch my arms overhead, then pop my fingers, giving him a smug little grin as we sit on the rug in the living room. “You ready to get your big bodyguard ego bruised?”
He tosses me a smirk. “Sweetheart, my ego’s bulletproof. You’re about to be humbled.”
I fake a gasp, hand to my heart. “Such confidence. But more than expected from a Calloway.”
Brody’s mouth twitches up into a smirk. “Keep it up, Harp. Trash talk is all you’ll have left when I’m done with you.”
The air between us crackles—not the kind that usually comes before a fight, but the hot, simmering kind that’s loaded with more. I ignore it—or at least I try to as I square my shoulders.
“All right, what’s first? Card throwing? Checker stacking? Arm wrestling?”
Brody chuckles under his breath. “I’d break you in half if we arm-wrestled. Even your stubbornness has physical limits.”
I flip him off with a cheerful smile, which earns me a slow, amused shake of his head.
We settle on a series of ridiculous challenges—a drawn-out game of checkers, which he won, followed by a competitive round of Go Fish. Right now, it feels more intense than any high-stakes poker game I’ve ever seen.
“Hopefully Lady Luck is on my side,” I tease.
Brody rolls his eyes dramatically, but I catch the flicker of amusement dancing behind his eyes.