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“Okay, got it,” Hagan says with enough confidence that I believe he will do it.

We continue until the sun climbs higher, falling over its axis and producing long stunt shadows. When I dismount from the extension, high over John’s head, he catches me by the waist, but my skin burns at his touch.

“I need to grab a shirt; it’s beginning to hurt.”

He peels his shirt off and once again slips his Property of Dallas Rattlers white t-shirt over my head. I knot the shirt at my hip, so it doesn’t get in the way.

“Are you ready for the Stunt Battle?”

Adalee interlaces her fingers and cracks her knuckles and neck like she’s in an actual competition. I bet she misses the thrill of competition as much as I do. When you’ve done something all your life and one day it’s just over, it takes a toll on you. It’s a hard void to fill.

“Come on, everybody. We need you.”

The rest of the crew gathers around us while I explain the Stunt Battle. The girls will be the judges, and the guys will stand a few feet away in case one of us falls.

A surge of exhilaration tingles my senses as I straighten, ready for the Beachfront Stunt Battle.

Hagan and Adalee go first and hit the extension, but Hagan wobbles just a bit, attempting to stay under her and not behind her.

John whispers in my ear, “What do I get if we win?”

She gets down safely, and Adalee, who is usually soft-spoken, says, “Losers get dunked!”

“Deal.”

We go back and forth with me and Adalee getting braver, pulling harder stunts like liberties and heel stretches. Adalee is as flexible as she was when she was a gymnast; these are nothing new to her except the part about doing it on a guy’s hands.

With all eyes on us, I squint up at John, his eyebrows raised, sizing me up like a science experiment. “Don’t drop me, okay? I’m going to try to win this battle right now. You’re going to only catch my left foot.” My voice is tainted by nerves. It takes months for cheerleaders to learn these stunts of working with their partners, but John and Hagan are picking it up like it’s easy.

Believe me. It. Is. Not.

Corbin shouts his support, “You got this Becca.”

John smirks, spinning me so my back is against his front and adjusts his grip on my waist. “No promises, boss. You’re bigger than the tiny girls on television.”

“Please, you bench press four times what I weigh. And for your information, I was one of those tiny girls.”

“Just making sure you have some spirit left for the winning stunt.”

I elbow him lightly in the abs. “You better catch me, or I’m telling everyone how you…”

“How I what?”

“How you cry during your favorite movie,Love Actually. Consider it insurance.” I wink, grabbing his hands. “Same as before, jumping on three.”

John grins, his confidence never wavers, and I admit there’s something sexy about a man who believes he can do anything. “Trust me.”

I do. But should I?

“Famous last words,” I mumble. “One. Two.” And on the count of three, I’m suddenly weightless, rocketing into the sky and pulling my right leg to my ear, holding it with my left hand, and my right arms pointing straight out. John holds my bare foot like he has been stunting his whole life.

“You did it!” Everyone cheers.

With his head tilted back, looking up my leg, hopefully past my privates, he says, “I didn’t drop you.”

“You still have to get me down. On the count of three, pop me off.”

For a moment, I fly a little higher before I float back to the sandy beach while wearing John’s shirt.