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“By the girl who flew across the country to see me? No. No glaring red flags there. Now, having a tendency to drop your mobile in the toilet, on the other hand…”

Kameryn managed a laugh. “Just so we’re clear, I’ve never actually done that before.”

“Flown across the country on a whim, or dropped your mobile in the toilet?”

“Flown across the country on a whim. I mean, actually, neither. The yearbook superlative was an inside joke. I just—I can be, um, clumsy when I’m nervous.”

As if to accentuate this admission, she reached for her drink, catching the lip of the glass with her pinky finger, almost tipping it over.

“Jesus,” she righted the cocktail. “I swear—”

“Sinclair?” A shadow crossed their table. “I thought that was you.”

The annoyingly familiar voice cut a nasal path through the din of the surrounding tables. Dillon looked up to find Isaac Fortin, the husband of one of her long-time competitors—a Canadian woman named Claudia—staring down at her, his hands settled on his slender hips, smile smug as ever.

Dillon tolerated Claudia. She’d seen her name on the start list. She was a regular middle-of-the-pack finisher, dumb as a fence post, but bearable enough on her own. Her husband, however, was a different story.

“Hello, Isaac.” Dillon’s voice was flat, leaving no indication he was a welcome intrusion. If given the opportunity, he would talk—strictly about himself—until the bar closed. Or they died by virtue of his outrageous ego. Whichever came sooner.

The man was a long-course racer, always clapping himself on his back for competing at an amateur level in the notorious Ironman competitions. An age-group athlete who’d never raced a professional minute in his life.

At least Claudia was actually sponsored.

His attention swept across the table, landing on Kameryn.

“Well,” he sniffed, arching one of his thin eyebrows that creased his forehead, the lines disappearing into his receding hairline, “fair guess to say you aren’t with Kelsey anymore?” It wasn’t really phrased as a question. Nor should it have been. The entire continent of Europe knew they’d split almost two years prior. He was merely being impertinent, sticking his too-large nose where it didn’t belong.

“Nope.”

“Shame. I imagine she’s worth a mint by now, branded the way she is. Hello,” he stuck out his hand toward Kameryn, “Isaac Fortin.”

“Hi.” Kameryn didn’t offer her name.

“Ah, American.” Again, it wasn’t a question. “Broadening your horizons, eh, Sinclair?” His smile never touched his pale eyes. “Speaking of—good to see you were back in form today. Saw the results from Hana last week; what a pity. Rough terrain, that area. Be glad it was as short as it was. I’ve done Kona twice—brutal race. I imagine you’ll keep more flat courses in your future—wouldn’t want to see those rankings fall.”

Dillon opened her mouth, uncertain what variation ofpiss offwas going to fall from her lips, but before she could squeeze a word in, he’d already turned back to Kameryn.

“You race? I don’t imagine, you don’t look the type. I’m anIronman, myself. Certainly, you’ve heard of it? It’s about four times the distance Sinclair here does.”

Kam trailed a finger along the rim of her cocktail glass. “You know, it’s only recently I’ve learned about it.”

The pompous prick perked up at what he undoubtedly imagined was the prime opportunity for enlightenment. He didn’t appear to notice the flicker at the corners of Kameryn’s mouth or the tilt of her head as she sat back, crossing her legs, her gaze veiled beneath dark lashes.

Dillon remained silent, curious to see where this was leading.

“It’s a grueling sport—”

“So I’ve heard,” said Kam, disallowing him time to launch into his monologue. “What I’ve found interesting is the diverse levels of competition. I think it is wonderful that the longer endurance races have opened the door for aging athletes to continue to compete, even once they are well past their prime.” She offered Isaac a brilliant smile.

The stunned Canadian opened his mouth, then shut it, and opened it again. No words came out, however, as he stood there, resembling a fish gaping for air.

“Be sure to give Claudia my best,” nodded Dillon, before leaning into the table, cutting him off with the angle of her shoulder.

For once in his pathetically mediocre life, he took the hint and walked away.

“Oh, what an asshole,” said Kameryn, once the crowd had swallowed him in its fold. “I’m sorry if I was out of line—I just…” she shook her head. “What a total prick.”

Dillon laughed, dragging her hat off to run a hand through her hair. “I don’t even know what to think about you, Kameryn Kingsbury. You are full of the most marvelous surprises.”