Page 13

I glance over at the three of them—all friends, and almost sisters thanks to their relationships—the bond between them clear. It’s plain as day, even to me as an outsider, that these ladies have each other’s backs. In the way that only girlfriends can.

“Sawyer, care to join us?” Dolly asks.

Her question catches me off guard. Not only because I don’t know what they are doing, but I have no idea why she would be asking me.

“I…err…ummm…no?”

I really need to work on answering better.

“Come join us; it’ll be fun!” Brenna tacks on. “Because I have a feeling that this”—she nods toward the guys lining up at the rope—“is just the start.”

What on earth are they doing?

“Now I really don’t want to know,” Willa mutters.

As if he heard his sister’s comment, Anton turns around, his eyes landing on our group.

My heart stops. His baby-blue eyes look at me, making me feel like I just walked out into the sun for the first time in a year.

His sun-kissed arms shimmer in the sun, straining under his T-shirt, and once again, he looks much better than anyone, ever, has any business looking.

Don’t come over…don’t come over…

A whistle blows, catching everyone’s attention. Phew…I’m safe. They’re lining up.

Still, I can’t take my eyes off him, my heart in my throat. Anton must know this too, because he gives me one last glance before turning to the matter at hand. And winks.

“I saw that…” Dolly whispers .

“Nothing to see,” I whisper back.

Except, there was. Because Anton Hayes just winked at me. What the fuck?

A middle-aged gentleman stands to the side of the rope, straddling the orange flag, looking back and forth between the two teams as he explains the rules.

Neither group of men seems to be paying a whole lot of attention as the crowd around us grows.

Apparently the Nobles vs. the Hayes is the big show of the day.

“Let’s keep it clean. Got it, boys?” the ref says.

All fourteen of them nod, and Gus Hayes and the one I’m pretty sure Dolly said was Atlas Noble shake hands before finding their spots in line.

“I’ve watched this match every summer of my life, and I don’t know that my stomach has ever been in this many knots,” Dolly says, grabbing on to my hand.

“It’s different being a girlfriend,” Brenna adds.

Dolly nods, the three of us watching intently as Hux secures the end loop of rope around his waist as the anchor. He sees us and blows Dolly a kiss. My heart squeezes, the two of them too cute for words.

The whistle blows, and a series of loud grunts fills the air as all fourteen men latch onto the rope and pull. No, yank. Hard.

My eyes immediately fly to Anton. He’s laser focused, his Popeye-like muscles popping and flexing as the rest of him contorts in time with his brothers, trying to draw his opponents over the line.

Every single line on his body moves like it’s a piece of music, perfectly in time with each other, making it impossible to look away.

If he was too good-looking for his own good before, well, this is a whole new line we just crossed.

One that is making my mouth water and the rest of me ache to know what it would be like to be that rope. To have him hold on to me that tightly. To know if the sweat dripping down his neck was from the hot summer sun or something else.

I need to stop.

“Harder, pull!” Willa shouts, her instructions breaking the spell I’m under.

I scan up and down the line, taking in all the twisted and contorted faces as they continue to pull, the small back and forth of the flag making my pulse leap.

“C’mon!” Dolly yells.

Holy cow, I am way too invested in this. In wanting the Hayeses to win. In wanting Anton to win.

And wondering how he’ll react if he does.

The crowd around us continues to shout, some in generic support, while many have clearly picked a side. And I can’t blame them, because despite what I might have thought going into this, it’s exciting.

More grunts and groans escape from the two teams, their efforts starting to weigh on them. I have no idea how long they’ve been doing this—can’t be more than a few minutes—but each one is still giving it their all. And that flag has barely moved from its original spot.

Shit.

“Pull!” I scream.

I don’t know where it came from, the excitement of the moment taking over, ripping the word from deep down in me. More than that, it seems to make time stop.

At least for me. And Anton.

Looking over at me, he smirks. The kind of smirk that makes knees go weak and breaths hitch. Both of which happen to me. It’s also the look of a man who knows the plea was for him. And him alone .

So Anton replies in a way that is so him, I can’t explain it. He winks. Again.

With a deep, guttural growl, Anton turns back to his opponents, tightening his grip, face going beet red as he turns it up a notch. Whatever that growl was, all his brothers seem to know—seem to speak that language—and understand the message. It was a battle cry. A secret code.

In a single, swift move, one that I would have thought coordinated if I hadn’t been watching this whole thing, they heave together, as a unit. The Nobles try to respond in kind, but it doesn’t work. A couple more good pulls and they go flying, and the flag moves over the line.

All fourteen men topple to the ground, cheers and groans ringing out around us as the crowd reacts.

“Hux!” Dolly cries, rushing over to him.

It’s a mess of bodies and movement as the group is rushed by people to congratulate them—or help them up off the ground—the lot of them laughing and already starting to give each other shit about “maybe next year.” I lose track of Anton in the crowd, disappointment filling me more than I want to admit.

Backing away, I pull out my phone, pretending to have something to focus on.

Now that tug is over, I don’t have any plans for the rest of the day.

It’s still early enough that if I go over to the lab, I could get some tests run.

Since no one else will be around, I’ll have plenty of quiet to concentrate.

“Sawyer…”

I swallow hard, knowing that when I look up, I’m going to be met with eyes the perfect shade of blue. Sure enough, that’s what is staring back at me. And paired with the damn smirk.

Fuck, he is irritating.

“Whatcha doin’? ”

“Does it matter?” I retort, unable to help myself.

“Just askin’.” He takes a step closer, the musky scent of his sweat tickling my nostrils and making my insides squirm. Anton Hayes is the last man on earth I want to make my insides squirm, but there is something about him. I cannot control it. “Enjoy your first tug?”

“Only you could make that sound dirty.”

He laughs, reaching out and moving a strand of hair out of my face. The move is easy, soft, and caring, like he’s done it a million times and will gladly do it a million more, and the urge to lean into him rises in me. Except nothing good can come from leaning into Anton.

“Fireworks tonight?”

What? Where is he going with this?

Annoyed, I stand firmly, squaring myself off, trying to find as much confidence as I can. I will not let him get to me.

Opening my mouth to respond, I stop. Because I’ve got nothing. No comeback. Not even a normal type of response past “huh?” And I am not going to walk into that.

And then my phone rings.

The melodic tone steals my attention and I look down, thankful to see Miss Belle’s name flashing on my screen. I have no idea what she wants—hell, at this point I don’t care. It could be to kick me out of her house, and I’d be perfectly fine with that.

Because she’s giving me an excuse to walk away from this conversation.

“I have to take this.”

I turn, starting to walk away, not wanting to let him get in the last word. But I’m not quick enough.

“Bye, Sawyer,” Anton says, giving me another wink. That makes three today.

And my heart leaps .

He needs to stop that. Needs to put away whatever this charmer persona is and simply let me be.

Because I think I might like Anton Hayes a little more than I am willing to admit.

Which is a lot more than I want to like him.