Free Ruined by Rachel Hanna Page B

down to the wire. As I wait for the fifth question, time stands still for a moment. I'm actually enjoying myself. Having fun. I didn't realize how much I've missed that. And for a split second, I suddenly wonder if I'm worthy of having fun again. And then my mind drifts to the infamous Kellan Avery that I haven't yet met. Will he wrestle with the same worries? Will he feel unworthy?
     
    "Next question..." the announcer says, breaking me out of my negative thinking. "Who is the shortest man to ever win an NBA slam dunk competition?"
     
    I draw a blank. I don't watch basketball. I look down at the choices quickly and lock in my answer as does Reed. We stare at each other, eye to eye. This time, it's less about the trivia competition and more about this "thing" we have between us. I don't know what to call it yet, and maybe I never will.
     
    I wait for what seems like an eternity as I wonder if my destiny is to scare all of these innocent bystanders with my horrific singing voice in a few minutes, but then I see my screen light up. Spud Webb! Spud Webb! Some guy named Spud Webb won the slam dunk competition, and I swear if he was here right now I would kiss him square on the lips.
     
    "Loser!" I say pointing my finger and standing up, doing a little dance in my chair.
     
    "Miss Blake, that is definitely not good sportsmanship!" he says wagging his finger at me again.
     
    "Ha ha ha.... I beat you...." I sing at the top of my lungs.
     
    "Wow, you really can't sing, can you?" he says laughing. I give him a mean look and sit back down just as the server brings our food.
     
    "That's not very nice, Reed," I mumble as I take the first bite of my sandwich.
     
    "Stick to reporting. No more singing. Please," he says as he takes a huge mouthful of hamburger. "I shudder to think of the damage you might have done to the eardrums of these poor patrons," he says waving his hand around the restaurant.
     
    We spend the next few minutes laughing and talking and eating, and I can't remember a time in the last four years where I've felt more at ease. My stomach isn't in knots for once, and it's almost a foreign feeling to me. We finish up and head toward the door, and Reed starts walking to his car.
     
    "Um, excuse me, Mr, Miller. I believe we had a bet?" I say crossing my arms and standing beside the path to the beach.
     
    "You are not serious?" he says as he cocks his head to the side.
     
    "A bet is a bet."
     
    "Willow..."
     
    "Are you trying to weasel out of a bet, Reed? Not very manly..."
     
    He purses his lips and shoves his keys back in his pocket before grabbing my arm and pulling me down the path. There are about ten people sitting on the beach, and I hear him take in a deep breath and then sigh. I almost feel bad. Almost.
     
    Reed slides his t-shirt off over his head and hangs it on the railing at the end of the pathway. His nice, bronzed chest glimmers in the moonlight, and I wonder what it would  be like to lick the crevices of his abs. He kicks off his shoes and then unbuttons his jeans while staring right into my eyes.
     
    "Ready for the show, Miss Blake?" he asks me in a husky voice, no hint of a smile on his face. He's not mad, and I think he's flirting with me.
     
    "Always," I say with a wink before he hands me his pants.
     
    "Hold on to these. My wallet and keys are in there. And don't run off with my car."
     
    I look down and see gray boxer briefs hugging his tight butt and firm thigh muscles. Wow. Damn. Holy crap. He is a fine male specimen for sure.
     
    "See ya in a minute," he yells as he runs straight for the water, hands in the air screaming the whole way. I laugh until I can hardly breathe as I watch the people look at him like he's a lunatic. Some people are pointing, and others are trying to get video. Thankfully the sun has gone down already, and it's too dark for them to get much in the way of video.
     
    A few minutes later, he trots back over to me with a grin on his face. He's sopping wet, and we