The Singles Table (Marriage Game #3)(5)

What a jerk. Zara didn’t need to see his face to know him. He was every cocky bastard who had charmed a woman into his bed and strung her along with promises of a future that was never going to happen. A hunter in his natural habitat. Well, she wasn’t prey.

Mystery Man split the pairs into three groups, leaving Zara standing alone. “The front-runners are in charge of scoping out the flag and our opponents’ ambushes,” he said. “The middle group will cover the front and try to eliminate a majority of our opponents. The back defends our flag and territory. One third of the pairs will run up the middle while the other two thirds flank on the sides. We’ll communicate with whistles. Once you step onto the field, I expect you to be focused. We’re here to win.” He allocated the positions to the teams. “Any questions?”

Zara held her hand up in the air. “What about me?”

“You’re on your own.”

“Why can’t I go with you? You don’t have a partner.”

“I prefer to work alone.” He strode into the forest while the rest of the team spread out and disappeared into the bushes.

“I thought this was all about teamwork,” she called out, following behind him. “There are no lone wolves in a team. And just so you know, I used to play capture the flag on the school playground and I always won.”

“This isn’t school.” His deep voice was as clear as if he were facing her.

“It isn’t a real war,” she pointed out. “It’s a game. We’re at a paintball field in San Jose that gives a ten percent discount if you buy your paintballs in bulk and charges an extra five dollars to cover laundry fees. Maybe you should lighten up.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Maybe you should stop talking.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not listening.”

Zara waited until he’d walked a good twenty feet away before she shot him in the ass.

“What the f—?” He whirled around to face her, his hand gripping the injured area.

“I was helping you on your way.” She turned and walked through the bush, using her weapon to clear a path.

“You won’t last five minutes,” he called out.

“Watch me.”



* * *



? ? ?

    From the safety of her leaf-filled ditch, Zara could see the blue team’s flag fluttering in the breeze no more than one hundred feet away. As far as she could tell, most of the blues had been tagged out. She had no idea how many reds were left, but the whistle hadn’t blown so the game was still on. Hopefully, someone had shot Mystery Man and put him out of his arrogant, supercilious, alpha male misery.

Inching forward, she grabbed a black tree stump covered in leaves. Shock gripped her when the stump moved. She jerked back, scrambling to her knees for a better look. Not a stump. A boot.

With a bark of irritation, the owner of the boot flipped onto his back and raised his weapon.

Zara’s heart pounded in her chest. She reached for her gun in a desperate attempt to stave off the inevitable. Once he pulled that trigger, it would all be over.

“Don’t even think about it.” Low and menacing, his deep voice froze her in place.

Mystery Man. She should have recognized the cocky tilt of his head and the thick biceps protruding from beneath the sleeves of his shirt. “Down, boy. We’re on the same team.”

He gave a disappointed snort. “I was hoping you’d been shot long ago.”

“Delighted to disappoint. I found a nice cozy ditch, and I’ve been hiding out while everyone shoots everyone else around me. Now I’m going to grab the flag and take it home for the win.” She held her hands up in a mock cheer and whispered, “Zara! Zara! Zara!”

He gave a snort of derision. “It’s not your name they’ll be calling out.”

Difficult, stubborn, and obstreperous. Why couldn’t she have found someone fun to hide out with? “Well, it won’t be yours. You never introduced yourself. What is your . . .” She trailed off when she heard the sound of branches snapping underfoot, leaves rustling.

He froze, instantly alert. “This isn’t the time for small talk.”

“Names make communication much easier,” she protested. “Instead of yelling, Hey, you in the black shirt and black boots with the arms like steel pistons, cover me while I go for the flag, I can just say, Cover me, whatever your name is.”

A paintball whizzed past her head, and she flattened herself in the ditch. “I was here first.” She waved him away. “Go hide somewhere else.”

“I’m not hiding,” he snapped. “This is a tactical maneuver. I’m going to ambush the guy behind the tree and take the flag.”

“Unfortunately for you, I have dibs on the flag,” she said, just because she knew it would annoy him. She wanted to win but not if it meant putting herself in the path of a speeding paintball. With three weddings to attend over the next eight weeks, and a celebrity autograph to show off, she couldn’t afford any bruises.

“The person with the best chance of bringing it home should grab it, and that’s not you.” His head dipped, gaze skimming over her leaf-covered dress. “You’d be a clear target, whereas I can move quickly and covertly through the bush because I’m dressed to blend in.”