Page 77 of Sawyer

Before I could react, he leaned in, resting his cheek against my thigh.

Then came a soft kiss—a brief press of his lips through my jeans that sent a warmth all the way up my spine. All I could do was nod.

Sawyer met my gaze and smiled as he stood up. His playful mood shifted to serious focus.

He placed a hand on my waist to steady himself, his eyes locked on the finish line. He looked ready to win.

I took a deep breath, copying his stance. Time to race.

The horn blared, signaling the start. Everyone shot forward—or at least tried to.

The first few steps were always awkward; balancing with another person bound to your ankle was never easy.

The trick was in the rhythm, and Sawyer and I had practiced enough that we quickly found ours.

Step, step, hop. Step, step, hop.

But it wasn’t long before the chaos began.

At first, it seemed like harmless bumps and stumbles—people laughing as they tripped over each other or struggled to get into sync.

But soon, I noticed something else: subtle kicks, accidental-on-purpose tripping, and—was that someone untying the band around their ankles to cheat?

I squinted at one couple who kept conveniently falling just ahead of anyone catching up to them.

Has the three-legged race always been like this? Did Sawyer know this was going to happen the whole time?

Before I could think more about it, a shout caught my attention. Someone shoved Jake, and I watched him stumble but quickly regain his footing beside Sawyer.

I realized Sawyer's friends were there to flank us, creating a protective shield against the chaos.

The finish line was finally in sight, and by then, only a few teams were left. Most had fallen behind or been sabotaged by others.

I watched as couples around us started to drop back, struggling to keep up.

We weren’t totally safe from those tactics either, but with our “bodyguards” handling the worst of it, we kept going.

Sawyer tightened his grip around me, and before I knew it, he was practically carrying me, our speed doubling as he powered ahead. We were almost there.

But then, out of nowhere, a couple from the far side of the field tripped someone right next to them and surged ahead, crossing the finish line first.

The horn sounded, marking the end of the race.

We stood there catching our breath, looking a lot cleaner than most of the other participants, who were covered in mud and bruises.

I heard Cooper's voice over the speakers. “Attention!”

The crowd’s attention shifted to the booth where Cooper stood. His face was serious, eyes sweeping over the race participants.

“You’re all cheaters,” he said flatly.

For a second, silence hung in the air, but then he cracked into a grin, and the crowd burst out laughing.

“But no, seriously,” Cooper continued, his tone lightening. “We’re going to have to take a look at the video before we can officially announce the winner.”

His eyes narrowed in the direction of the couple who crossed first.

There was a collective murmur, a few chuckles rippling through the crowd. Cooper, still at the booth with Miles, leaned over a laptop, checking the footage.