The Singles Table, page 2
“I know that look,” Tarun said with a grin. “Just for that I’m putting Avi and Rishi on my team. You can have a few extra newbs to even things out.”
“Tell them not to get in my way. I’m here to win.” Jay patted his holster. This season, he’d splurged for the Planet Eclipse CS2 Pro paintball marker, a Ninja compressed-air tank, a Spire III hopper, and a strapless harness pod pack. His mask had a reflecting DYEtanium lens that shielded him from UV rays and completely hid his face. He preferred anonymity on the field. Better the other team didn’t know who hit them.
“I’m here to make sure Maria has a good time,” Tarun said. “Go easy on her if you see her in the field. She’s here for the game, not your Mission: Impossible level of intensity. If you had a girl of your own you’d understand.”
“Not interested in getting tied down right now.” Jay tightened his harness. “Work takes up all my time, and then you, Rishi, and Avi all decided to get married this summer. You couldn’t have given a dude a break? Maybe spaced things out?”
“It should have been four weddings,” Tarun teased. “We always did things together.”
“Are you kidding?” Jay had always put work over relationships, and his eight years of service in the air force had been the perfect excuse to avoid getting involved. When he’d transitioned to civilian life and opened his security company with Elias, he’d put his drive and focus into making J-Tech Security a success. Achievement was his top priority. Everything else was a distraction.
Tarun grabbed a rental helmet. “Your perspective changes when you meet the one.”
Jay’s mother had thought she’d met her “one” at the age of sixteen and look how that had turned out. His dad—an exchange student—had returned to England a few months after Jay was born, and his mom’s strict Indian parents had disowned her, leaving her penniless and alone with a newborn baby. If he did marry—which was doubtful given the all-consuming nature of his work—it would be after he had taken his company to the top. His future wife—classy, sophisticated, and elegant—would be a reflection of that success.
A shout echoed across the field. Moments later, a woman in a ridiculous froth of pink ruffles came racing toward them, long tanned legs moving so fast her sneakers barely touched the ground. “I’m heeeeere!”
Jay grabbed Tarun and yanked him out of the way. Without even an acknowledgment of the near miss, she barreled past them and into the weapons shed, pulling up inches short of hitting Pete in a full-on body slam.
“That’s my cousin Zara Patel,” Tarun said, following his gaze. “She introduced me to Maria. Life is never dull when she’s around.”
“Indeed.” With her dark hair in a messy tangle down her back, breasts straining against the tight bodice of her stained dress, Tarun’s cousin was everything Jay avoided in a woman—loud, unruly, wild, and totally out of control.
He helped Tarun choose his gear and suit up for the game. They had just pulled on their helmets when the bachelorette party walked past them on their way to the field. Jay sucked in a sharp breath when he saw Zara’s weapon.
“Did Pete seriously give your cousin his Tiberius Arms T9.1 Elite?” With a weapon as close to an actual rifle as a paintball gun could get, even an unskilled player could be a formidable opponent. “He wouldn’t even let me handle it.”
“I’m the groom and he wouldn’t let me handle it, either,” Tarun grumbled.
Zara pointed her gun at the nearest hay bale and pulled the trigger, missing her target by a good two feet.
“What a waste of a good weapon,” Jay muttered under his breath. “Please tell me she’s on your team.”
“Sorry, dude.” Tarun clapped his hand on Jay’s shoulder. “She’s all yours.”
• 2 •
“I’ve got the feel of it now. I’m ready to kick some blue team ass.” Zara jogged back to her team, joining Parvati and a handful of women wearing various shades of bridesmaid pastel. The remaining members of her red team—all wearing army fatigues, their faces hidden in protective helmets—were practicing on the other side of the range.
“I had a good look at the dudes before they put on their face shields,” Parvati said. “Three of them have beards. Two are under five feet eight. One has long hair. That leaves four maybes and six solid contenders, one of whom has been keeping to the shadows under the tree.” She raised her hand. “I call the hipster with the hair.”
“I thought Stacy didn’t want us trolling for hookups.”
“She might as well ask me not to breathe.” Parvati gave a dismissive snort. “Look where we are. It’s alpha central. I’m not going home alone tonight.”
“Don’t you get enough at the hospital?” Zara protested. “Every day you text me about some intern you’ve dragged into the break room for a little ‘R and R.’ It’s very inconsiderate. Who do I have at work for an afternoon quickie? A partner who wears Yoda ski hats and carries a custom lightsaber? Another partner who wears bike shorts and Rollerblades around the office? A delusional investigator who pretends he was in the CIA? Or Mole Boy, who only ever leaves his cubicle in the dark of night?”
Parvati shrugged. “You chose to work there.”
“It wasn’t really a choice. I was desperate. No one else would hire me.” After dozens of rejections and an offer from her mother’s friend that she was loath to accept, she’d almost given up any hope of finding a firm where she truly belonged until she’d seen an opening for a personal injury lawyer at a small boutique firm. Tony Cruz and Lewis Lovitt didn’t care that she’d been let go from two big-city law firms. They were looking for associates who didn’t fit the traditional mold, people who could think outside the box and were willing to take risks. By the end of the interview, she knew she’d found her place.
“How about I just check the hipster out for you?” Parvati said. “That’s what good friends do.”
“I don’t want your sloppy seconds. The last time you checked out a guy for me, he couldn’t walk for days. Besides, I need to focus on the game.” She eyed her camo-clad teammates. “Some of these dudes look pretty serious. I have a feeling they aren’t planning to just run around and have a few laughs . . .” She trailed off when a dark shadow blocked out the sun.
“Time to change, ladies.”
The stranger’s deep, penetrating voice rumbled through Zara’s body. Rich and full, it was the kind of voice that made lawyers spill milkshakes and babble incoherently as they thrust sticky business cards into celebrity hands.
“Is there a problem?” Parvati made a show of inspecting her weapon while Zara tried to untie her tongue. Although she couldn’t see the dude’s face, he was tall—at least six-two—and powerfully built, the top of his coveralls unzipped and tied around his narrow waist. His black T-shirt clung to his broad shoulders and magnificent pecs as if it had been painted on his muscular body. One thick, deeply tanned forearm bunched and flexed as he unholstered his weapon in one smooth practiced motion.
He waved vaguely in their direction. “Not if you want to be covered in painful bruises.”
“I’ve been kicked by horses, bullies, and even by my piano teacher,” Zara said. “I’ve also been stung by a wasp, pecked by a goose, and swarmed by ants. I’ve broken an arm, a finger, and a toe, and I dislocated my shoulder on a trampoline. A little pain isn’t going to slow me down.”
Seemingly satisfied by Zara’s commitment to winning at all costs, the dude angled his head in Parvati’s direction, dipping it ever so slightly, as if inviting a similar assurance.
Parvati fixed him with a stare. “I don’t bruise easily.”
“Unlike me,” Zara interjected. “My ex gave me a small love bite one night, and I had to wear two scarves to work because it looked like someone had been chewing on my neck.”
Silence.
“We’re not together anymore,” she said quickly, assuming he was appalled by her ex’s behavior. “Although it had nothing to do with the hickey. Who doesn’t like a reminder of a great night?”
Clearly not Mystery Man, because he shook his head. “Not only will your dress leave you vulnerable to weapons’ fire, it will hamper your ability to run and hide, thereby lowering our chances of success.”
Well, that was one less potential hookup she had to worry about. He was probably one of those uptight alpha CEOs who had made his first billion by the time he was thirty and owned a jet, a fleet of sports cars, a fancy penthouse, and maybe even a red room of pain.
“Have you considered that my dress might be an asset? I could strip down in the forest and distract the opposing team.” She checked her paintball pod, opening and closing it with a loud click. “Just so we’re clear . . . the bride wants the dresses so we’re wearing the dresses.”
“Actually, the dresses were Stacy’s idea,” Parvati said.
Zara poured the paintballs into the hopper and turned away from the officious bastard with the bedroom voice. “Then I’ll shoot her first and him second.”
If Mystery Man had any further comments, he was forced to keep them to himself when a middle-aged man in a military-style camo vest called the two teams together to go over the rules. Keep your mask on. No climbing trees. No shooting at the head. It’s all about teamwork. No physical contact. After a few quick pointers, he sent them into the forest for their first game, capture the flag.
“Everyone, pair up.” Mystery Man, seeping alpha maleness, quickly took charge when everyone started talking at once. He pointed at people in pairs. “You and you. You and you . . .” He pointed to Parvati and a frail twiglike woman in a yellow satin dress, who gave a betraying blush. “And you and you, sweetheart.” He paired off the rest of the team with a few more condescending terms of endearment for anyone in a dress.
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.”
“I’ve survived as long as you in my pink dress,” she countered. “I plan to take the flag just for the thrill of running through the bush in a blaze of glory with the blue team hot on my heels.”
“It’s not about having fun.” He flipped to his front and inched forward, his heavy body crushing the leaves and sticks beneath him. “It’s about winning the game.”
“I didn’t realize they were mutually exclusive.”
“Now you do.”
Zara lifted her weapon and aimed it at the unmarked side of his ass. If anybody deserved a second shot it was him.
“I wouldn’t advise it,” he said without turning around. “Your ammo is better served taking out the enemy.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
He huffed out an irritated breath and moved forward another few inches. “Follow me. I have a plan.”
Amused by his overly serious nature, Zara mirrored his movements. When he moved his left hand two inches, she moved her left hand two inches. When he crawled, she crawled. When his ass—and it was a magnificent ass—wiggled, she wiggled, too. She was almost on top of him when she noticed he had turned his head to watch her.
“Are you mocking me?” His voice rose, incredulous.
“Mocking means ‘tease or laugh at in a scornful or contemptuous manner,’ ” she retorted. “I haven’t said a word, but I am following you, just as you ordered.”
She had been so right about him. He was exactly the type of man she went to great pains to avoid. Arrogant, egotistical, sucking the joy out of life like a black hole.
He held up a hand and pointed forward. “Enemy ahead. Seventeen degrees northeast.”
She looked up and laughed when she saw her friend Kamal leaning against a tree, helmet off, his focus on his phone instead of the blue flag tied to a nearby bush. “Why didn’t you just say behind the big tree?”
“I like to be accurate.”
Of course. “If we’re being accurate, then he’s not an enemy. That’s Kamal Chandra. He’s the brother of one of my college friends. He’s a graphic designer and plays the ukulele, aka a huge disappointment to his desi family. He won’t shoot me, so if he’s the only one left guarding the flag, then it makes sense for me to get it.”
“How do you know he won’t shoot you?”
“Parvati said so. She thinks he has a crush on me.”
“Who’s Parvati?”
“My roommate. She was wearing the blue dress. You paired her up with one of your sweethearts.” On impulse, she pushed to stand. “I’m getting the flag. Cover me.”
Ignoring his bark of protest, she raced toward the blue flag, leaves falling off her dress as she pounded through the bushes. A paintball whizzed past her. Mystery Man swore. She heard the crack of a paintball gun. The rapid exchange of gunfire. Kamal jumped out from behind his tree, weapon at the ready.
