𝗔 𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬 𝗥𝗜𝗦𝗞𝗬 𝗚𝗔𝗠𝗕𝗟𝗘

08 | hide and seek

"Two hundred ninety-nine," Jameson's voice, barely audible from two stories below, called. "Three hundred!" His voice dropped an octave as he boomed, "I'm coming to find you, Avery Kylie Grambs."

A shiver overtook me, which wasn't good, considering that I was perched on the edge of windowsill. Four stories up, might I add.

Jameson's words were haunting not only because I'd bet him that I'd win his game of hide-and-seek, but because I wasn't the only one he had to find.

Nash, Libby, Xander, and even Grayson had joined in. With summer looming just around the corner, the brothers were home practically more than I was.

I reached overhead, holding onto the pipe that ran alongside the roof. Besides the feeble windowsill beneath me, it was the only thing keeping me from splattering on the grass of the gardens.

Like any other game, hide-and-seek at Hawthorne House was extravagant. Blown out of proportions, perhaps.

However, I'd managed to find a loop hole in Jameson's rules. He'd said that setting foot on the grounds was forbidden.

So, instead, I'd set foot on a windowsill.

Though he'd implied that going outside wasn't allowed, he'd never blatantly said it. And like Jameson Hawthorne, I played to win.

I crouched down, my limbs seeking relief from the strain of standing upright. Although I was in good shape, I was still recovering from the jet-lag of our trip to Tuscany.

I heard rustling downstairs and held my breath.

I'd left the window open a crack in hopes of hearing who'd been caught before me. But considering the Hawthorne brothers were involved, I knew that they wouldn't make this easy on Jameson.

"A cupboard?" Jameson's voice carried a laugh. I could tell both from his words and the distance of his voice that he was searching the kitchen. "Really, Libby?"

I could picture my sister shrugging as her voice said, "I'm not my sister. And I'm not a Hawthorne."

"You certainly are," a drawl responded, surely giving away Nash's hiding spot. "Although it may not say so on your passport yet."

Although they were married, I knew that Libby hadn't yet changed her name. Legally, at least.

Jameson's laugh was louder than the voices. "Two down," he said, "three to go."

Grayson, Xander, and I remained.

Clearly, Nash and Libby hadn't been trying very hard.

The voices faded into silence but for the creak of floorboards. For several minutes, I heard nothing.

I'd chosen the window outside of our room as a method of reverse psychology. Since Jameson knew every possible hiding spot in the vicinity, I figured that he figured I wouldn't go there.

My tactic backfired, however, because a few minutes later I heard his footsteps coming up the stairs.

To my delight, Jameson caught Grayson on his way to our bedroom. The oldest Hawthorne had chosen to hide in a hidden room beneath the floorboards. I knew, from experience, that if you moved the rug on top, you slide the boards out of place.

Though Grayson rarely lost, I assumed that he hasn't quite moved the rug back into place.

That was always my mistake too - and Jameson didn't miss details like that.

My breath caught as the door to the bedroom opened. Now, with Jameson inside, the only thing that separated us was a thin curtain and a sheet of glass.

If I made any sound he'd have me.

Stubbornly, I wished that Xander simply could have been found before me.

I'd lose the bet if Jameson found me now.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Just when silence resumed and I let myself think that Jameson had left, I heard a slight scuffle on the roof above me.

I glanced up, annoyed, and discovered that Xander, in the flesh, was sitting on a slanted portion of the roof.

He'd bent the rules too. Similarly to me, he'd figured that if he couldn't go onto the grounds, he'd scale an outside portion of the mansion.

Xander grinned when I met his eyes. He saluted me and opened his mouth, but I silenced him with a furious finger to my lips.

Then, I pointed toward the window.

Getting the hint, Xander remained silent.

I thanked him with my eyes.

Barely breathing, I began to regret leaving the window open a crack.

Then, suddenly, I heard boots on the roof. Combat boots.

More specifically, a familiar pair of combat boots I gifted to someone for their birthday. But she couldn't be here.

Could she?

I lifted my chin, and to my surprise, my best friend took a seat beside Xander as if sitting five stories up was a common occurrence for her.

"Thanks for the boots," she called down to me. "I feel like a total badash."

I gasped, unable to contain myself. "Max?"

I only had time to see my best friend grin at me before two strong arms grabbed my waist and hauled me in through the bedroom window.

Jameson's breath was warm on my neck but his lips were hotter. Against my skin, he murmured, "Gotcha."

I squirmed in his arms, unable to believe that he'd found me before Xander. "Let me go."

He laughed. "Upset?"

"More than."

Xander and Max slid down the gutter pipe and hopped in through the window.

I had so many questions for Max.

For example, why on earth was she here?

But before I could muster the breath to ask even one of her he questions running through my mind, Jameson twisted me to face him.

"Since you weren't the last one found," he murmured, "you lost our bet. That means you owe me a kiss."

"That's all?"As far as bets went, this was a simple request.

"And one game of strip poker."

"In your dreams."

"My dreams, Heiress," he murmured, grasping my chin, "are real."