Grayson leaned back against the plush leather couch, his dark eyes gleaming with a mischievous challenge. "Alright, Little Fox," he declared, his fingers rhythmically tapping against his pajama-covered thigh, "let's start with baseball, of course."
Olivia arched an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing across her lips. She tapped her chin thoughtfully, feigning contemplation, even though the statistics were etched into her memory. "Okay. Last night, the Yankees triumphed over the Red Sox, 5–2. Meanwhile, the Astros outplayed the Mariners, 7–3, and the Braves absolutely crushed the Phillies, 8–1."
Grayson's eyes widened, a fleeting moment of surprise crossing his features before he quickly masked it with a slow, deliberate nod. He reached for his beer, the cool condensation slick against his fingers.
"Impressive," he acknowledged in a matter-of-fact tone. "However, they had an early game. So, I'm not surprised you caught that information."
Olivia tilted her head slightly, feigning mock offense, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh, so now it's convenient that I know this?" she teased.
Grayson chuckled, a low, rumbling sound, as he tapped two fingers thoughtfully against his dark, amber beer bottle. "If you're so sure it wasn't just a lucky break, please — what's the next sport?" he challenged, patting his lap with an air of nonchalance, as if he was confident she'd falter.
Olivia, however, merely grinned wider, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. She took a slow sip of her beer, savoring the rich, hoppy taste that mingled with the impending sweetness of victory she was certain would be hers.
"Let's dive into the NFL next," he suggested, settling deeper into the plush embrace of the couch, his arm casually draped along the back behind her, fingers brushing the fabric. "Show me what you've got." Without a moment's hesitation, Olivia leaned forward, her voice a playful yet sharp melody.
"Alright. The Chiefs triumphed over the Bills with a score of 28–24. The Eagles absolutely crushed the Cowboys, 31–14. And the 49ers narrowly edged out the Lions, 21–20."
Grayson's lips twitched into that familiar little corner-smile, an expression he wore when he was both impressed and mildly irked. Olivia took a languid sip of her beer, the amber liquid swirling lazily in the bottle, her eyes glancing at him from beneath her lashes, a playful glint dancing within them.
"Grayson," she said sweetly, her voice dripping with mock innocence, "let me know if you want to just forfeit now and save yourself the embarrassment." He laughed, a deep, rich sound that resonated through her like a gentle tremor. "Not a chance, Little Fox. I'm just getting started. This wolf plays the long game." He leaned in, close enough for her to catch a whiff of his clean soap scent mingled with the earthy aroma of beer, something rugged and intoxicating that lingered in the air between them.
"You ready for the next one, or do you need a timeout?" he teased, nudging her knee with his, the playful challenge hanging in the air like a dare.
Olivia just smirked back. Her confidence was radiant. She was ready. Grayson leaned forward, elbows resting casually on his knees, his hazel eyes glinting with amusement and focus. Olivia sat back smugly against the couch cushions, swirling the last inch of her beer in the bottle. Her smirk was practically stamped on her face.
Grayson cracked his neck with a satisfying pop, shifting on the couch to face her more directly.
"Alright, Webber," he drawled, a playful sparkle in his eyes. "Let's keep going with this humiliation tour you're putting me through." His grin was broad and teasing. "NBA's up next. Impress me."
Olivia raised both her brows, her expression amused and slightly challenging. "You mean continue impressing you?"
"I mean," he replied, holding up a warning finger with a mock-serious expression, "impress me within reason, before I start demanding a blood test to see if you're actually human."
She laughed, the sound light and infectious, and leaned forward, stretching her legs out along the plush cushions. "Alright, Wolf. Ready for this?"
"I was born ready," he declared, folding his arms across his chest and adopting his best confident lean-back posture, the picture of nonchalance.
"Okay," she said, grinning, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Last night, the Nuggets beat the Clippers, 110–101. The Celtics walked all over the Heat, 119–89. And the Warriors edged out the Lakers, 105–103."
Grayson's face went still, his mouth slightly agape. Then he blinked, once, twice, as if processing the information. His eyes narrowed, incredulous.
"You've got to be kidding me," he said flatly, disbelief coloring his tone.
Olivia, entirely unfazed, took a relaxed swig of her beer, the bottle cool against her palm, and gave him an angelic smile. "Something wrong, Mr. Steel?"
"You got all three? No notes? No hesitation?" he asked, his voice tinged with awe.
"Grayson," she replied with mock offense, touching her chest as if truly wounded, "I told you I'm the best. I don't just dabble in sports. I live it."
He eyed her with a mix of suspicion and admiration. "You don't work in sports," he stated, as if trying to solve a mystery.
"Nope." Her voice was firm, yet playful.
"You don't even—wait, do you have brothers?" Grayson asked, curiosity piqued.
"I do, actually," she replied with a casual shrug, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "But I didn't need them to get into it. I've always had a thing for stats and systems," she added, her voice tinged with a hint of pride.
"Nope." Grayson shook his head, disbelief evident in his expression. "You don't even have cable."
"Also true." She leaned back in her chair, utterly relaxed, as if she were lounging on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
"You're telling me you just casually know that off the top of your head?" Grayson pressed, his eyes narrowing in playful suspicion.
"Grayson," she said, her voice turning mock-scolding, as if chiding a child, "I told you I don't play unless I win."
"You don't work in sports," he muttered, more to himself now, his brow furrowed in thought. "You didn't even check your phone. You just pulled that out of nowhere like some kind of human stat machine."
"Then how—" he began, his voice trailing off.
She smiled wider, a slow, knowing smile that spread across her face like the dawn breaking over a quiet landscape. She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as she said, "Spoilers," before giving him a sly wink and sitting back with the air of someone who had just closed a major business deal.
Grayson stared at her for a beat, his mouth slightly open in awe, before running his hand down his face and letting out a soft, incredulous laugh. "You are unreal," he finally managed to say.
"I'm starting to think you like it," she replied with a knowing smirk, her eyes twinkling with mischief and satisfaction.
She barked a genuine laugh, leaning her head back against the couch in delight. If only he knew the half of it.
Back in Chicago, Olivia had a knack for running bets among her classmates since her high school days with the stealth and precision like a seasoned spy. She seamlessly ran bets among her classmates, a practiced hand at orchestrating wagers.
As she progressed to college, her network expanded, enveloping fellow students in a web of fantasy leagues spanning football and basketball, March Madness brackets, the World Cup, and even the PGA tour. Olivia remained a quiet, shadowy figure — a masterful bookie lurking in the background, setting odds with the meticulous precision of a watchmaker, and raking in winnings with a strategic brilliance that could rival a Vegas pit boss.
For her, sports had never been merely a pastime; they were a lucrative venture, a battlefield where her cunning and calculation reigned supreme. She was not just good; she was exceptionally, remarkably good.
She leaned sideways into the plush depths of the couch, her elbow propped up like a casual anchor, her face illuminated by the soft, warm glow of the kitchen light that spilled into the room. Their eyes locked, creating a bridge of electricity that crackled with an unspoken intensity — a constant back-and-forth pull of heat and tension that seemed to fill the space between them.
But then, with a deliberate, slow breath, Grayson broke the intense stare and gave a theatrical clap of his hands that echoed softly in the room. "Alright. NHL. Don't choke," he announced, his voice laced with playful challenge. "Final round, Little Fox. This is for the win." His grin was wide and daring, the kind that seemed to taunt her, daring her to fail.
Olivia sat up straighter, her long legs swinging gracefully off the couch to plant firmly on the soft rug beneath her feet. She looked at him, and the edges of her smug smile softened into something more genuine. She knew this one, too. Of course she did.
Canadiens triumphed over the Rangers, 3–1. Lightning outshone the Panthers, 4–2. The Golden Knights narrowly defeated the Avalanche in an intense overtime, 2–1. It was all too easy.
She let her fingers tap rhythmically against the cool surface of her beer bottle, feigning a pensive expression as if lost in thought. The truth was, she wasn't hesitating because of uncertainty. She was stalling because winning this bet now held deeper significance. If she won, she would remain free—free to take her suitcase, call an Uber, and possibly leave behind a cute note before slipping back into her regularly scheduled life. And yet…
Her gaze lingered on him, on his relaxed posture like a carefully crafted mask, on the fire smoldering in his eyes behind it.
The way he watched her mouth, even when pretending not to. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, her mind tingling with the memory of that kiss in the town car, his hands gripping her thighs, and his voice, thick and gravelly, whispering her name repeatedly. What had begun as just another of their playful games now felt like a pivotal decision. If she lost? At the very least, she would find herself staying with Grayson for the next five weeks, living under the same roof, waking up beside him, witnessing him in his most raw and unfiltered moments, and allowing him to see her in the same vulnerable light. The realization of how deeply she wanted to lose was suddenly terrifying. She wasn't ready for how serious that felt — how permanent it seemed.
She wasn't ready to admit how deeply that fear gripped her, like an unseen hand clutching her heart.
"Do my eyes deceive me?" Grayson said, leaning forward, a mischievous glint dancing in his hazel eyes. "And Ms. Webber is actually stumped?"
Olivia snapped out of her reverie, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. "No! I am not stumped."
"Okay then," he replied, crossing his arms with a triumphant grin, as if he had already grasped the victory. "Let's have it."
She sat there, motionless, staring at him. His tousled hair seemed to defy gravity, each strand capturing the cabin's soft light. His hazel eyes bore into her, twinkling as if he could read the very thoughts swirling around in her mind. His lips were slightly parted, poised in anticipation.
She opened her mouth to speak. Then hesitated. Blinked once, her eyes wide with a mix of determination and uncertainty.
"Okay," she finally said, her voice slower and more deliberate now. "First game… Canadiens beat the Rangers, 3–1."
Grayson gave a slow, approving nod.
"Second game… Lightning over the Panthers, 4–2."
He nodded again, his grin widening with each confirmation.
"And the third—"
Ding.
The cabin lights above flickered, casting a brief strobe across the passengers. The captain's voice crackled through the speaker overhead with authority and calm.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. We are beginning our final descent into Boston. Local time is 5:42 PM. The weather is a cool 58 degrees with clear skies. Please ensure your seatbelts are securely fastened, and prepare for landing."
Olivia exhaled slowly, feeling the tension in her shoulders coil tighter, the pressure in her chest increasing with each breath. Her thoughts, momentarily scattered, began to blend as she blinked, emerging from the fog of her mind. Turning to the small oval window, she gazed out at the city sprawling beneath her in a breathtaking watercolor blur of pink and gold hues, the skyline shimmering in the fading light. Boston was drawing near, each second bringing her closer.
She had things to do, important tasks waiting. And now… not much time to accomplish them.