Page 6 of Claimed At First Sight

It’s like we’ve played together before. Which, obviously, we haven’t.

“Left,” he says beside me.

Not quite a command but close. Still, I take the shot, driving it hard toward Isa, who barely manages to return it, sending it high enough to give him the opening.

He steps in, finishing the point cleanly.

“Lucky shots,” Isa fires back. I chuckle, ignoring what she said.

Exhaling slowly, I’m more aware of him than I’d like. It bothers me.

“You do realize I didn’t need your help,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

“Perhaps I just felt like playing.” His voice is calm, as if none of this is particularly important to him.

I bet the last time he played badminton, or any game, was several decades ago.

I glance at him again. He’s closer than before. My skin prickles immediately. Still, I meet his gaze head-on.

“Let’s play then,” I tell him.

As soon as the words leave my mouth, his grin grows. Somehow I get the impression we’re not really talking about badminton anymore.

My stomach tumbles. It’s a strange, unfamiliar sensation.

I force my attention back onto my sister. “What’s the score?”

I know damn well what it is, because I don’t miss a thing, but I needed a reason to break away.

“Nineteen–twenty,” Mari says, glancing between us. “You might be ahead, but you won’t beat us this time.”

Not with me being distracted, that’s for sure.

The next rally starts, Isa and Mari really playing to win. The easy rhythm from before sharpens, the shots coming faster, more precise, each return placed with intention.

I welcome it, letting my focus narrow as the shuttle moves back and forth across the net in quick, controlled exchanges. Isa sends it wide, forcing me to stretch, and I return it, watching Mari adjust at the last second to keep it in play.

The pace builds quickly after that. There’s no time to think, only to react. I shift left, then right, adjusting without hesitation, aware of him beside me without actually looking, of the way he moves in sync with me, covering ground so I don’t have to.

Mari sends the shuttle low this time, right into the center. I move for it instantly. So does he.

We collide.

It’s not hard enough to send either of us to the ground, but enough that my balance falters, my shoulder brushing firmly against his chest as we both adjust too late. The contact is brief, barely a moment, and yet it feels… noticeable.

His hand closes around my arm, steadying me before I can fully lose my footing. It’s an instinctive move. And entirely unwelcome.

Heat flares where he touches me, racing up my arm with no way for me to shut it down.

I pull away as soon as I’m steady again, stepping out of his reach like I didn’t feel a thing.

“We’re meant to win this match,” I snap, more to reassert control than anything else.

A flicker of something crosses his expression, gone almost as quickly as it appears, but not before I catch it.

Amusement, maybe?

“Then we should work on our communication,” he replies, his voice gravelly.