Page 122 of The Trouble with Flings

“Then all bets are off,” Wells says, rubbing his hands together.

“Just how competitive are we talking?” I ask as we weave through the crowd toward the pavilion.

“From what I’ve heard,” Victory says, “we’ll be glad we’re on the sidelines with the rest of the significant others.”

“Is it really that competitive?” I ask.

“You’re asking the wrong question,” Randi says.

“What’s the right question?” I wonder aloud.

Keira hooks her arm through mine. “How attached are you to my brother’s dignity?”

I raise my brows. “That bad?”

“Last year Fitz body-checked Archer into a bush in a race to grab an egg,” Grant says.

“I barely touched him,” Fitz argues. “He’s just a klutz.”

“He had bruises for a week,” Indi exclaims.

“That’s because he’s a delicate flower,” Fitz teases, and everyone laughs.

Archer is built like a truck with an attitude to match, except when it comes to Indi. I look across the grass at the playground, where Archer is helping Jock and Daphne with Hadley and the twins and see him carrying one wriggling, giggling twin under each arm. He’s a big softie with the little ones, too.

“It’s not just physically competitive,” Tessa says. “I once caught Brant armed with a drone at the crack of dawn, waiting for our dads to hide the golden eggs.”

“Why do you always assume the worst?” Brant accuses. “I was merely playing with my new toy.”

Randi snorts. “Right.”

“I believe you,” Cait says, and as Brant leans in to kiss her, she says, “Not,” causing a burst of laughter.

“At least he learned from the night-vision fiasco,” Jamison chimes in.

“That was hilarious,” Keira says.

“I felt bad for them,” Jules says, shifting her precious little boy, Stevie, to her other hip. He’s adorable in an Easter outfit with tiny suspenders and a little bow tie.

I look at Fitz. “What kind of fiasco was it?”

“It’s not that interesting a story,” he says.

“It’s actually quite amusing,” Jamison says, and motions to Fitz, Wells, and Brant. “These three geniuses hid in the bushes with night-vision goggles all night waiting for our dads to hide the eggs, but they didn’t think to check the bushes for poison ivy.”

“Oh no,” I say.

“That’s not the worst part,” Fitz says under his breath.

“They had poison ivy on their hands,” Leni says. “So when they peed, they got poison ivy on their junk, too. They were scratching their crotches for weeks.”

The group erupts into laughter.

“Go ahead, laugh at our humiliation,” Fitz says. “You won’t be laughing when I take the prize this year.”

“Dude, the reigning Easter king will be taking the prize again this year,” Wells says arrogantly.

“Dream on, little brother,” Grant says.