Page 31 of A Match Made in Error

I immediately try to kill the thought, because wanting Riven is a spectacular way to ruin everything we’ve ever built. Our friendship. My livelihood and apartment. Honestly, my whole social life and stability. If I blow up this friendship, I am effectively blowing up my life because there is not a part of it that Riven doesn’t touch.

“What if I try wearing you like a backpack again?” His hands are strong and warm. He rests them on my hips like it’s natural…like my body was built to fit under them. He grips tighter and helps hoist me onto his back. I yelp involuntarily. “If you keep making those little sounds when I pick you up, I’m going to fail this challenge on purpose and carry you back to the bungalow.” He can’t help it, his flirty little comments, just like I can’t help the heat in my cheeks after he says them. I’m thankful when we fall this time, because the sharp snap of my body on the water resets my brain and cools my blushing cheeks.

When I come out of the water and check the timer, I see that only a minute remains.

A fairy, a helper of the Moirai, flutters nearby and claps her hands, far too cheerful. “You’ll need a more intimate hold for stability,” she chirps, gesturing like this is the most normal thing in the world. “Wrap your legs around his waist. He’ll support your center of gravity.”

I flush instantly. “I—what?”

Riven doesn’t hesitate. He steps closer, hands already at my hips, steady and sure. “It’s either this or we faceplant in front of the entire realm and lose,” he murmurs. “I hate losing, but I’ll allow this to be the lady’s choice.”

My pulse stutters. “Fine.” Mortified, I do it. “Let’s do the waist one.” I glare at the beautiful fairy before stepping into Riven’s hold.

“Come here, trouble.” My legs hook around his waist, instinctively tightening. The movement pulls me flush against him—no space, no buffer, just heat and balance and the undeniable reality of his body supporting mine.

He lifts me easily, like I weigh nothing. One arm anchors my spine, firm and unyielding, keeping my center aligned with his. The other braces me from underneath, palm warm and solid, fingers flexing just slightly as he adjusts his grip. Not wandering. Not teasing. Just…holding.

I can feel everything. The strength in his arms. The steady rise and fall of his chest beneath mine. The way his stance widens automatically to compensate for my weight, feet sinking into wet stone, muscles locking in like this is instinct instead of performance.

He’s calm. Focused. Almost detached.

I am none of those things.

My thighs tremble where they’re wrapped around him, my hands clutching uselessly at his shoulders as my brain short-circuits on how we’re positioned, how easy it is for him, how unfair it feels that he looks composed while I feel like I’ve been plugged directly into a live wire.

He exhales slowly, adjusting again, voice low and steady near my ear. “Got you. Just don’t fight the balance.”

As if I could do anything but hold on.

I wait for the joke.

The innuendo.

Anything.

But he goes completely silent.

And somehow, that’s worse.

His hands settle like they know exactly where they belong, not wandering, not teasing, just holding me like I’m something fragile and necessary. The way he looks at me changes, too. No grin. No swagger. Just determined focus.

And just when we finally settle into the position that doesn’t feel like it’s going to send us both face-first into the sea, silver light coils around my wrist. Then his.

Moonstone bands snap into place like elegant cuffs, cool and humming against my skin. Above the beach, a massive crystal display flickers to life, hovering in the air with dozens of glowing heart sigils pulsing in time with the couples below.

The Maiden’s voice drifts over the water, far too pleased. “Heart monitors. Your bodies will now speak what your mouths will not.”

My pulse surges. Immediately. My bracelet flares so bright it might as well be screaming. The other contestants gasp, laughter rippling like a wave. I feel flayed open, like the entire realm just watched a private thought crawl out of my chest and set itself on fire.

I glance at Riven.

He stays perfectly, infuriatingly calm. A steady, unwavering glow. Like he’s carved from stone. Like standing this close to me means absolutely nothing at all.

Probably because it doesn’t. I’m just Pop to him. A bar maiden. A tenant. A friend.

Riven keeps us balanced on the stump, and I try to ignore the burn in my cheeks from embarrassment and the heat of his body pressing against mine with only our flimsy swimsuits between us. I try not to overthink it. Try to forget the sting of humiliation to be the only one of our pair to have a physical reaction to our precarious situation. Water splashes up on my calf, and I huff. Someone nearby falls into the water, and while Riven laughs, I puff out air from my nostrils and try to tighten my wet hands around themselves, but they slip, and I have to tighten my legs around Riven’s toned core.

Riven shifts, bringing both his hands under me and locking them together, leaving his balled fists only a few inches from my center. I huff again. “What’s wrong?” he asks.