~Peeta~

"That's number eleven for me," Everdeen smirks, adding a tally mark to the board. She sets the chalk down with a flourish and aims a cocky smile at me. "Looks like I take the lead, Mellark. Three more days and that sweet little ride of yours is gonna be mine. I wonder where I'll take it first?"

I roll my eyes and fully submerge my tea bag in the cup of hot water. I let it steep while I watch Everdeen, her mercury eyes fixed on me, an open invitation daring me to do something—anything—to goad her in response.

And I can't resist. Pulling the tea bag from my cup and tossing it into the trash, I saunter over to her desk and settle into her chair. Her eyes narrow imperceptibly as I push back and swing my legs up onto her desk, narrowly missing a stack of case files and a framed photo of her and a willowy blonde girl in front of some kind of rock outcropping.

"You like adventure, Everdeen?" I motion towards the picture frame.

I can tell from her stance that it's taking a monumental effort on her part not to freak out on me for touching her stuff. She crosses her arms across her chest, but, oh, if she only knew all it does is make me think about her perfect breasts even more. The way she stands pushes them up and makes them even perkier, and I can imagine that's how they'd look like if it were my hands pushing them together like that—right before I take them in my mouth.

"I like to stay active," she replies. I hide my smirk. I can think of about 20 different ways I'd like to get active with her, and most of them require no clothing.

"Hmm," I begin, swiveling back and forth, a contemplative smile on my lips. Her eyes keep flickering between her desktop and my mouth as she takes a few steps closer to me. "So if I were going to be planning an outing for, say, I don't know, a first date, you wouldn't be opposed to something…physically challenging?"

"You're not going to win, Mellark." She smirks at me. "You can keep fantasizing though. It's good to keep your brain active."

"Oh I fantasize plenty," I volley. "Want to know what I think about most?" I let my tongue stall on the last word, dragging it out in a seductive hiss.

"No!" But her reply is too hasty, too insistent; it betrays her. She does too want to know. And that's exactly why I don't say another word. It'll drive her crazy, wondering what I was going to reveal. Instead, I turn my attention back to the picture frame.

"Who's the blonde with you?"

Her countenance instantly sobers and her eyes become stony. She stalks off, her braid swishing, her hips swaying. I sigh, rest my forehead on her desk, and lightly bang my head against the surface a few times for posterity. As I raise my head, I squint at the photograph, and after a quick glance around to be sure Everdeen isn't just sulking at Mason or Cresta's desks, I pick up the frame for a closer look.

Naturally, my eyes are first drawn to Everdeen, a pretty smile lighting her face. She looks carefree and happy. Her arm is slung around the blonde girl, who appears to be a good four or five years younger than Everdeen, who herself looks to be fifteen or sixteen here. Though there is virtually no physical resemblance between the two, I know without a doubt I am looking at her and her sister. So she does have a sibling. The physical evidence is right here, in plain view on her desk.

I furrow my brows and set the picture back, careful to set it exactly where I found it, and I head around to my own desk to rummage through my open cases for the one I know has the capacity to vault me ahead of Everdeen and claim victory by Friday afternoon.

I get completely caught up in my paperwork and it's nearly seven by the time I finish following up on the leads for the case that I am relying on for my triumph over Everdeen. I shoot Rue a text and I'm relieved that she's home. She agrees to go over again and feed Ilsa and let her out. As if I weren't already feeling guilty about inadvertently upsetting Everdeen earlier, neglecting my baby only compounds my guilt. I decide to work off some aggression.

Since our station gym's renovation six months ago, I find myself using it more frequently than my actual health club membership. Our facility used to be nothing more than some free weights, a bench press, one treadmill, and a sauna, but now among the upgrades it boasts multiple machines and an indoor pool.

I throw on some gym shorts that I keep in my locker and double knot my sneakers, and then I walk out into the gym. Quiet grunts command my attention instantly, and my eyes sweep the room, landing on the punching bags suspended from the ceiling. The one farthest to the right sways wildly, thanks to the kicks that Everdeen continues to land on it. I remain in place, watching her spar for several moments. She's wearing nothing but a sports bra and a pair of tiny Adidas shorts, and her hair is pulled back in a ponytail. Even from across the room I can see her skin is slick with sweat. Her chest heaves with effort and her ab muscles alternate contracting and relaxing with every kick.

I try to be stealthy as I make my way towards the bench press, but Everdeen must catch sight of me in the mirrored wall because she freezes and stops her kickboxing. She drags her arm across her forehead and steps away from the bag.

"Sorry, didn't mean to disturb you," I call.

"I'm finished." She undoes her gloves and grabs a nearby towel. She blots it over her neck and down the top of her chest.

"Everdeen, wait!" I call when she moves to leave. She pauses and turns to face me. I jog over to her. "I'm, ah, sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to pry about your family."

Those silver eyes crackle. "How do you know she's my family?"

"Just a guess. There's something about her that looks just like you…"

She makes a strangled noise and draws a ragged breath. "You're the first person to ever say we look alike."

"I didn't say you look alike," I correct her. "I said there's just something about her that made me know she was your sister. Something in your smiles."

Everdeen pushes a clump of damp hair out of her eyes. "Yes, she's my sister," she says quietly. Pain anchors her words. There is definitely a story here, one that she's obviously not ready or willing to tell me. I can't push her. But I need to do something fast to make her eyes stop looking so forlorn. The hurt on her face makes my own heart ache in reply.

"If you win," I venture, "I don't want you parking my car anywhere near Delly's next week."

I still have the utmost faith that I'm going to be victorious come Friday afternoon, but the insinuation I make to sweet Delly's abysmal parking record has the intended effect. The veil of anguish on Everdeen's face lifts. She gives me a coy smile.

"Do I sense worry, Mellark?"

I close the distance between us and drag my thumb along her temple, edging back the same strands of hair that are again plastered to her sweaty skin. "Never," I murmur. When I see her shiver, a shudder of my own skitters down my spine. "You sure you're done in here? I could use a spotter…"

Her throat bobs as she swallows. I fully expect her to bolt to the locker room, as she always does when something passes between us, like it just did.

"Okay," she acquiesces, throwing her towel over one shoulder and starting for the bench press. She blinks at me and gives me a look that clearly says, 'what the fuck are you waiting for, this was your idea,' so I wipe my suddenly sweaty palms on my shorts and lie down on the bench. I don't miss the way Everdeen's eyes sweep over my bare chest, and my ego does a little dance. I grip the bar, lower it to my chest, and start to lift.

~Katniss~

I pound my pillow in frustration and stare blankly at the red numbers on my digital clock. Sleep has evaded me; usually I'm so beat at the end of the day that my eyes are cemented shut before my head hits the pillow. But I suspected when I slipped between the sheets nearly three hours ago that slumber wouldn't come easily tonight.

It's all his fault. And I hate myself for even acknowledging that fact, but I know damn well Peeta Mellark is the reason that I can't sleep. My body is restless and my brain is over stimulated, repeatedly conjuring up graphic images of him. Each time I close my eyes I see that perfect body of his: the smooth planes of his chest, the concave dip leading to his solidly muscular stomach, the beautifully cut indentation of his outer abs, the trail of fine blond hair that disappeared into his shorts…

Fuck. I can't stop thinking about what lies beneath those shorts and what what lies beneath those shorts could do to me. I should stop fighting it and just give in to the stupid tingling below my navel and finally get some sleep. God help me, I need a release so bad.

I bite my lip and bunch up the hem of my camisole as I begin to slip my hand past the waistband of my pajama bottoms. I tip my head back on the pillow and sigh, my fingers trekking lower and lower…

A loud ping from the nightstand forces me to retract my hand. Exasperated, I grab my phone.

Mellark, Peeta

Today 2:03 a.m.

Bet you wish it were my fingers touching you right now.

Holy. Shit. I sit upright, and my phone slips from my grasp, landing in the tangle of sheets. My heart starts thumping as I pick it up.

What the fuck.

There's no message from Peeta. Instead I find a spam text—at two o'fucking clock in the morning, really? I slam down the phone in frustration. My traitorous imagination had to have played a cruel trick on me. I flop back against the pillows, mind reeling. I wish the damn message had been from Darius, telling me something was going down at the warehouse. I'd gladly have thrown on clothes and driven to Seam Street—I'd have welcomed the distraction, actually.

I stare at the ceiling, desperately struggling to keep those blue eyes out of my thoughts. But it's pointless. When my mind wanders right back to Mellark, I force myself to think of all the places I'm going to take his precious BMW when I win that stupid bet. I will not lose. I cannot lose.

On Friday afternoon I can barely contain my glee—I'm dangerously close to actually dancing around the station. The clock above Mags's desk says 4:55. My phone says 4:56. I clench my fists to channel some of my nervous energy, but try as I might I can't stand still. I don't even really care about the car. Besting Mellark is the bigger prize. Bragging rights will last far longer than the week I'll spend behind the wheel of his roadster.

"There's no way…I'm up by four arrests…it's over!" I crow to Mason.

"Well where the fuck is he?" she asks. "I haven't seen him since lunch."

"He's probably off licking his wounds somewhere," I reply, checking the clock again.

"Speak of the Devil." Mason jerks her head towards the entrance, where Mellark stops and places one hand on the doorframe, his posture oozing bravado. My heart plummets into my stomach, nausea roiling rapidly. The swagger in his step as he starts to walk towards me, coupled with that fucking cocky smile, tells me he's up to no good.

Shit, why does he have to have such a killer smile?

Despite my trepidation, I feign confidence, smiling tightly and striding up to him. "Have you been avoiding the inevitable, Mellark? Hiding out, not wanting to face me until the very last minute? Because if you'll take a good careful look at that chalkboard—"

"Oh, Everdeen," he says, placing a hand on my shoulder, "you were so close. So very, very close. I must commend you for the fight. You were quite the competition. And you almost had me…" He whistles through his teeth and winks at me.

My jaw drops as Leeg and Mitchell parade a line of what must be twenty guys through the room towards the holding cells. I shake my head numbly, bracing myself for the explanation. Mellark gives me that smile again.

"Prostitution sting I've been running since the beginning of the month. Arrested twenty-two guys for solicitation this afternoon."

"That's not a felony!" I protest, my voice rising at least an octave. "Solicitation is not a felony!"

He squeezes my shoulder a little and his satisfied smirk spreads. "It is if it's a second offense…which it is, for eight of them. Fun fact, one of them is actually named John!" He marches over to the board, grabs the chalk, and twists his body so he's half facing me. "Help me count these, Everdeen? Eight…nine…ten…11…12…13…14…15…well, would you look at that? Fifteen for me, 11 for you, and…." He gives the clock a pointed look, and he also pulls his iPhone from his pocket and shows me the screen. "Three, two, one…time's up!"

I can only shake my head at him, total disbelief seizing me. I've lost. He's won.

The entire station is watching us, as he yanks open his top desk drawer, pulls out a long wand of some sort, and aims it at me. With a shake, confetti explodes everywhere. Our desks look like a rainbow projectile-vomited everywhere, and that's about how I feel too.

Mellark takes one of his Doves, pins me with his sparkling eyes, and slowly places the candy on his tongue. "Victory is sweet," he mumbles around the chocolate. He extends his hand and offers me one. "But I can't promise that might not taste a little bitter."

How the fuck was I ready to rub one out while fantasizing about this guy last night? Right now I have nothing but the urge to smack him right in the middle of his muscled chest. But he will not get the best of me, not even as I concede defeat. I set my shoulders and raise my chin, then look him straight in the eyes.

"Congratulations," I say. My arm feels like an anvil as I extend it to him. He drops the candy back onto his desk and I gasp as he plants one hand on the small of my back and tugs me right against him. I smell the chocolate on his breath as he drops his head slightly, and my heart thumps wildly against my ribs.

"I hope you're free tomorrow night. Because I've had it marked on my calendar since the day we made this bet. And I've already been very patient, Katniss."

The way he drags out the last syllable of my name turns my spine to butter, and slick heat pools between my legs at the wanton tone of his voice. I can't want him like this. I should be horrified right now. I've lost a competition—I hate losing. And he's infuriating.

So in spite of the way his gaze has my body singing and my nipples tightening and my panties getting wetter, I purse my lips at him and say, as nonchalantly as I can, "Might as well get it over with…sure, tomorrow will work. I'll clear my schedule."

His eyes sparkle, two big blue sapphires trained on me. "I'll pick you up at 6. Wear something nice."

I glare back. "You know where I live?"

He smirks. "I wouldn't be a very good detective if I didn't." He drops his palm from its perch just above my ass and gives me one last lingering look before he backs away. I watch numbly as he makes the rounds through the room, high-fiving Odair and a few others in celebration.

I make sure to catch his eye, however, when I erase the chalkboard and wheel it back into storage.

Mason and Cresta offer to take me for consolation drinks after work that evening. I text my roommate, Madge, and she agrees to join us after her workout, so the three of us are one margarita in by the time she arrives.

"So when does he hand over the keys to that gorgeous car, Katniss? When do I get a joy ride?" Madge asks the second she's slid into the booth beside me. I sigh and shake my head as I plunge a chip deep into the guacamole. Madge's blue eyes round and she gapes at me.

"You lost?"

"She lost," Mason pipes up, smirking. "And now she's got a hot date with a smoking hot blond cop tomorrow night."

"Johanna, shut up," I grit out around my mouthful of chip.

"You're going out with him tomorrow?" Madge squeals.

I roll my eyes and snag another chip. "Why prolong the torture? I'll get it over with, and then maybe Mellark will leave me alone and move on to tormenting his next victim."

Mason snorts and licks some salt of the rim of her glass. "You are so fucking dense."

"Here we go," Cresta murmurs, raising a brow at Madge and me.

I sit back against the booth and fold my arms across my chest. "Okay, enlighten me, Jo. Why am I so fucking dense?"

"Because he likes you, Brainless. He likes you and this isn't just a bet to him. This is the only way he could get you to agree to go out with him, yes, but you can bet he is going to make damn sure you know how he feels tomorrow night."

Ignoring the jittery feeling in my lower abdomen and the weird hiccough my heart makes, I take a hasty sip of my drink to temper my reaction. "How are you so sure of this?"

Mason smirks again. "I have a way of getting men to talk…and Odair has a big fucking mouth." She catches her words and holds up a hand. "Relax, Annie, not at all what I meant. I mean we're partners. He tells me stuff."

Cresta blushes, as she comes to the conclusion that Odair has probably talked to Mason about their not-so-secret relationship too.

I sit in silence for a moment, processing this little nugget of information. I still can't figure out why Mellark is so hung up on me. Women throw themselves at him all the time. I don't think I'm that particularly pretty, though a fair share of guys in college and my friends have often disputed that. And I'm not that nice to him. Okay, I'm almost never that nice to him. I certainly don't make doe eyes at him and look at him like he hung the moon.

"What would be so wrong with falling for him, Katniss?" Madge asks gently. "Is it because you're partners? I thought there wasn't a rule against that…"

"There's not," Mason and Cresta interject in unison. They look at each other and both laugh—though I have to wonder if Mason is referring to all the times she hooked up with Gale when he was still at 12, or if there's someone else she's doing and not telling us about.

"Katniss," Madge urges again, "it's been forever since you went out on a date. I never even hear you mention guys…other than Mellark, you know."

"I don't mention Mellark!" I retort hotly. Madge gives me a dubious look.

"You kind of do. You talk about him a lot. You just don't realize you're doing it." She smiles and pats my hand reassuringly. "And that's okay…I don't know why you're so opposed to letting a devastatingly handsome, very successful man treat you like a queen for a night…or more."

I'm not sure if it's the tequila I'm guzzling down or the disturbingly logical points Madge is making, but my head is getting fuzzy and I'm getting more and more confused. "It's just one stupid date!"

All three of them look at me, matching expressions of skepticism on their faces. "If you say so, Katniss," Cresta says.

Funny thing is I don't believe myself either.

Author's Note—Sorry for the delay in getting the rest of this posted. I hope to finish it up very soon. And thank you for all the well wishes that made their way into my in-box recently. I've had a rough September, between a death in the family and an insurmountable amount of work being back at school, and it just knocked me down as I adjusted, and beta work came first in my spare time.

As always, this is for iLoVeRynMar. I love you. Thanks for being my rock. All mistakes/errors are mine.

Thanks for reading.