#hittingthetarget

“Where’s this afternoon’s advance run? And why wasn’t it on my desk 30 minutes ago?” 

A frustrated feminine voice rings out through the university newspaper workroom, and the clicking sound of her power heels marching across the linoleum heralds the end of the afternoon’s peace. 

It’s never a good sign when the editor of the Panem Chronicle steps out of her office to check up on the underlings that scurry around nervously and do her bidding. The woman is intimidating and has a tongue so sharp it’s been known to leave the first-year interns emotionally scarred. 

She might be small, even in her 4-inch stilettos, but she casts a long shadow.  People start fidgeting at their desks and shuffling their papers nervously. One girl actually backs out of the workroom before she can be spotted, when she sees Johanna “The Axe” Mason has left her lair and is on the prowl for unsuspecting victims. 

“Where’s that article on the golf team’s latest tournament?” She questions in a clipped tone that is all business. 

“Fuck me,” I mutter tiredly under my breath while trying to simultaneously shrink down to inconspicuous levels so that Jo Mason, won’t hear or see me. 

But I know that no matter how hard I hunch my shoulders and try to turn invisible, it won’t help me now. She knows I’m here. She knows I’m not done. I feel a sweat break out on the back of my neck as she approaches my workstation. 

Knowing Johanna she’d take my avoidance of this confrontation as an invitation to initiate a few rounds of verbal sparing, not as an expression of utter unenthusiastic dread. She always seems to get a kick out of finding any excuse to go toe-to-toe with one of the only guys in the department who wasn’t terrified of her. It was fun at first, but now it’s getting old. I find myself almost resenting her in recent weeks. She's the reason I’ve got writer's block right now. I’m dreading having to finish this article. It's driving me nuts. 

I hate golf, (I told Johanna this when she gave me the assignment) and I’ve been doing nothing but covering their university’s shitty golf tournaments for the last few weeks. And even though I’ve seen enough mediocre college golf to last till the end of eternity, I can’t for the life of me finish this pathetic golf article that was due half an hour ago. The thing is just a boring, uninteresting, cold fish piece of shit. And I hate myself for writing it. I hate Johanna even more for assigning me this piece. It's like she knows exactly which soul-sucking assignments I desire least and saves them just for me. 

 “Mellark! Are you still stuck on the conclusion? Stop playing with your dick and finish the fucking article already! We’ve got a deadline to meet!” Johanna says when she finally reaches my desk and stands over my shoulder, only to find I’m still stuck in the same spot I was an hour ago. 

“I’m trying Johanna! But this--this story is just--”

“Just what asshole? Too hot for you to handle? It's a damn 600-word news piece, not a 60 minutes interview for god sake!” 

“It's BORING! And there’s no way to make it interesting! I’ve tried! It's just---garbage! Dry, utterly boring, and sleep-inducing garbage!” 

Johnna stands stock still for a minute. I worry I may have gone overboard, for a second. 

Then she starts shaking with silent laughter. 

“Well, yeah duh! I mean it's college golf, not exactly riveting stuff. ” She says in between involuntary shoulder shakes. 

I inhale sharply. 

“So you knew. You knew it was a crap assignment and you made me write it anyway! That’s just great Jo. That’s terrific. Why couldn’t you assign it to Beetee or Wireless or something? They’ve been asking to go out on assignments instead of always getting stuck on research or box design. Didn’t you tell me when I joined the paper that I had the best ‘authentic writing voice’ you’d heard in years? And yet Marvel and Cato get to cover our basketball and football teams every season! What am I doing here JO? How is this a good use of my skills?” I explode in frustration. I’m so tired of getting stuck in this cycle. But I can’t just put up with her shit quietly like the rest of them. If it’s a fight she wants today, then I guess it’s a fight she’ll get. 

Instead of spitting some quickly thought-up insult at me, she surprises me by sighing and shifting to lean against my desk next to me, looking directly at my face instead of over my shoulder. 

“Mellark, you’re talented. That’s exactly why I give you the tough assignments. You can dress up a pile of shit and make it look like a chocolate sundae. But, you’ve only been on the team for a year. You still have to pay your dues, rookie. Look, I’ll make you a deal. Finish this shit show of an article, and make it readable. If you can do that I’ll give you a better assignment this coming week. Not basketball or anything super big, because you know, baby steps, but I promise it will be a step up from the golf crap.” 

“Fine Jo. But I’m holding you to your promise! Maybe I should make you sign a contract so you don't go back on your word,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her. 

“Yeah, yeah, Mellark. No need to break out the ritual sacrifice knife to make me sign my soul away in blood. I'm a woman of my word. I'll deliver on my promise. But, you better wow me with this conclusion, or else it's back to the golf carts, pretentious khakis, and designer sunglasses for you.” She threatens, but there’s a twinkle of respect in her eye that boosts my confidence.  

“It's going to be the best shit sundae you’ve ever had Jo. I promise.” I vow. 

I managed to tweak and finish the article until it was an interesting and engaging college sports piece, and by the time the story had to go to print Joanna was smiling.

“So, I take it that smile means I’m going to get assigned something decent this coming week?” 

“Well, since you pulled it off, I’d say so.” Johanna slams a piece of paper down on my desk. It contains a name, email address, and office phone number.  

Haymitch Abernathy [email protected] 555-451-1213

“What’s this?” 

“Contact info for your next assignment. Email this guy and set up a time to go and observe his team at practice. He’s the head coach for the university’s archery team. Word around campus is a new freshman is blowing all the competition out of the water. The team’s got a shot at nationals this year. I want you to do a full piece on her, and the team. You can interview the coach too. The higher-ups want to make this feature article a two-page spread.” 

“Two pages?!” 

“Yep. So don’t say I never did anything for ya Mellark. Oh, and take your camera and get some candid shots. She’s a real hot shot. Hits the target every time. And she looks good doing it, or so they say. That’ll be good for the article too.”  

I laugh, only Johanna would so openly comment on sex appeal as a way to increase our reader base. 

“Ok, Jo. Sure thing. And thank you! You won’t regret it!” 

“Yeah, yeah. Bring me back something spectacular and we’ll see if you deserve to be bumped up permanently to something more substantial after this.” 

I nodded and smiled. I was hopeful, enthusiastic, and most of all intrigued to find out more about this newest assignment and the girl who seemed to be lighting the college archery scene on fire.

(Katniss POV) 

I lifted my bow, breathing in steadily, and lined up the tip of my arrow with the target. Shooting with a recurve barebow required a different technique than the modern sighted bows, with their fancy pins and bubble levels. String walking was my preferred method of aiming, and even without the technical assistance of an adjustable sight component, I was still the best shot on Panem University’s archery team. I brought the string back and adjusted my bare bow tab slightly since this was a 40-yard shot. I took another breath in and as I began exhaling the carbon dioxide from my lungs, I felt my hands still. Then I blew out the silent puff through my parted lips and released. 

The arrow flew fast and true and hit dead center. 

I heard Finnick and Gale and my other teammates whooping in appreciation behind me. I resisted the urge to smirk. Lest our coach, Haymitch, the surly old man who sometimes came to practice just a tad hungover, started giving me shit about being cocky. 

“Girl you are on FIRE! You haven’t missed the mark once today!” Finnick cheered as I tucked my bow underneath my arm and walked back to the cooler filled with ice water where my teammates gathered for breaks in between shots. I grabbed a paper cup and proceeded to pour myself a drink to cool my parched throat before I replied. 

“It's just practice, Finnick. No need to get so excited.” I reminded him and he chuckled. 

“He’s just stoked that now we have enough high-scoring members to register as a team this year for the collegiate 3D nationals,” Gale states proudly as he looks over at me. He had practically begged me to try out for the archery team when I got to Panem U. 

He had promised the team could use someone like me and after a few weeks of his pestering I’d given in, thinking they’d take one look at me and my old hand-me-down bow and cheaply homemade arrows and laugh me off the field. But to my surprise, no one mocked me when I showed up with my old recurve bow, they just gave me quizzical looks. And they didn’t laugh when I sunk arrow after arrow into the bullseyes of the targets. I’d been invited to join the team right afterward. Our coach had even put in a good word for me with his friends at the sporting goods store closest to campus. After saving up for a month, and using some of my financial aid surplus, I’d been able to buy a new recurve bow. It was a beautiful SAS Courage and I’d never owned anything more beautiful or powerful in my life. And my shooting only improved soon after.  

“You mean you didn’t go as a team last year?” I asked Gale and Finnick, as we all drank down gulps of water greedily. We were all a little sweaty since practice had been running longer and longer to prepare for the upcoming competition. Archery was an outdoor sport, which meant a lot of time in the sun. So hydration was important. 

“The university wouldn’t pay the team fee to send everyone, since only Gale and I showed a chance of placing. So it was just me and Finnick and Haymitch, and they put us all in one room. With only two beds. It was cruel and unusual punishment, and I considered contacting the human rights advocates.” Finnick jokes. 

“But now that you’re here Catnip, and kicking ass, they’re going to spring for the team registration this time around. And since you’re a girl, they’ll probably spring for two rooms! And I won’t have to listen to Abernathy’s snoring or twist myself into a pretzel trying to sleep on a tiny hotel couch.” Gale said hopefully. I frowned, wondering how my getting my sleeping accommodations would translate into his not sleeping on the couch. 

“Hey, man you gotta be quick to call dibs next time!” Finnick joked and Gale shot him the middle finger with a scowl. 

“I don’t feel like sharing a hotel room with any of you-” I began but Gale interrupted. 

“Oh, come on Catnip, we can share. It's not like it's anything I haven’t seen before,” Gale says with an unconcerned grin. I tense up immediately and shoot him a warning look. 

Sure, Gale and I had dated in the past. And yes, we’d slept together before, so he’d seen me naked. But we hadn’t been anything more than friends and hunting buddies for a very long time. And one of the conditions of my joining the same archery team with him had been that he wouldn’t make things awkward by bringing up our past dating history. I was naturally a very private person and didn’t want to get around the team that Gale and I used to sleep together. I narrowed my eyes on him. 

His grin quickly fades and is replaced by a repentant expression. 

“Sorry, Katniss. I shouldn’t have said that.” Gale apologizes quietly and after staring at him for a second I nod. Finnick looks between us with a highly amused expression. 

“Don’t worry mighty huntress, I’d be more than happy to spoon with you in your hotel room when we head to the 3D competition,” Finnick says with a suggestive tilting smile and a slightly raised eyebrow. I feel Gale bristle a little beside me. 

I rolled my eyes and prepared to tell Finnick that he’d only be spooning at the 3D competition would be Gale or Haymitch again, when I was interrupted. 

“Odair, keep it in your damn pants. I don’t need you or Hawthorne fucking up this team dynamic with your overzealous libidos and underwhelming dicks.” Haymitch, our grouchy old coach cut into the conversation with his usual crudeness. 

I couldn’t fight a loud snort that escaped, and neither of the guys could hide a flash of embarrassment at the comment aimed at their male egos. 

“Now that we’re going to register as a team this year, does that mean the girls have to bunk together?” Glimmer, the only other female on the team, asked as she eyed Gale appreciatively. 

I wanted to snort again. Glimmer was a terrible shot, even though she’d been on the team a whole year longer than I had. But that probably wouldn’t matter to Gale. She was blond and giggly and slutty. I saw him holding back a smile at her apparent attraction to him and I rolled my eyes. She had no real interest in archery and had probably only joined the team to meet guys. I doubted the university would even pay for her to go. 

Objectively, there were a lot of hot guys on the team. Finnick and Gale probably stood out the most but there was also Thresh Anderson who doubled as a university basketball player as well when he wasn’t going to classes or shooting targets. And Thom wasn’t bad-looking either, just kind of lanky and lean. But I had zero interest in dating any of my teammates. One, because Haymitch was right. Sex and relationships tended to fuck up team dynamics. I mean, look at me and Gale. We’d only dated for two months and it had almost ruined our ability to hunt together. It took almost a year for us to get back to some semblance of normalcy and even then we still had our past to contend with at times. Like just now, when he not so subtly alluded to sharing a room with me. 

“Sorry to break it to you, Glimmer, but we’re not taking the whole team this year. Only the ones who placed in the preliminaries. So that means Hawthorne, Odair, Anderson, and Everdeen here are the ones going. And nobody’s bunking with Sweetheart. University policy. If they pay for the room, it's not going to be co-ed.” Haymitch announces to us all and Glimmer’s face falls. But Thresh and Gale and Finnick quickly start celebrating amongst themselves, with plenty of fist bumps and back pounding. Soon, even the other team members who didn’t qualify began to offer their congratulations. I smiled over at Thresh, who was probably my second favorite team member after Gale, and he flipped me a thumbs up. 

“Alright, alright, before you animals start planning a kegger, I need your attention. Now, since we’ve had such a good year the university newspaper is looking to do a story on us. They’re sending one of their reporters down today to interview the team, and take photos. I need you all on your best behavior. Show ‘em what you got and maybe next year they’ll spring for some new equipment. God knows our targets are practically falling apart!” Haymitch orders with surly annoyance. Everyone begins to disperse and go back to shooting. But I hadn’t failed to notice that throughout his whole speech, his eyes kept darting back to me. 

I crunch my paper cup aggressively and throw it away and turn to face Haymitch. I’m nervous and wary about this turn of events. 

“A reporter?” I ask and Haymitch nods. 

“Yep.” That is all he says. 

I feel my palms grow sweaty. I have never liked being in the spotlight, or the center of attention. And right now I am getting the sinking sensation that this reporter coming to interview us might have something to do with the judges at the last competition calling me the ‘Ken Griffy Jr.’ of archery. 

“Do I have to talk to him?” I ask. 

“No, you have to take him to the prom and divest him of his virginity," Haymitch said with a straight face and my eyes widened before I glared at him. Him and his stupid jokes. 

"Everyone has to talk to him, Sweetheart. He’s interviewing the team. And last time I checked, that includes you.” He says more seriously. 

“Fine.” I bite the word out in annoyance. 

“Oh, and Princess? Might want to towel off some of that sweat. You’re glistening like a pig over a spit, and not in an attractive way.” He comments in a falsely pleasant voice. 

“Alcoholic old son of a bitch.” I mutter as I stomp away. 

“I heard that!” Haymitch calls and I resist the urge to flip him off as I resume my place and knock back an arrow. I imagine that the center of the target is Haymtich’s eye and start shooting at a rapid pace, ignoring everyone else around me and getting lost in the feeling of hitting my mark time and again. 

~

(Peeta POV) 

We arrived at the archery field a little later than I’d planned. I had decided to pick up my friend Annie Cresta last minute to help me take pictures. Annie was a good photographer, having taken pictures for her high school newspaper before she started at Panem U, and a lot of reporters on the paper knew about her talent. Seeing as I needed to interview the whole team and get their pictures too, I figured I could use the extra set of hands and a friendly face. 

“Whoa, I didn’t even know there was anything back here!” Annie exclaimed in surprise. 

“Me neither,” I muttered as we exited my vehicle and started to grab our equipment. 

There in the back lot of one of the university’s unused outbuildings, was Panem U’s archery practice field. It was dotted with rows of targets at various distances. There was a group of people lined up and practicing with bows and arrows dutifully despite the heat. The grass was a little long, and the sun beat down almost mercilessly in the late September afternoon. Hot days like this were rare this late in the season. But this year had been unusually warm, and the extra sun was probably contributing to the grass growth. The field was covered in a blanket of mixed grasses and weeds. 

Their green and yellow tips brushed against us at ankle-high length and outside of the car’s air conditioning the warm air threatened to make anyone who was too used to sitting down in lecture halls and at a desk in the university’s school newsroom break out in an uncomfortable sweat. I sighed. Going on location to interview a subject was just another part of reporting that could either be great or terrible. Today it was just mildly uncomfortable. 

“So, what do you need from me today Peeta?” Annie’s gentle voice asked as I took the camera bag from her and hoisted it over my shoulders. I had offered to get her a gift card to her favorite restaurant as repayment for her helping me out last minute, but I was still a gentleman. I didn’t want her carrying the bags if she didn’t have to. 

“Johanna just said to get some candid shots of the team, especially the new girl. Katniss Everdeen.” I told Annie.

“Katniss? That’s an interesting name. You don’t hear that very often.” She commented. 

“Yeah, I looked it up. It's a type of edible water plant.” I explained and she shot me a contemplative look. 

“Maybe her parents were botanists,” Annie says with a shrug. 

“Or hippies.” I offer with a humorous smile. And Annie chuckles. We’ve been friends since freshman year of college and she’s almost like a sister to me. I find her quiet unassuming demeanor restful, and she says she remains friends with me because I bring her baked goods on her birthday. It's an easy sort of friendship that works for both of us. 

“Alright then, ready when you are, Captain!” Annie announces with a sarcastic little salute. I laugh and wave her on as we walk towards the group of people shooting in the field. 

As we reach their general vicinity, I lay the equipment bag down next to the table with the water cooler and Annie starts to unpack. I scope out the individuals I’ll be interviewing. There’s a middle-aged paunchy-looking man who’s growling out corrections to a cute looking blond in yoga pants and twin ponytails. But by the way, her arrows have all landed outside the blue third ring of the target I’d say she’s not the new wonder girl. My eyes sweep over the group again and I find the rest are male. One extremely large guy, with chocolate brown skin and close-cropped hair, who looks more like he belongs on a football field or a basketball court than an archy field stands with intense focus, eyeing the target but not shooting yet. Two other taller, but less bulky men with dark hair and olive-toned complexions shoot arrows at targets that are marked as 30 paces away. One of them, the more muscular and good-looking of the two, hits almost all his arrows inside the yellow of the target, the bullseye. Next to them is a bronze-haired smiling guy who looks more like he belongs in a catalog than on a forgotten old archery field in the university's back lot.  

“Hello there!” The bronze-haired man calls out as he approaches us. When he gets close enough to make out his features more clearly, I notice his eyes are a startling aquamarine color. 

I feel Annie shift nervously next to me. 

“Hiya! The name’s Finnick Odair, I take it you’re the people from the University newspaper?” Finnick asks as he holds out his hand to Annie with an award-winning smile. She blinks at him blankly for a second before tentatively shaking his hand but doesn’t move to introduce us. That’s Annie for you, shy as they come around new people. That’s another reason our friendship works. I’m better with people in general. 

“Yes, hi. I’m Peeta Mellark, one of the sports writers for the Panem Chronicle. And this here is my photography assistant Annie Cresta.” I say as I thrust out my hand to Finnick in greeting with an easygoing smile. Finnick shook my hand in a  perfunctory way, but the majority of his attention remained on Annie. She squirmed underneath his gaze and I started to get a little concerned. So I take a step closer to Annie, in an effort not to leave my friends defenseless against this guy’s charms. His gaze darts between the two of us in concern. 

“Peeta and Annie, that’s nice. Are you two a team when you’re not interviewing local athletes?” Finnick asks with an interested stare. But he still looks a little nervous looking back and forth between us. 

“What?” Annie asks, perplexed. It's the first word she’s spoken but by the way Finnick is smiling at her with rapt attention you’d think she’d given an eloquent speech. 

I shake my head at Annie’s confusion and bite back a grin. The guy, Finnick, was trying to ask if we were together. He’s interested in her, and they just met. 

“Annie and I are good friends. Have been ever since we met in freshman psyche two years ago. She’s got pretty high standards for the people she dates.” I tell him good-naturedly but also add a serious look at the end to let him know subtly that I’m looking after Annie. He smiles, at us both, a little more relaxed this time, and nods. 

“Well, that’s good to hear. Come on, let me introduce you to the team.” Finnick says with a tilt of his head towards the field. Annie picks up her camera and snaps a shot of him just like that, with his head tilted and his hand beckoning, and the sunlight behind him. He smirks at her, but her face remains expressionless. I grin at Finnick’s confusion and move toward where the rest of his teammates are practicing. 

We quickly got introduced to the team. Turns out there are six members and one coach. Haymitch Abernathy sounds just as grumpy and impolite in person as he did over the phone, but he does seem to try his best to accommodate us. 

“Where’s your last team member?” I ask Coach Abernathy and he scowls.

“Little Miss Sunshine is taking a powder break. She’ll be back soon so you can get your story, kid.” He replies gruffly. 

I nod and Annie and I set about taking pictures and talking to the other teammates. I get to learn their rankings, their scores from the last competition, and who’s been selected to go to an upcoming tournament in Arizona. I get so invested in taking notes for my article that I don’t notice when the number of people on the field increases by one. I didn’t hear or notice her return, even though she takes up a spot very close to where Annie and I are standing as we take shots and interview the 2nd best-ranked archer on the team. His name is Gale Hawthorne and he’s kind of taciturn, but he does look impressive as he pulls his bow back, lets the arrow fly, and hits the target just a half-inch shy of the absolute center. Annie is shooting him from the left, trying to get a profile shot. I turn, trying to see if we could get a better angle. And that’s when I see her. 

She’s smaller than I imagined, maybe 5’3 at the most, petite and slim. But the way she holds herself, with such a straight posture, without being rigid as she draws her bowstring back, makes her seem larger than life. Her ebony dark hair trails over her left shoulder, a couple of flyaway strands dancing in the breeze. Her eyes are almond-shaped and luminous, and I’m startled to see a glint of silver grey where I expected to find chocolate brown. She wears a grey tank top, and shorts, obviously accounting for the heat and hours she had to spend outdoors. But the miles of smooth golden brown skin that’s exposed, from her thin muscular arms to her toned and well-shaped legs are practically mouth-watering. Most of all it's her calm and stoic demeanor that captivates my attention. She’s so focused and determined. I watch as she waits for just a beat, steadying herself, before taking the shot. I don’t have to look at the target to know she hit a bullseye. It's written in the way her eyelids lower for just a second, with a pleasure she tries hard to conceal. 

I suck in a ragged breath. Damn. This girl was more than hot. She was something else altogether, something incredible. 

“Good one.” The guy we had been interviewing, Gale, tells her and she nods at him in acknowledgment. I look back at the two of them and wonder if they are somehow related. They have very similar features, but different last names. Cousins maybe? 

“Hi,” I call over to her and she turns her head to look at me, and I feel the weight of those intense grey eyes land with almost as much force as her arrow did hitting the bullseye. 

“Hello.” She replies curtly. Ok, so maybe they are related. They both seem so reluctant to speak. But I just adjust my smile so it’s a little bigger, a little more friendly, and start over to her side. 

“My name’s Peeta Mellark. And I’m a reporter with the Uni’s Chronicle. You must be Katniss.” 

“Yes. Katniss Everdeen. I’m a first-year student, and I have yet to declare a major. I’ve been hunting since I was 6. I’ve never shot competitively before, and I hope to make the university proud in the next tournament. You can take my picture but don’t get in the way of my shots.” She states dryly and returns her attention to the target. I hear Gale behind me trying and failing to stifle a snicker. 

“Was that your way of trying to shut down the interview?” 

“No. Of course not. Those are all the relevant facts you need to know for the article. I’d rather not waste valuable practice time any more than I already have. We have a tournament coming up and I need to focus.” 

“Your aim seems fine, best I’ve seen today. Are you telling me you couldn’t spare a minute or two to answer some questions?” 

“I already answered everything you need to know. So just take your pictures and get it over with.” 

“You should widen your stance. If you displace your weight a little more, your feet and knees will probably feel better at the end of a long day after standing and shooting for hours.” 

“Excuse me? Are you an archery expert or something?” 

“No.” 

“Well, I’ve been shooting for years. I know how to stand. Forgive me if I don’t take your word as worth anything on the subject.”

“Are you a writer, or a reporting expert?” 

“What?” 

“Do you have any experience with interviewing or writing an article?”

“No.” 

“Ok, well, excuse me, if I don’t accept your bare minimum responses for my article. I know nothing about archery. And you know nothing about my field of expertise. So why don’t we just agree to let each other do what we do best?” 

“Are you also an expert in acting like a dick?” 

I let out a stunned, strangled sound that is followed by Annie’s subsequent gasp. 

Katniss stands, defiant eyes blazing, her bow lowered and one hand on her hip. 

“That was rude.” I point it out to her but she doesn’t even flinch. 

“I don’t win tournaments because I’m sociable. I win them because I focus. And you are taking away my focus. So I’d appreciate it if you would just ask whatever pointless questions you need to so I can move on with my life.” 

“Do you honestly have no respect for someone else’s work? The time and energy put in? Annie and I are here to do a story about you and your team! It's for the university paper, it could mean more exposure for the archery department, maybe even donations! Will you just let me do my job without being such a--” 

“Such as WHAT?” 

I stumbled for a word, mortified that this had escalated into a full-blown argument, with a person I’d just met nonetheless. But she’s impossible, insufferable, no matter how good-looking she may be. 

“An asshat!” I finally exclaimed. And Annie behind me started giggling to my utter humiliation. But Katniss didn’t seem amused. She seemed livid. 

She stalked towards me, like a predator stalking its prey, all lithe-limbed and graceful even in her anger. The look in her eyes was deadly. 

“The only ass I see around here is YOU!” She yelled, shoving a thin delicate finger into the middle of my chest. I freeze, seeing her this close-up. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are flashing, she’s breathing hard and our gazes lock for a long inexplicable moment. And I fight the urge to crush her to my chest and kiss that scowl off her beautiful face. 

I stare down at her, my eyes catching for a moment on the swell of the tops of her breasts visible because of the scoop of her tank top. My chest is heaving as I feel a drop of sweat trail from my temple to my jaw. Her eyes trace the movement reflexively and I see her lips part just a tiny bit, to curse me out some more no doubt. But I stay mutely silent, unable to form a response as I stare at her slightly parted full lips. 

“Everdeen! What the hell did I say? Didn’t I tell you to play nice? God damn it, girl, don’t need you to fuck up the one piece of good publicity our department has gotten in years!” Coach Abernathy’s angry voice rings out somewhere behind me and the spell is broken. 

Katniss takes a step back and looks down, seemingly chastised. And I swallow thickly around the dryness in my mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Abernathy isn’t the only one who witnessed the argument. The rest of the team was staring at us in obvious dismay. The old archery coach makes his way to my side and sighs tiredly. 

“Look, kid, it's getting late, practice is supposed to be over by now. Maybe the heat’s making everyone touchy. Why don’t you and Red come back tomorrow? Finish the interview then?” Abernathy points his finger in Annie’s direction, his voice inquiring in a tone as close to diplomatic as I think he can get. 

I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand and nod. Maybe he was right. Maybe things will go better tomorrow.

“Yeah, ok. We’ll try again tomorrow. But the university wants to do a 2-page spread. And I can’t do that if the whole team doesn’t cooperate.” I warn him and he nods seriously. 

“Don’t worry kid. Everyone is gonna do their part, I promise.” He says, staring Katniss down. She huffs indignantly and picks up her bow and turns on her heel to walk away. 

“I hope so. Alright Annie, let’s pack up.” I conclude, wanting to get off this field and out of this heat. It's driving me crazy. That must be the explanation for the raw and incomparably powerful sexual attraction I felt for a woman who almost tore my head off. 

Annie nods and we both head back to the water cooler table to pack our equipment away. The rest of the archery team is packing away their bows and arrows already, preparing to leave as well. But when we get back to the car I spare a glance over my shoulder and catch sight of her. The girl with the bow and the dark braid, still sinking arrows into the targets despite being utterly alone on the field. 

I wonder if she’ll be able to work out her frustration before tomorrow’s redo interview. I wonder if I will as well. 

(Katniss POV) 

I empty my entire quiver into the target, once, twice, almost a full third time before I’m hitting bullseyes with my usual accuracy. Today was an incredibly slow start. And I blame the before practice ‘pep talk’, that was more of a guilt trip/gossip session. 

It had been a full day since the blond pretty boy reporter showed up causing a ruckus with his 1000-watt smile and his thickly laid-on charm. But everyone was still completely hung up on the visit. He was a tool. Most likely. Probably. 

 How could he not be with his eager and earnest introduction that lasted all of two seconds before the real him came out when we argued? And instead of being the all-around ‘nice guy’ he pretended to be, he was a condescending know-it with a thing for control when it came to his interviews. 

But that didn’t stop Glimmer from announcing before practice in front of everyone that she’d definitely ‘do’ him if need be to salvage the archery team’s publicity. 

“I appreciate the dedication to the team honey, but let’s not bring out the big guns just yet. I have a feeling Everdeen can still salvage this if she manages to pull that stick she’s got that’s the size of Montana out of her rear end. And just answer some damn questions.” Haymitch lets Glimmer down in a half-satirical, half-appreciative tone. She pouts like a twelve-year-old.

“Whatever, I was just saying. You know, because he's mega-hot.” Glimmer replies with a shrug. I stifle my immediate distaste at the off-hand comment. I mean, I know this is college and hookups are the norm, and of course, Glimmer can do whatever she wants with her body, but wow. The girl works almost at the speed of light, is all I’m saying. 

“If worse comes to worse, I’ll just throw Finnick at him,” Haymitch replies sarcastically. 

Finnick is the first one to laugh at this, while I roll my eyes. Coach Abernathy doesn’t even know the meaning of tact. 

“Oh, I don’t know Coach. He’s good-looking, but the redhead he was with was stunning.” Finnick’s praise of the camera girl surprises me. It's so...G-rated. And so unlike him. Usually, he’s the first to come up with sexual innuendos and double entendres when he meets a pretty girl. But this time he simply called her stunning. How strange. 

“And besides, I think our resident Girl on Fire had a really strong hate-fuck vibe going on with Peeta. And I would never cock-block a dear friend.” Finnick needles me with a laugh and I fight the urge to shoot him in the foot with my bow. After I gasp indignantly, of course. Gale scowls and mutters something angrily under his breath. I just hope no one took Finnick seriously. But several people were looking at me curiously. 

“That’s complete and utter bullshit Finnick! You should probably get your eyes examined. I can’t even stand the guy!” I spit out the words irately. Finnick just grins slyly back at me in response. 

“Whatever, I just call them like I see them. And blondie got you more worked up than any guy I’ve seen you with all year.” Finnick’s sea-green eyes glint playfully at me in the late fall sun and I grit my teeth to keep from chewing him out because something about what he said gave me pause. 

Finnick usually hangs out with Gale a lot, and Gale was pretty much the only other friend I had at this school besides my quiet roommate Madge. So I did spend an inordinate amount of my social time around Finnick, plus archery practice. If only because we had common friends and hobbies. And he may have witnessed me turning down a few guys who asked me out, and some casual flirting with guys who I shared classes with when we all ate together in the student cafeteria. Ok, sure I wasn't usually that welcoming to men’s advances. But to say Peeta had gotten me worked up? As in, a sexual way, was just ludicrous. 

And yeah ok, Peeta was attractive, in that popular boy band, mass appeal, widely marketable way, with blond hair, blue eyes, a dimple when he smiled. It was like a teenybopper’s wet dream. But it sure wasn’t my wet dream. Because he was a nosey pencil-pushing pain in the ass. 

 Even if he was fit and toned. (How that was possible was a mystery to me, the guy worked a desk job for crying out loud). It was obvious in the way his jeans clung to his thick muscular thighs and firm rounded backside that he worked out. In the stifling heat yesterday he had quickly almost sweated through his shit. And not in an unappealing way. More like someone had staged a rugged outdoor photoshoot and specifically planned the way his shirt clung to his muscled torso...molding itself onto his defined abs and stomach...stretched tight across his wide shoulders and chest...

And ok...maybe for a minute while we were yelling at each other I’d considered licking the sweat off the hollow of his collarbone and trailing my tongue down his body so I could feel and taste every delicious dip and groove. But it was only for a moment. And it was only because I hadn’t had sex in...how long had it been again? God, Gale and I had broken up over a year ago. I just hoped my vagina hadn’t acquired cobwebs from lack of regular use by now. I’d just been so busy with a new school, and then the archery team. I was on a scholarship so my grades came first and I studied religiously. I hadn’t had time for dating or sex. But last night for the first time in a long time I had pulled out my vibrator from the bottom of my nightstand and gotten myself off, twice, before bed. Luckily Madge had stayed late with Gale in the library to study for a mutual class they had and I’d had the room to myself. 

But the masturbating hadn’t been specifically because of anyone. And certainly not Peeta. More specifically, it was because I hadn’t gotten laid in forever. This was due to the fact I hadn’t found anyone interesting enough or worth the effort to get to the stage where getting laid was possible. So I just needed to scratch an inch at the end of a long and stressful day. 

And when I pictured big hands gently kneading my breasts and ass cheeks it wasn’t Peeta’s hands I was picturing. A lot of guys had big hands. And when I’d imagined full soft pink lips kissing all over my body trailing up the insides of my thighs and finally stopping between my legs to kiss and suck and nibble at me until I was a quivering frantic sopping mess, it wasn’t Peeta’s infuriating mouth I had pictured. 

They were all abstract images. Random things I found attractive and used at the moment to get me off. 

Except...maybe the second time I had pictured sparking blue eyes full of intense heat staring up at me underneath an adorable mop of ash blond waves right before I exploded in a fit of orgasmic bliss of gargantuan proportions. 

Shit. 

Finnick was right. 

I wanted to hate-fuck the goddamn reporter. 

That was just great freaking news. I could hear the announcement now. 

“This just in! New archery team 3D collegiate national qualifier Katniss Everdeen is too horny to function. She’s lusting after obnoxious blond acquaintances and starting arguments for no reason!”  

It was pathetic. And I needed to do something about it. But what? 

Well...I could handle this revelation in two ways. I could repress my desires, stuff them deep down so they would never see the light of day again. Or….I could do the opposite. I could screw him and get him out of my system. The 3D collegiate archery competition was coming up in two weeks. And I needed to get my head back in the game. Needed to focus. I was kind of a mess in my classes this morning. And my shots had been off since yesterday and I thought it might have been because of Haymitch nagging me to play nice. But maybe it was more than that. Maybe I just seriously need to let off some steam. But could I bring myself to hit on the guy who almost drove me nuts within five minutes of meeting him?

I didn’t know if my ego could handle it. I mean he had said some pretty nasty things about me, including calling me an asshat in front of the whole team. Not that asshat was the be-all end of all of the insults. It was a pretty weak comeback. But still, it was the principle of the thing. Could one bed someone as obnoxious as Peeta Mellark and live with the shame afterward? Probably not. At least for me, I didn’t think so. 

Unless he apologized. Maybe. But what were the chances of that? A know-it-all like him admitting he messed up? Yeah, right. I guess repression was the way I was going to have to go. 

And yet when he showed up 15 minutes into practice, wearing an obscenely low-side-cut olive green tank with some grey athletic shorts that hugged his ample backside, every single fantasy I had tried to shove down from last night came surging up. Made all the more intense and worse because even at this distance I could see something I had never expected from the wholesome pretty boy I thought I met yesterday. 

He had tattoos. And not just one douchey-looking tribal band around his bicep that a lot of college guys had that screamed ‘fuckboy’ loudly and obnoxiously. No. Peeta Mellark had a nice collection of several decent-sized motifs all along his upper arms. They had been hidden yesterday by his casual striped button-down with the white undershirt. He has even nicer arms than I originally thought. Thick muscular arms, that catch me off guard by how much I squirm at the sight of them. And to top it off they were accentuated by the impressive collection of ink.

Then he had to go and turn to the side just enough that I caught a glimpse of his exquisitely sculpted obliques, latissimus dorsi, and serratus anterior muscles. Over which was tattooed a block of flowing script that I couldn’t follow because his tank obscured the rest of the view but undoubtedly it had to continue over his ribcage. 

Not fair. It was not fair for him to be this attractive. As if she read my thoughts, Glimmer speaks up right then. 

“Well, dick me dead and bury me pregnant. And here I thought he couldn’t get any yummier.” Glimmer murmured lowly so that only the team could hear. Amused laughter and Gale’s annoyed huff could be heard despite the steady thunk of arrows hitting the targets. The team is used to these kinds of comments from Glimmer. And most find it charming if not predictable. But today I find it annoying as hell. 

“God, Glim, could you get any thirstier?” I muttered in aggravation and she smiled over at me indulgently. 

“If you wouldn’t jump on that deliciousness and ride it six ways to Sunday you’re even more uptight than I thought Katniss.” She hissed and I immediately shut my mouth. There was no point in furthering the conversation. As much as I wanted to argue with Glimmer about how I didn’t want to ascend Peeta's throne, I worried I wouldn’t sound convincing enough. Especially while he looked like hot sex on a stick.

“Hi, there!” He says with a friendly wave aimed at all of us while he sets down the equipment bag he had with him yesterday and begins unzipping it. I don’t even bother attempting to wave back. 

The red-headed girl was with him again. The one Finnick had called stunning. And looking at her today, in her cute cut-off jeans shorts and a breezy peasant top with the camera hanging low beneath her sternum I could see why. She looked younger and freer in her casual clothes, much like Peeta. Her red hair lit up like strands of fire in the (thankfully more muted and less heated than yesterday’s) afternoon light, and her green eyes were spectacular. Like shards of polished jade that stood out even though she stopped by the water cooler table some yards away. 

I turn to see Finnick entranced, eyes following her every move. His mouth even hangs a little open. 

“Close your mouth Finnick, or you’ll wind up swallowing a bug.” I tease him right back for the comment he made earlier about me and Peeta. 

Finnick snaps his mouth shut and blushes. Like actually gets pink-cheeked and bashful looking for a second. I snort through my nose like an uncultured swine and he shoots me the evil eye. 

“Don’t be a dick Katniss.” He hisses at me. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s physically impossible, Fin. But I’ll let you off easy this time if you promise to keep your wildly unfounded theories about who I want to take to bed to yourself.” 

“Deal.” He says quickly. We both nod at each other and I watch in abstract fascination as Peeta lifts a bright blue box out of the equipment bag gently and places it next to the water cooler on the table. It looks oddly like a large cardboard donut box, with a shiny reflective plastic window on top. 

Had he brought some kind of food for everyone? Or maybe for him and his partner while they worked? 

He spoke with Coach Abernathy for a minute. They seemed to be discussing the box, and although Haymitch looked like he grumbled and scowled at the reporter, in the end, he nodded and looked out toward the team members on the field 

“Alright, listen up. Everyone take a 5-minute break and grab some refreshments if you want, courtesy of the University’s journalism representatives. As a gesture of goodwill and cooperation… What’d the hell you call it again boy?” Haymitch breaks off and looks at Peeta for a second, Peeta says something behind his hands I don’t catch, “Respect for the spirit of cooperation. To cut the shit, take a goddamn break and load up on carbs kids.” Haymitch finally just spits the words out impatiently and walks off, grabbing a muffin from the box before he leaves in the direction of his car. Probably to find a half-open bottle of liquor to wash the muffin down with. His liver must be cringing in fear. 

What follows next is a loud and almost desperate migration towards the newly dubbed ‘refreshments’ table, by everyone but me. 

I don’t feel like selling my soul for the price of some mediocre coffee shop baked goods that are probably stale having been left out all day. So, I return my focus to the target and keep shooting. Albeit my shots are slightly off-center, I tell myself that’s just because I’ve got to work harder and focus more. 

It's not until I hear his arrestingly soothing voice from behind me that I snap out of my angry determined reverie. 

“Why didn’t you grab any of the snacks? Got some kind of gluten allergy?” His blue eyes assess me lightly. 

“No,” I say, uncooperatively as he comes to stand a few feet away from me, on my right side. 

“Ok, no allergy. Maybe some weird trendy diet where you have to cut out bread?” Peeta asks. 

I scoff. “No.” In a mildly offended tone. 

“Oh, good, because dieting would be a bad idea for you.” He says, blurts out even, like he wasn’t thinking. And then his face freezes in anxiety. 

I flush in anger. I know I’m not as big-chested as Glimmer, or as round-hipped as a lot of other girls on campus but I wasn’t anorexic or anything. If he was telling me I needed to eat more because I was too skinny then he was an even bigger douche canoe than I originally thought. 

He seems to pick up on the anger in my eyes and backpedals quickly, his hands palm out in surrender. 

“I didn’t mean you don’t need to--wow. And here I thought today would be so much easier with a peace offering and ample time for both of our tempers to cool down.” 

“Well, you’ve managed to kick things off to a great start. So kudos to you.” I snap. He sighs, and runs a hand absentmindedly through his hair, musing up the soft waves. 

“Look, I’m sorry for losing my temper yesterday and cursing at you. I’m also sorry for patronizing you. It was wrong. And I’d like to start on a better foot before we try the interview thing again. But, well, I keep putting said foot in my mouth so…” He trails off in embarrassment. And his pink cheeks look so….humiliated and adorable like a kindergartener getting sent to time out. It's like kryptonite and I feel my indignation slipping. I make a joke instead of starting another argument. 

“Now you barely have one leg to stand on.” I quip without looking at him and pull back my bowstring. 

“Something like that.” He says, and his voice is closer. I fight the urge to look over at him to determine exactly how close. I can feel his eyes on me, but not in a leering or critical way. It was almost like he was studying the mechanics of it, my shooting, anticipating the shot as much as I am making it. It should have felt nerve-wracking. But with my bow in my hands and him having gone peacefully silent, it didn’t feel nerve-wracking at all. I breathe in and out deeply before letting go. 

This time my arrow flies straight into the target, dead center. The corner of my mouth kicks up slightly. 

“Damn, that’s impressive.” He mutters under his breath and I let out a shaky exhale. It was probably the best shot I’d made all day. And I’d done it with him nearly two feet away from my side. Strange. 

“Hopefully impressive enough to place at the 3D competition,” I tell him as I lower my bow and turn towards him fully. He was extremely attractive looking from across the field, but he’s magnificent up close. My eyes run over his sunlit golden waves, strong sturdy shoulders, down his thick and pleasingly decorated arms. Before I have a chance to examine him further he asks me another question. 

“Are you looking forward to going?” He asks and my eyes snap back to his face. I wonder if he caught my casual perusal of his goods. I don’t want to keep talking about myself, but Haymitch did say to play nice. So….

“Sure. I’ve never been to a national archery competition before. Actually, before this year, I hadn't ever competed officially. So, it's kind of exciting making the team and getting to go to nationals right away.” I responded honestly.

Peeta nods at me, his blue eyes clear and bright and behind them, I can see a sharp intelligence that is mentally cataloging every word I divulge. It's like an inner world hidden behind the boyish smile and easy-going mannerisms that are so disarming. 

He’s good at this, I realize. Offhand compliments and getting people to talk about themselves, asking seemingly unimportant questions that lend themselves deeper explanations. Now he’ll probably probe deeper into my background. Find out why I started university so late, and why I’ve never competed before. All the sordid little details of my depressing life. I brace for the inevitable. 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try some of the pastries I made?” He asks again, catching me off guard. I fumble with my bow a bit. 

“Made?” I say in shock. I wasn’t expecting the question, or to find out he cooked something for the team. He smiles that sweet but just the perfect hint of a shy smile of his and I have to bite my lip to keep from returning it.

“Yeah, um, I grew up in a bakery all my life. I still bake sometimes as a hobby.” Peeta tells me and I blink at him in surprise. I did not expect that. He was catching me all sort of off guard right now. 

“Really?” I ask stupidly, still incredulous. What college guy liked to bake in his spare time? Was he for real? But judging by the look on his open and guileless face I could tell he was being honest. 

“Yeah. I enjoy it. It's a stress reliever, allows me to take my mind off things you know?” He says as he stretches his back lightly and rocks heel to toe. I catch another glimpse of the rib cage tattoo and I feel my curiosity sparking. I wonder if it would be strange to ask him about his tattoos. Probably. I mean I supposedly can’t stand him. 

“Archery is my stress reliever,” I answer him shortly, to distract myself from ogling him. 

“Oh, I can tell. It's like your whole being quiets down when you shoot. Like everything else in the world is just white noise and the only important things are you and whatever you’ve got your eye on.” He says as he looks back at the target and then back at me. His gaze is weighted, but not uncomfortably so. Just heavy with the feeling of an unexpected truth that settles in the air. 

I flush involuntarily at his words. It kind of did feel like that whenever I shot. But how did he know? How could he? We’d met one time, and hadn’t spoken long enough to get much further than introductions before the argument started. Was he simply that observant? 

“It's just something in the way you hold yourself and concentrate.” He tells me, answering the question that must be in my eyes, nonchalantly, as if he’s just described me walking to my car instead of the unexplainable and undefinable feeling that connected me to my beloved sport. 

“You certainly have a way with words,” I tell him dryly. And he chuckles, a deep amused sound that has me trying not to stare at the way his eyes crinkle and his abdomen tightens attractively underneath his thin shirt. 

“I’m even better with baked goods. Come on, accept a carb-laden olive branch from me?”  He asks and there’s a little something in his voice, and his offer that feels slightly like flirting. But that can’t be right. 

“Alright, but only because it's kind of sexist of you to think a woman won’t eat bread because she’s watching her figure. Or has some kind of allergy.” I tell him with a scowl. 

He groans, but it's the exaggerated, joking kind of groan. 

“I’m sorry about that too.” He pleads and beckons me after him with an outstretched hand and curling of his thick strong-looking fingers. I mentally chide myself to stop looking at his fingers. 

“Well, if your pastries are as good as you claim, I might let you interview me without the threat of bodily harm.” I tease and he visibly brightens. 

“Alright, then you have to try the cheese buns. They are the best thing I make and they’re my recipe too.” He suggests as I fall into step behind him. 

“A cheese bun? What’s that?” I ask, intrigued. Anything combining bread and cheese catches my interest. 

“Come on, I’ll show you.” He offers. We make our way to the snack table and I catch sight of Finnick nervously trying to chat up the shy-looking red head. 

“Peeta man, this stuff is amazing!” Finnick calls out enthusiastically when we make our way over. 

“Thanks, man,” Peeta says happily. He practically trots over to the box and starts searching. 

“Shit!” He exclaims in frustration a second later. My head snaps to him, leaving whatever question Gale was asking me unanswered. 

“What? We left stuff for you and Kat,” Finnick says, coming over and looking in the box. And from where I stand I can see there are a couple of muffins and cinnamon rolls but I don’t see anything else. 

“All the cheese buns finished,” Peeta says in an extremely dejected voice. 

“Oh,” I say, surprised to hear the disappointment in my voice.

My teammates look a little sheepish, probably at having eaten the best of the baked goods. But our team is made up of mostly robust young guys, who are always hungry, Peeta’s lucky nothing was even left at all. 

“It's fine,” I tell him and try to brush it off. 

“No, it's not. This was the white flag. The peace offering! I should have set one aside.” Peeta chastises himself and I shake my head. 

“You want something else Katniss? There’s still muffins and they’re hella good.” Thresh offers and I politely decline. I tell them I’m more of a savory than a sweet eater. Peeta looks kind of devastated. I feel bad about it. 

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get started with the interview.” I tell him and he looks over at me, seemingly to gauge my sincerity. 

“Alright, I’ll just owe you one.” He replies. 

I shake my head again.

“No,” I reply and his countenance falls. I feel bad but I don’t want there to be any sort of debt between us. I hate owing people and I hate it when people feel like they owe me too. Then I get an idea. 

“How about this, you ask a question and I ask one back? Would that be fair?” I offer and he looks up at me suddenly. He nods. 

“Yeah, that could work.” He agrees and his perfect pink mouth sketches into a tentative smile. I nod back. 

“Ok, so where do you want to do this?” I ask and when something like interest sparks across his gaze I fight the urge to blush. Parapraxis is bitch sometimes. 

He looks over at Annie and she marches to his side. 

“Can you get some candid shots of the whole team, like wide angle lens with silhouettes and a few close-ups on profiles and faces? But stay in the background this time? I don’t want it to feel posed” He tells her, and the photography jargon is hard to follow. I have no idea what a wide-angle lens is for, but it seems Peeta is not only good with words and pastries, but he also knows quite a bit about photography. Annie murmurs a quiet yes and sets off towards the 20-yard targets where some of the others have already started shooting again. 

But unluckily not everyone has scattered yet. 

“I’m ready for my close up Mr. Reporter,” Glimmer throws out in a flirty voice and even winks at Peeta. 

“Oh, that’s great Glimmer, but I’m gonna try to catch up on Katniss’ interview today since we didn’t get much usable info yesterday.” He tells her gently. I bite my lip and turn away. Of course, the two best-looking blonds would find a way to flirt with each other. She looks especially cute in her yoga tights and crop top. People could say whatever they wanted about her intelligence but Glimmer was still beautiful. 

“You poor thing,” She coos and tries to place a conciliatory pat on Peeta’s shoulder but he turns at the last second and faces her so her hand ends up patting empty air. 

“I love my job. And I’ve learned over the years that usually the more difficult the subject the more amazing the collaboration turns out.” He says firmly. She looks taken aback. 

“Collaboration? I thought you were the reporter. Aren’t I just here to answer your questions?” I ask him in a concerned voice. Momentarily forgetting to reveal too much in the shocked look of disappointment on Glimmer’s face. 

“Nope, in fact, you have the biggest part to play in this article. You’re a newcomer to the sport and the university, you’re talented, and you're unbiased. So you can give an extraordinary window into the dynamics of collegiate archery and life at Panem U. If I let you tell your story correctly, this thing is going to be a smash, for the university and the archery department.” Peeta says confidently and begins to walk back to my spot at the 40-yard targets. I follow him silently. 

I suddenly feel nervous as I take in his words. Is that true? Is that what everyone is expecting of me? I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of pressure. 

When I get back to the targets Peeta seems to sense this, maybe because of the terrified look I’ve probably got written all over my face. 

“Hey, hey, sorry. That must have sounded like I expected you to do all the work in this interview. But really, you won’t. The burden’s on me to ask the right questions. All you have to do is answer honestly. I’ll be doing the majority of the heavy lifting ok?” 

I swallow past the lump in my throat and will myself to calm down. 

“How about this, you take a couple of shots to relieve the stress I unfairly and idiotically put on you, and  then you ask me a question to start.” Peeta offers gently and I find myself nodding. 

“Don’t you need a pen and paper or something to take notes with?” I ask. 

“No, I’ve got a pretty good memory. But if it makes you feel more comfortable I can use an audio recorder so you won’t be misquoted.” He jokes. 

“Um, no, that’s fine. Unless you need it, then go ahead.” I tell him quietly. 

“Alright, well let’s just see how far we get. If I start having trouble remembering I’ll use the recorder. You go ahead and set up your shot. And ask me your first question when you start feeling comfortable.” Peeta tells me. 

So I do. I shoot for a bit and then start by asking him how he got assigned this story. He tells me a little bit about being on the journalism team for the university newspaper and makes me laugh when he talks about how he begged his boss for a more exciting assignment after he got stuck with golf last time. 

“Little did I know I’d be meeting you the next day.” He jokes and I laugh, unable to stop myself. 

“Be careful what you ask for I guess,” I tell him as I sink another arrow into the target.  

“Oh, I’m glad I asked for this assignment. It's probably the most intriguing subject matter I’ve studied all year.” He tells me with a sly smile, looking right at me when he says it. 

My eyes flit back to the target and I pretend to study it for a bit. I still am having a hard time reconciling the fact that he’s flirting with me. But I’m getting that vibe. At least, I think he is. He’s been sweet and disarming and courteous all afternoon. 

That alone is shocking, after the extremely rough start we had. But maybe pretty boy Peeta isn’t so easily deterred by surly dispositions or bad first impressions. He seemed to handle Haymitch pretty well at the start of practice. Even got him to deliver that funny little speech. Maybe he’s good with difficult people. What’s even more startling is that I hope he is. Good with difficult people and also that he is interested. In me. 

Because the longer we talk, the more interested I become. And I want to find out what the heck his tattoo says. I look back at him and find him openly admiring my stance, the way I pull back my bow. I may not have the bust size of some other girls, but I’m pretty fit. I’m particularly proud of my toned arms and legs, not to mention my shoulders which stayed in good shape because of archery. Also, Gale had once told me after we broke up that he missed my ass because no other girl he’s met had one like mine. I’d threatened to break his nose if he ever said that in public but privately I’d been pleased. Maybe Peeta was an admirer of derrieres as well. 

Only one way to find out. 

I shoot my last arrow and it sinks just right of center. But of course, there are so many arrows clustered together in the center there hadn’t been any more room for my last one. I had been aiming for the spot to the right anyway. 

“Let me just go and retrieve my arrows,” I tell Peeta sweetly and he looks a little surprised. 

“Need some help?” Peeta offers immediately. 

“No, you just stay right there,” I told him. You’ll have a better view if you do. I think to myself. He obliged me and just looked on as I walked off. 

I jog over to the target and begin pulling out arrows one by one and placing them back into my quiver. I’m so nervous my palms are sweating. By the last arrow, I don’t even have to pretend to drop it by accident. I feel my heartbeat racing a little. I’ve never been this bold or suggestive with a guy. But if I want to get Peeta out of my system so I can go back to concentrating on my studies and the competition coming up, then I can’t wait for him to make the first move. Peeta seems like the type to want to date and woo a girl. And I’m not interested in a relationship. I need to work out this sexual tension I’ve got with someone who I can see myself getting off quickly with during sex. And Peeta checks a lot of my boxes. All of them if I’m being honest with myself. I turn for a second to see if he’s looking and thankfully he is. He’s staring right at me. 

So, I just go ahead and go for it. 

I bend over to retrieve the fallen arrow, slowly. I’m wearing tiny black athletic shorts that are loose enough at the bottom to not be distracting when I’m standing. But when I bend down, especially at the right angle….

I grab the arrow and stand back up after what I surmise is an appropriate amount of time. I’m still facing away from him. But I know since I didn’t wear any tights underneath my shorts today that I just gave Peeta an eye full of my ass cheeks and he probably knows what color my underwear is now too. (olive green like the tank he’s wearing). 

When I look back at him he looks different. Startled for a second. But when he sees the look on my face it's like something clicks. Gone is the friendly smile. The casual charm that usually emanates from him is nowhere to be found as I slowly walk back, my flushed cheeks betraying me. Instead, there is just this quiet anticipation that rolls off him in waves. 

Good, I think to myself. 

Hopefully, after tonight Peeta Mellark will become a college fling I had once. 

But the way he bites those perfect lips of his and crosses his arms over his chest so that his muscles stand out attractively I think that maybe one might be underestimating him. Because Peeta Mellark looks like he wants to devour me twice over. 

And judging by the slickness of my underwear I think I might want him to do just that. 

(Peeta) 

I’m struck speechless by the tantalizing view of Katniss bent over in those little shorts of hers. I can’t talk, I can’t move. I can barely think. It’s like my operating system has crashed and I need a second to try and reboot it.  

My efforts seem to be failing spectacularly and what’s worse is that I don't seem to mind their apparent failure.

The only thing that does seem to be working properly is my dick. Which is rapidly growing harder in my shorts the longer my eyes linger on the delicious golden fleshy globes of Katniss’ perfectly sculpted ass that are peeking out of her shorts and lacy-edged green underwear. 

The green itself is doing wonders for her complexion, the artist in me notes.

I quickly adjust my hard-on so that my erection is trapped against my stomach and the waistband of my shorts. It’s uncomfortable but it’ll have to do until my cock starts to behave again. I really don’t want to be walking around with a huge tent in front of the entire college archery team. 

I refocus on Katniss again, and I get this sudden urge and mental image of me pulling down her shorts and smacking her ass hard, with an open palm just to watch the perky swells retreat from impact and then bounce back. 

I’d love to see what her bare ass looks like decorated with the outline of my hand on it. 

The thought floats up unbidden from somewhere in the recesses of my mind. 

Whoa, where did that thought come from? 

Great, now I was having spanking fantasies about her. Which was weird because usually, I wouldn’t consider myself a kinky guy. But damn. Katniss just brought out a whole different side of me and I don't know if that discovery is appreciated or not.

 As if it wasn’t bad enough before this. Yesterday I couldn’t get her out of my head and I had jerked off this morning in the shower to the mental image of her flushed face and sweaty cleavage during the argument we had when we met. 

Ok, that’s it. I have to do something about this, or I’ll go insane. I have to try to get this girl to go out with me. At least. 

From the look she threw my way before she bent over I’d say I have a good shot. She checked to make sure I was looking before she pulled her little stunt. 

Suddenly she straightens up and turns back around to face my direction. The look on her face is different. For a moment she seems unsure, but then our gazes lock and even at this distance I can see it in her eyes. 

She wants me. Maybe as bad as I want her if that's even possible. 

Fuck. 

I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on by a girl I haven’t even seen naked yet. 

But there was just something about Katniss that stirred up my blood. From the lusty yet slightly embarrassed look on her face as she walks back towards me, cheeks flushed and gray eyes flashing in the afternoon light I know that she has no idea. The true extent of the effect she has on me. I don’t even think it's purely physical. 

But I think I’d give my left leg to get to know her better on a purely physical level to start out with. 

 Man, that little show she put on. That was all for my benefit. And the way she’s looking at me right now, as she sexily bites her lip is making it very clear what her intentions are. 

Well, two can play at this game I think as I cross my arms over my chest and return her gaze, spark for spark. 

“We match,” I tell her quietly, tugging on the front of my muscle shirt and letting my eyes drift down to her lower half. Those olive green panties of hers may be covered up right now but I had seen enough to know that my shirt and her underwear were almost the same shade of green. 

She blushed even harder and blinked at me for a second before swallowing thickly and nodding. 

Shooting her a coy smirk, I run one hand through my hair, making sure to flex my arm as I do. I’m gratified to see her molten silver stare flit over my arms and chest before struggling to settle back on my face. 

My smirk deepens. 

“Makes you wonder what other things we might be a match in,” I say smoothly, my eyes trained on her face to gauge her reaction. 

“Possibly.” She replies quietly, her eyes shifting down to my mouth. 

If we were alone I’d probably kiss her right now. But I take a quick look around the field and see that Coach Abernathy has made it back from his liquor break and is watching the two of us intently from some distance away. No doubt waiting to see if Katniss and I blow up at each other a second time. 

The bronze-haired guy named Finnick is following Annie around like a lost puppy, but it seems she’s barely acknowledging his attempts at conversation as she moves around the field taking pictures of the other archers. 

Everyone else seems to be focused on practicing. 

I take a deep breath and look back at Katniss trying to gather my courage. 

“I feel really bad you didn’t get to eat any of the food I baked. I mean, by the time practice ends you must be starving, what with a long day of classes you probably have.” I try to segue into my pitch carefully. 

Katniss is eying me expectantly and it gives me the confidence to continue. 

“Would you wanna grab a bite to eat after this?” I ask, deciding to just go for it. 

She looks down and does that thing where she bites her lip and I stare as she worries a little piece of skin in between her teeth. 

“Maybe you could take me back to your place and whip up some more of those, what did you call then? Cheesy buns?” She proposes in a slightly suggestive manner as she fiddles with the end of her braid. 

I let out the breath I’ve been holding in. It's becoming more and more clear the direction she wants to take this in. 

“Yeah, I think that could be arranged,” I say quietly before reaching out and running one finger down the smooth texture of her plaited dark hair and stopping at the end of her braid before giving it a playful tug. 

“But first we really should finish the interview. My boss chewed me out something terrible when I came back to the office yesterday empty-handed.” I admit with a chuckle and she has the decency to look embarrassed. 

“Sorry if I got you in trouble.” 

“No worries. Johanna can be a bit of a hardass but she’s alright. I just promised her I’d get some really interesting stuff today.” 

“How could you promise that before you even interviewed me? I mean what if I’m totally boring?” 

“Katniss, you may be a lot of things, but boring isn’t one of them. That much I’m sure of.” 

She rolls her eyes at me and huffs a little, before taking up her stance again. She pulls out an arrow and notches it on her bow. Then she turns her head slightly to look at me as she raises one eyebrow. 

“Well, start asking your questions already.” She instructs and I grin at her. 

.

.

.

“Tell me about your aiming process. How do you ensure such accuracy everytime you fire?” I ask. 

“When you shoot, you’ve got to keep both eyes on what you want to hit.” Katniss tells me seriously. We’ve been at this for the last 20 minutes. She shoots while I ask her questions. Sometimes she asks me stuff back. Its been working well, and I am pleasantly pleased with the amount of material I’ve collected for the interview so far. 

Even though the words we’ve exchanged have been entirely professional ever since she gave me the green light to continue with the interview, the fire hasn’t left her eyes. Nor my blood. I’m just counting down the minutes until I can end the interview and get her all to myself back at my apartment. 

“Do you bring this kind of tenacious focus with you to all aspects of your life?” I ask as evenly as I can, I find myself almost out of breath as I watch her lean muscular arms go through the motions of pulling an arrow out of her quiver.

 I wanna know what those strong but delicate arms feel like wrapped around me. This leads me to think about her legs wrapped around me too. 

Which leads to….distraction. 

I shake my head and try to refocus, hoping my wildly mounting attraction for her isn’t as obvious to her as it feels to me.

 “When the situation calls for it. I’m good at going after what I want. And I find my mark almost every time.” She tells me with such a straight face I would have believed we were still talking about archery if her smoldering gray eyes weren’t glued to my mouth again.

I lick my lips in a knee-jerk reaction. I see her eyelids lower, fractionally, and she purses her lips just slightly. It's enough to make my heart speed up and my hands clench. 

“So does that mean you feel confident about Panem U’s chances at placing in the upcoming D3 National Archery Competition?” I ask, after clearing my throat and bridging up back on topic. 

At this, she smiles a bit. It's not a conceited or cocky smile. It's enthusiastic and dare I say, hopeful. 

“Yes. We’ve got a great team this year and one of the most knowledgeable coaches in the sport. I think the odds are in our favor this time around.” She says as she looks back over in the direction of her teammates and Haymitch. 

I can see the affection she has for them, even if she doesn’t say it out loud. The more I get to know her the more I realize that her tough exterior is most likely hiding a softer side. 

Which is a side of Katniss Everdeen I’m just dying to get to know. But I know I have to proceed cautiously. She didn’t seem like the kind to open up right away. 

“I think the D13 competition isn’t going to know what hit them this year.” I agree quietly.