Page 74 of Penalty Shot

“Randall, for the love of god, do not lie to me. I saw it with my own eyes. She posted you two on Insta.”

“What exactly did you see?”

He sounds suspicious and angry. Seriously, is he mad atme? As if I would concoct something as humiliating as my jealousy when I stalked him on social media.

“Nevermind.” Seriously, am I expected to describe something I can barely think about? “I’ll take a Tylenol and go to bed now. Thank you for your patience and assistance today.”

If I sound like a customer service representative, it’s because any other tone would reveal my frustration.

“What did you see, Elise?”

“I said nevermind.”

“What did you see, Elise?” he repeats like he’s teaching me a new language and I’m denser than a rock.

“She posted a video from inside your car while you were driving away from the arena. It’s none of my business, except you cannot honestly say you’reburstingfor me if you’re still sleeping around.”

I’m so embarrassed by this rant, the thought of crawling behind Yorick is unbelievably tempting. I’ve come to appreciate the mannequin’s stoic presence.

“That was Eleanor, the team’s marketing manager. It was her idea to create buzz around the win by posting from the perspective of the players. If you don’t believe me, you can ask her girlfriend who was sitting in the back seat,” he explains with a wide grin.

“Well, um, fine.” Top-notch vocabulary, that’s me.

“It’s not fine that you waited this long to tell me that you were jealous.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Call it whatever you want, but you should have said something earlier.”

“It’s not my business who you’re hooking up with.”

“There you go again, bullshitting both of us. And stop using that expression, hooking up, because that is never happening again.”

Oh. Oh, OK, wow. I try to hide my expression of shock and hurt. Before I can step away from our cocoon, Randall wraps his hands around my waist. He’s still on the floor, looking up, blue eyes darkened by the night or by emotion, it’s impossible to tell.

“We’re never hooking up again because the next time I have you, Elise Chen, we’ll be making love.”

The last word slots into my unconsciousness like a puzzle piece that someone found on the floor. It makes the last few weeks clearer, somehow. My longing when we’re apart, the giddiness of our interactions, the turmoil of my jealousy, and the happiness of seeing him today. Everything snaps into place. That one word, simple and terrifying, completes the picture.

I want to make love to Randall. Not a rush of lust or a fleeting quickie, but something else. A dance that lets me show all the tenderness and affection and care that’s been developing through the weeks. He’s right, this isn’t a hookup anymore.

The realization should alert me to the uncertainties ahead, but instead all I feel is the thrill of excitement. Like I’d been going through the motions of a dance and now I’m called to the stage and it’s time to do the real thing. Rehearsals are over and adrenaline is stockpiled. My body and mind are grounded by the man on his knees, while my heart soars above us.

I run my fingers over his hair. His grip tightens around my hips. Leaning forward, I press a kiss on his forehead. He takes a slow, deep breath as if I’m his oxygen. When my mouth finds his, the scorching softness makes me hungrier for more. I run my tongue over the seam of his lips and ache to delve deeper.

He pulls away abruptly.

“Elise, baby, don’t tempt a hungry man. Tonight, you’re resting. I mean it.”

“Why? I heard you. No hooking up. We both want the same thing. Please, Randall,” I beg.

He stands so his athletic frame towers over me.

“I’m taking you to bed—to sleep.”

I snicker because yeah, right. “Sure, you are.”

Walking ahead of me, Randall turns the knob of the first door on the right. When he sees that it’s the bathroom and not the bedroom, he makes to turn around. I stall his movement.