Page 1 of Trick Shot (Miami Blazers #1)

Chapter one

~JACE~

Shots burn hotter when you’re already half-buzzed.

“Here’s Johnny!” Nate shouts with his rubber axe in hand as I slam the empty shot glass down and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Relax, Wendy,” I snort, grabbing the Ghostface mask hanging off the back of my neck and pulling it back on. “You sound like you’d shit yourself in the opening credits.”

That earns a round of laughter from half the team.

“You really look just like the killer from Scream,” Tanner wheezes through a grin, pointing at me.

“Only if Ghostface hit the gym six days a week and could bench-press a fucking SUV,” Nate adds, elbowing me.

“Ghostface, but make it daddy,” our equipment manager Dan says, and the entire team howls.

I scoff and pull the hood over the mask, tugging it low. One of the guys tries to toss me another shot, but I wave it off. I’m not here to black out. I’m here to… hell, I don’t even know.

Miami’s Halloween scene is the same shit every year—overdressed guys, underdressed girls, shitty drinks with cool names, and music so loud it’ll fuck your eardrums into next week.

And yeah, every girl in here is giving me fuck-me eyes. It’s the same look. Every time. The full-body scan, the slow bite of the lip, the subtle lean forward like I’m a goddamn vending machine and they’re trying to pick a number.

The costumes don’t help. Slutty nun. Slutty nurse. Slutty Wednesday Addams. One girl’s just wearing glitter and calling it a fairy.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve fucked my way through worse. But lately? It all just feels like a copy-paste of the last hundred nights.

Easy. Predictable. Boring.

My dick can only do so much heavy lifting when my brain is checked the fuck out.

Deciding one more wouldn’t hurt, I drag the mask up just enough to down another drink, then shove it back in place.

I barely take one step away from the private bar before a girl sidesteps into my path like she’s been tracking me on GPS.

The place is full of puck bunnies tonight.

“Ghostface, huh?” she purrs, fingering the chin of my mask. “You gonna chase me or just pin me to the nearest wall?”

I don’t answer right away, just stare at her. She’s hot. Blonde. Lips glossy and plump. Body poured into a latex cop outfit that’s doing way too much and not nearly enough at the same time.

My brain runs the math in two seconds flat. She’s already decided she’s going home with me. She’ll moan like a porn star. She’ll call me “daddy” before I even get her dress off. She’ll ask for a selfie after so she can post it on her social media.

I’m bored before she even finishes blinking.

“Hey, Tanner!” I call out over her shoulder.

“Yeah?” The rookie stumbles out of the crowd, drink in hand, eyes wide like he just saw his first pair of tits.

“You like fake cops?” I jerk my chin toward the girl.

“Uh… yeah?” He blinks.

“Cool.” I clap him on the shoulder. “She’s all yours. Try not to cry when you nut.”

The girl looks insulted while Tanner looks like I handed him a winning lotto ticket.

“Don’t worry,” I tell her, stepping around them, “boy’s got stamina. Rookie season and all.”

I hear her scoff behind me. Don’t care.

I step away from them and start scanning the crowd again. This party’s full throttle, fake boobs and tequila flying in every direction, and it feels like a fucking loop.

And where the hell is Dominic? Shouldn’t your best friend be glued to you at parties?

I shoulder through two devils and a guy dressed as Ken—full sequin vest, nipples out—before spotting one of our defensemen near the beer pong table, holding court like he owns the place.

“Matt!” I call out, pulling my mask halfway up again.

He turns, grinning. “There he is. Was starting to think Ghostface finally got himself arrested.”

“Where’s Dom?” I ask, eyes still scanning the chaos.

“Pretty sure I saw him heading upstairs with Jessica Rabbit.” Matt’s smirk widens. “Red dress, red hair, an ass that needs its own zip code.”

“Great.” I scoff and pull the mask back into place. “Thought the captain doesn’t abandon the ship.”

“Apparently, the ship’s in good hands.” Matt shrugs.

I shake my head, mouth twitching under the mask. He could’ve shot me a text—I would've brought the tequila.

I pat Matt on the shoulder and walk around him.

I drift through the crowd like smoke, letting the music press against me, sticky and loud and fucking meaningless.

Everywhere I look, there’s something fake—fake hair, fake lips, fake laughs and cheers.

And every single one of them is trying to catch my eye.

It’s not that I can’t pull. That’s never been the issue. It’s that I don’t fucking care anymore. Sex used to be fun, messy, filthy, and loud. A game I was always winning.

Now it’s a way to kill hours between practices and insomnia. It’s something I do when I don’t feel like sitting alone in a silent house and wondering why the fuck I’m not happy.

I tug the mask off again, letting it hang around my neck as I grab another drink from a passing tray.

Go home? And do what? Doom scroll on my phone while eating leftover protein pancakes? I’d rather be here. At least here, there’s noise.

I sigh, tilt the glass back, set it down on the tray, and slide my mask back on. I let my eyes sweep the room again. Not looking for anything in particular, just hoping something might make me feel something.

And when my eyes land on a figure near the main bar, I know I’ve found it.

A black, velvet bunny.

But not the type you expect. No half-naked ass cheeks, no bedazzled corset.

Her outfit’s got a bite. It’s sleek and dark, with jagged edges and a slit that teases just enough leg to make a man stupid.

But it’s her mask that caught my eye first.

Huge latex bunny ears that melt into a black face mask—tight, sculpted, covering half her face. It’s not sexy or cute. It’s fucking eerie in the hottest way.

And fuck me, if it isn’t doing something to me.

She’s not flirting or talking to anyone, she’s not looking for attention. She’s sipping her whiskey like she’s watching it all from above, mildly unimpressed.

I don’t even realize I’ve started moving toward her until I’m halfway there.

Because finally, something that doesn’t feel like autopilot.

I push through a Cleopatra and two glittered-up cowgirls who try to grab me. The closer I get to the goal, the quieter the space feels.

It’s like she’s carved out her own orbit, and I’m just some poor bastard caught in the pull.

She doesn’t look at me when I reach her, doesn’t acknowledge me. Just sips her drink slowly, like this party’s happening around her, not to her.

I lean one arm against the bar beside her and tilt my head slightly, eyes skimming her mask, her lips, her eyes, and the tilt of her jaw.

“Didn’t know Playboy Bunnies drank whiskey on the rocks,” I say, voice laced with just enough cocky bite to make it a flirt and a threat at the same time.

She turns her head, just a fraction, enough for me to see the curve of her full lips and her upturned, almond-shaped eyes. Gorgeous.

“Didn’t know Ghostface flirted before the kill,” she fires back, unfazed.

Fuck.

I grin beneath the mask. Not a smirk. A real fucking grin.

“Depends on the victim,” I say. “Some scream prettier when you tease them first.”

She hums, almost like she’s mildly amused.

“Sounds lazy,” she says. “If you have to flirt, maybe you’re not scary enough.”

“Or maybe I go easy on the ones who flirt back.”

She chokes on a laugh. Not a delicate giggle—no, this one’s sharp and real.

Then she eyes me, slowly, like she’s trying to decide if I’m worth her time or just another asshole in a costume.

“I bet you say that to all the girls with trauma.”

“Oh, I only say it to the ones with trauma.” I lean in a little. “They taste better.”

“You’re disgusting.” She turns fully now, her body angled toward mine, that wicked little smirk playing on her lips.

“You say that,” I drawl. “But you’re still standing here.”

She takes another sip of her drink, eyes locked on mine above the rim.

“Must be the mask. Gives me hope you’re not ugly.”

“You wound me, Bunny.” I place a hand over my heart.

“Not yet, Ghost.”

Jesus Christ.

My blood heats instantly, slow and dirty. She’s not just playing along—she’s sparring.

And I’m losing.

“Wanna find out if I scream nicely too?” I ask, watching her lips part just barely.

Her smile doesn’t grow, doesn’t shift. Just stays right there, tight and knowing.

“Careful, Ghost. You’re starting to sound hopeful,” she bites back, and turns back to her drink.

I stand there, stunned silent for the first time in probably… ever.

She thinks she has the upper hand, but I know that look in her eyes. That glassy, glazed-over shine. The slight delay between sip and smirk.

She’s tipsy.

Not enough to stumble, but enough to stop pretending. People drop the act when they’re buzzed. And Bunny? She just dropped hers in my lap like a loaded gun.

I inch a little closer, slow and subtle. Just enough that my arm brushes hers when I lean against the bar.

She doesn’t move away from me.

Perfect.

“You’re not a bunny though, are you?” I murmur, voice rough from the alcohol and the blood now rushing south.

That gets her attention.

“No?” She glances at me, lashes fluttering at the edge of the black mask.

“Nah.” I shake my head slowly. “Too sharp. You’re something else entirely.”

“What am I then?” She cocks her head.

“A trap.” I lower my head and my voice.

Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t pull back.

“Big word for a guy wearing a twenty-dollar mask and wet dreams for brains.”

I can’t help it. I fucking laugh—loud and full-bodied.

“God,” I say, shaking my head.

“God,” she echoes, lifting her glass in a mock toast. “You can call me that if it helps.”

Fuck. She’s good.

“You always this charming when you’re drunk?” I tilt my head, studying her.

“You always this horny when you’re bored?” She shrugs.

Touché. I bite back a grin.

She finishes her drink, then sets the glass down with a quiet clink. Her fingers trail the rim once, lazily. With the same hand, she brushes against my chest as she straightens up.

“Thanks for the entertainment, Mr. Ghost. But even with that mask, I can see you’ve got that look,” she says, eyeing me through her lashes.

“And what look is that?” I tilt my head to the side.

She leans in, and I instinctively lean down to meet her halfway. Her mouth brushes past my ear like she’s about to confess murder.

“The look of a man who ruins things just to see what’s left after.”

“Well then, lucky for you, you look like something I’d ruin beautifully,” I shoot back, snaking my hand around her waist.

Her breath catches just enough for me to notice. She’s tipsy enough to flirt recklessly. I’m sober enough to remember every word.

She looks up at me, mask angled just enough to catch the light.

“I came here with someone, actually,” she says, sounding half-apologetic and half-amused.

I blink once and immediately scan the space.

No one’s hovering—no boyfriend in sight, no handsy guy lurking behind her.

Nothing but a blur of glitter, booze, and slutty desperation.

I grin under the mask.

“Yeah?” I say, glancing behind her like I’m looking for a threat. “Where’s he hiding? Bathroom? Crying? Plotting my murder?”

“He disappeared a while ago.” She smirks.

I let that sit for a second, let the implication burn slow.

So she’s here, alone now.

“He left you alone in a place like this?” I ask, voice low and teasing. “With a guy like me?”

She rolls her eyes, and all I can think about is making her do it again—preferably with my cock inside her.

“I was already leaving anyway,” she says, eyes gleaming behind the mask.

Oh, Bunny.

“That was fast,” I murmur, letting my gaze drag down her body and back up. “Should I call my driver?”

“Did you make that offer to every girl at this party?” She arches a brow.

“Not at all.”

“You flatter me,” she says sweetly, and equally as sarcastic.

She doesn’t back away when I lean in, doesn’t flinch when my hand brushes her hip. She just watches me with her lips parted and her little bravado crumbling.

I let my fingers graze the curve of her waist, slow and easy, testing the line.

She shifts slightly, letting me—encouraging, inviting, and deadly.

I let my hand slide up her back, lean in just enough that my mouth skims her ear.

“I could do more to you,” I say, voice low.

She hums, like she’s considering it. Her body’s warm under my touch. Her breath a little faster now.

I know this game. I always fucking win this game. So I go in for the kill. My hand slips behind her neck, thumb grazing the edge of her jaw.

“Say the word,” I murmur. “And I’ll make sure you forget every other guy at this party.”

“Bold of you to assume I even remembered them in the first place.” She leans into me, her voice all syrup and sin.

And then she pushes my hand off her with a playful little shove and steps back.

“I’m leaving.” Her lips curl into a smirk as she glances down at her phone.

“With me?” I raise a brow, even though she can’t see it.

“Absolutely not.” She grins, meeting my eyes.

Motherf—

“You sure?” I ask, cocking my head, stepping into her again. “What if this is the last time I ever see you? You really wanna risk that?”

She doesn’t answer.

She reaches out instead, grabs my wrist, and rolls up the sleeve of my hoodie with delicate fingers.

I frown, watching her. What is she up to?

“That would be tragic,” she mutters, pulling something small and silver from her purse.

I glance down at the little stick. Eyeliner?

“Careful not to smudge it,” she says without looking up. “It’s not waterproof.”

And then she starts writing on the inside of my forearm. The curve of the tip trailing over my skin is way too sensual for a number.

I smile again, before glancing down at my forearm.

Nine digits.

“You give me a real one?” I ask, raising a brow. “Or is this just your pizza delivery line?”

“Worst case scenario, you’ll get pizza.” She looks me dead in the eye.

I don’t get a chance to respond because a heavy hand smacks me on the back.

“Dude!” Nate yells, stumbling into view. “The twins just started making out on the bar. Let’s fucking go!”

I groan, barely even glancing at him. “Jesus, Nate, give a man a minute—”

I turn back around.

Gone.

She’s gone.

My heart kicks as I scan the crowd, eyes darting… nothing. Just masks, heat, and chaos. But her number’s still burning into my skin.

And I know two things.

One—I’m going to find her again.

And two—she won’t be able to escape me once I do.