Page 10 of Trick Shot (Miami Blazers #1)

Chapter six

~MELODY~

I haven’t seen him in two days.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? The fact that I’m counting.

Jace, menace of my peace, living, breathing problem, hasn’t been around since he cornered me in the kitchen, handed me a wine glass, and pressed me against the counter, trying to brand himself into my memory.

It worked. Because even now, as I sit on the edge of my bed with my phone in one hand and a half-packed suitcase staring at me from across the room, I’m still thinking about him.

I still think about his voice, rough and low like gravel, the heat of his body against my back, and the way the air between us went still, then electric, then too much. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.

Which would be fine if I wasn’t also still texting Ghost every day.

My phone buzzes right on cue.

GHOST: Don’t forget sunscreen.

I roll my eyes and bite back a smile.

ME: I don’t have any. I’ll buy some on the way.

I told him about the trip, kind of hoping he would say something to stop me. Surprisingly, he even encouraged it—said it would be a great time to bond with my brother. On the other hand, I haven’t told him we’d be in a house full of NHL players. I don’t think he’d be encouraging it if he knew.

My fingers fly across the screen.

ME: Though, what’s the point if you’re not here to help me with it.

GHOST: Give me an address and I’ll be there.

Shaking my head, I type a fictional address that may or may not be Harry Potter’s.

ME: 4 Privet Drive

His reply comes instantly.

GHOST: When did you last collect your mail? Place is covered in it.

I huff out a laugh, knowing he loves Harry Potter just as much as I do.

ME: Been locked under the stairs for a while. Couldn’t greet the mailman.

GHOST: Wanna get locked in my basement next? I promise to feed you.

I haven’t even fully read the message yet before another one comes in.

GHOST: And not just your mouth.

My tummy does that little flip again and my teeth clamp over my bottom lip. He always does this—starts sweet, ends suggestive. Ghost flirts like a reflex, like breathing.

But for the past couple of days, something’s been different. His messages feel more specific. He’s holding back less, saying things he used to dance around.

Maybe I’m reading too much into it.

I sigh, leaning back on my elbows as my brain swirls. There’s a part of me that feels guilty. That gross, twisting guilt you feel when you know you’re emotionally invested in one person but keep thinking about another.

I shouldn’t feel like this about Jace. He seems like the kind of man who makes eye contact like he’s taking inventory of what you’d look like bent over a kitchen island.

And still, that night in the kitchen, the weight of him pressed against me, his voice against my ear—

“I’m starting to think you like it when I corner you.”

And I think… maybe I do too.

“I’m not going,” I say, crossing my arms like that’s going to do anything to Dominic—a man used to bossing people around and a full-time control freak.

Dom raises one eyebrow. Which is unfair, because it’s only an eyebrow, and still somehow scary. He’s not just intimidating; he’s professionally intimidating. That eyebrow would have a full boardroom shaking in their Gucci loafers.

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“You’re going,” he says simply.

“Why would I go on a bonding trip with your team? I’m not even on the team.”

“You’re the captain’s sister. And I’m not leaving you here alone for a week in a city you don’t know, with no one around in case something happens.”

“Nothing’s going to happen, Dom,” I protest, throwing my arms out in front of my still half-packed suitcase.

“Mel.”

That’s all it takes. Just my name, in that low, warning tone, and I fold faster than a Dollar Tree lawn chair.

He softens it, just a little.

“You’ve been here for, what? A week? You don’t have friends here yet. No family nearby. You get sick, you need help, something happens—I need to know you’re okay.”

I open my mouth, then close it. Because goddammit… he’s right. I don’t like being told what to do, but Dom doesn’t give you room to argue. He says something, and the rest of the world just nods and moves. It’s how he is. Always has been.

Dominic Moreal: human freight train of authority and unsolicited big-brothering.

“Fine,” I huff. “But I’m not talking to anyone. And I’m not wearing a bikini around those guys.”

“You packed two. I saw them.” He smirks, pushing off the doorframe.

I glance at my suitcase, my eyes falling over the ends of the bikini strings hanging out.

“We leave in an hour,” Dom reminds me before closing my door.

I let out a breath and fall forward onto the bed, arms flopping wide.

A vacation with a dozen pro hockey players.

And Jace, who I haven’t seen since he pressed himself against me and made my internal organs perform a synchronized backflip.

I groan into the comforter just as my phone rings. I glance at it, seeing Lennie’s name on the screen.

I answer it on speaker and flop dramatically onto my back.

“Packed and ready?” she teases through the phone.

“For the hell I’m about to enter? Almost.”

“Hell? You’re going to be stuck in a house with more than a dozen pro athletes.” Lennie pauses. “Sounds like heaven to me.”

“Wanna swap places then?” I ask, dragging myself toward the suitcase I left half-packed. “And did I also mention that the house belongs to the guy who cornered me in the kitchen?”

“That’s hot,” Lennie says, unfazed. “You’re still thinking about him, aren’t you?”

I freeze, halfway sitting up.

There’s a pause.

“Have you told Ghost about this guy?” she asks, hesitant.

“Of course not.” I frown as I toss my phone on the bed, freeing my hands. “What would he think of me? Talking to him while getting close and personal with my brother’s teammate whose house I’ll be stuck in for more than a week?”

“You’re in deep,” Lennie says after a pause.

“Like Mariana Trench,” I agree, tossing a pair of flip-flops into my suitcase.

“Wonder what else will be in deep,” she teases.

“Lennie, it’s not like it’s a romantic getaway. It’s a team bonding trip that I’m being forced to go to, along with fifteen other hockey players.”

“This is better than porn.” She cackles.

The suitcase is heavier than I remember, which is impressive, because I packed it myself. Yet somehow, when Dom grabs the handle and hauls it toward the driveway, he makes it look like it’s empty.

“Which car are we taking?” I shout after Dom, carrying my travel bag.

He leaves both our suitcases on the driveway and goes back to set the alarm system.

“Jace’s,” he throws over his shoulder as he passes me.

“What?” I do a 180, my brows hitching up to my hairline.

The roar of the engine answers my question before Dom can.

It’s loud. A deep, guttural growl that echoes down the quiet street.

I turn toward the sound just in time to see a massive blacked-out SUV turn the corner and glide toward us.

The window is rolled down, giving me a glimpse at the sin disguised as a man inside.

He pulls up fast, tires kissing the curb, then throws it into reverse with one hand on the wheel. He backs in, one arm slung across the passenger seat as he turns to check the angle.

Why is that so attractive?

The SUV settles into the driveway like a beast finding its resting place. Music thumps from inside—something heavy and bass-driven. He cuts the engine and climbs out.

He’s wearing a fitted white T-shirt, black sunglasses, veins popping on his forearm as he slams the door with one hand and runs the other through his already-messy hair.

“Nice of you to finally show up,” Dom calls out, walking back toward the front door to double check the alarm. “You said ten.”

“I said around ten,” Jace fires back.

“Suitcase,” Dom barks, motioning to mine. “Grab hers.”

Jace’s eyes slide over me once, from my hair to the biker shorts I’m wearing and finally to the suitcase beside me.

“I got it,” I start, already pulling it along.

His steps are casual, lazy even, as he walks up to me. He stops beside me, and his hand lands on top of mine. His palm is warm and rough, massive enough to make mine completely disappear under it. The contact lasts maybe two seconds, but my skin burns like it’s been branded.

The pulse between my legs kicks once, then twice. A throb that shouldn’t exist from touching a handle.

“I’ve got it.” His voice drops low.

“I said I got it,” I protest, stunned by the heat between my legs.

His fingers tighten around my hand, eyes not leaving mine.

“I heard you,” he says, voice low, amused.

I blink up at him, the sun hitting the side of his face, making those sharp features even more ridiculous.

“I don’t need your help.”

He smirks.

“I know you don’t. Doesn’t mean I won’t help just to watch you get all worked up.” He leans in close enough for me to catch the scent of his cologne. “You looked like you needed something to be bratty about this morning. I’m happy to provide it,” he murmurs, lips a breath from my ear.

Every part of me is vibrating. Before I can come up with something halfway intelligent to say, he hauls it off the ground with one hand.

He walks it to the back of the SUV as the trunk door slowly lifts and throws it in with a clean thud. I stand there with my hand still in the air, fingers curled slightly like they miss the weight of his.

“Mel.”

I flinch.

Dom’s voice cuts through my thoughts. I turn to see him walking toward me.

“Get in the back,” he says, lifting his own suitcase and carrying it up to the trunk of the SUV.

“What?” I blink.

“Backseat,” he repeats. “I’m not fighting your carry-on for elbow space,” he adds, already moving toward the passenger’s side.

“You’re driving. I’m navigating.” Jace’s voice drifts over.

“You’re what?” Dom snorts.

“Navigation,” Jace says, pushing Dom aside and climbing into the passenger seat. “Maps. Vibes. DJing.”

“Too lazy to drive, huh?” Dom stares at him flatly.

Jace shrugs, sunglasses still on as he closes the door.