Page 15 of Trick Shot (Miami Blazers #1)

Chapter eight

~MELODY~

I slam the door shut behind me and lean back against it, chest heaving. My skin is on fire, my mouth is dry, and my thighs are…

I press my hand between them like that’ll calm the ache, but it just makes it worse. His voice is still in my ear, his scent still on my skin, and his eyes still feel like they’re on my body.

I push off the door and start pacing.

This is so bad.

I should be angry. I should be furious. No one pins me against a wall like that. No one backs me into corners and talks to me like… like I’m theirs. I stop in the middle of the room and squeeze my eyes shut.

I wanted him to kiss me. Every second he hovered over my mouth, every breath that hit my skin, I waited for it. And if Dom hadn’t interrupted us, God knows what would’ve happened.

I groan and cover my face with both hands.

If Dom finds out I was two seconds from being tongue-deep with his best friend in the hallway of his beach house, he’ll throw Jace into the ocean.

I spin around and stare at my bed, tossing the book and my phone on top of the covers.

What am I even doing?

I’m supposed to be thinking about Ghost. He’s the man who knows me, who makes me laugh, who sends me good morning messages and remembers the most microscopic details about me.

He’s the man I fantasize about late at night when I can’t sleep, even if the face behind the mask belongs to Jace in my head now.

The cocky, shirtless, tattooed asshole who just told me to change and pressed me against a wall.

Ghost makes me feel alive, yet safe.

Jace makes me feel like I’m poking at a wall plug with a fork.

Only… I want to get zapped.

I grab a T-shirt from my suitcase and start changing for dinner. I wasn’t even planning on going downstairs with my nipples out. I’d already planned on throwing something over this tank. But now that Jace told me to? Now I want to waltz down there shirtless just to spite him.

If my brother wasn’t in this house, I might’ve done it too. I would’ve walked down with my nipples poking out and stared Jace in the eye the whole time.

But Dominic would take one look at me and send me back upstairs before I could blink. So now I’ve got two options:

Obey Jace.

Or obey my brother.

Either way, I lose.

“Damn tyrants,” I mutter under my breath and yank the shirt on.

I’m halfway through pulling my shirt on when a knock hits the door.

“Come in.” I finish tugging the shirt over my head, praying my face doesn’t scream I just got pressed against a wall and liked it.

The door opens a crack, and Dominic sticks his head in. “You decent?”

I give him a look. “Define decent.”

He walks in anyway, closing the door behind him like we’re about to have some very important sibling discussion. He leans against the dresser, arms crossed, eyes scanning me like he’s trying to determine if I’ve already caused trouble.

“What?” I ask, folding my arms.

Dom sighs.

Uh-oh.

“I just want to say something real quick,” he says.

“This is already weird.” I raise a brow.

“I’m serious.”

“Clearly.”

He pauses, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to figure out the best way to say what’s coming without setting me off.

“I know you're not a kid anymore,” he starts.

Oh God. Here we go.

“But these guys? They’re not… look, they’re my friends, but they’re not exactly saints.”

I blink. “Wow. Big brother finally admits his friends are feral.”

“I’m being serious, Mel,” he says, straightening up. “They’re hockey players. Most of them are walking sex drives with skates. They’re not thinking about feelings. They’re thinking about... whatever fits between games.”

“Gross.”

“Exactly.” He points at me. “That’s why I need you to stay away from them.”

“You realize you’re talking about people you hang out and train with every day, right?”

“That’s exactly why I’m saying it,” he mutters. “I know what they do because I…” He pauses, and I get his message immediately— I know what they do because I do it too.

I shake the mental image out of my head before I throw up.

“I’ve seen the trail of blondes and broken hearts,” he says instead.

“Blondes and broken hearts,” I snort. “You should put that on a throw pillow.”

He doesn’t laugh.

“No flirting, Mel. No drunken beach make-outs. No sneaking into bedrooms.”

I roll my eyes so hard I nearly see into the next dimension.

“I’m not an idiot,” I huff.

“I know you’re not,” he says. “But you’re also not used to this.”

I stare at him, biting back every smartass comment in my head.

Because if only he knew what happened in that hallway. If only he knew what his best friend did.

“Thanks for the talk, Dad.” I nod.

Dom exhales, gives me one last big brother look, then opens the door to leave.

“We’re eating in twenty.” Just before he does, he adds, “And if I ever find out one of them’s been sniffing around you, I’ll break his face.”

My stomach twists.

Too late. He already sniffed. He already touched. He already almost kissed me.

“I got it,” I call sweetly as the door shuts behind him.

I flop back on the bed and groan into my pillow. If Dom’s worried about someone getting too close?

It’s already too late.

The ocean breeze curls in off the shore, sticky with salt and sweet with blooming jasmine.

Waves crash faintly in the distance, and laughter spills from the guys. Music thumps from the speakers as the handful of girls already start staking their claim. They laugh too loud, touch too often, and giggle like they’re on ecstasy every time someone with abs walks by.

The outdoor table is massive—carved wood, long enough to seat half a football team, which is basically who’s here.

String lights hang from the palm trees overhead, flickering golden across everyone’s drinks and tan skin.

The smell of grilled meat drifts through the air, smoke curling around lazy conversation and laughter.

I sit near the middle, my legs curled under the chair, Coke sweating in my hand. Across the patio, Jace flips burgers at the grill, his back turned to me.

He’s laughing, talking to some of his teammates that I still haven’t learned the names of. He’s smiling like he doesn’t have a single secret in the world. Like he didn’t have me pressed against a wall hours ago, whispering things that made my stomach flip and my brain shut down.

God, he’s good at this.

That easy charm, and that casual, harmless “who, me?” energy.

Maybe that’s his thing. Maybe he makes girls feel things—intense, dizzying, electric things—and then walks away like it didn’t matter. Because maybe, to him, it doesn’t. Maybe he forgets the moment it happens. He seems like the kind of guy who can ruin you and then offer you a beer.

I blink down at my phone, thumb tapping the screen to check for the hundredth time. Nothing. No text from Ghost. He usually replies fast. Always. Even if it’s just a dumb meme or a picture. But for the past two hours? Nothing.

Voices rise around me as a few players start handing out food. My nose is still buried in my phone, looking at the last message I sent to Ghost, when I feel the unmistakable presence of Jace behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck rise each time he’s near, like my body knows it before I do.

Just as I start to lift my head, his large hand appears in front of me, setting a plate down gently. The burger is steaming, the bun is toasted, and there’s cheese spilling over the edge.

“Dinner is served,” he says low, voice all heat and mischief and his breath near my ear.

My heartbeat kicks up, and I lock my phone immediately, hiding my chat with Ghost. I don’t even know why I’m worried about him seeing it. This is stupid.

“You can give this one to Dom,” I say, pushing the plate to the right. “I’m going to make mine without pickles.”

There’s a pause before he reaches out and pushes the plate back toward me, the veins on his forearm popping out like ropes.

“I didn’t put any pickles in yours.”

I can hear the smug little smile in his voice, even if I won’t look up to see it. Then he leans a fraction closer.

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs before walking away.

I stare at the burger for a full ten seconds, then back at him. He’s walking back to the grill, casual and relaxed.

“Hey.” Dom flops into the chair beside me, stealing a fry off my plate.

“Thanks,” I say, nodding at the burger. “For telling Jace I don’t like pickles.”

“You don’t like pickles?” Dom pauses mid-chew and frowns.

I stare at him, and he stares back. My eyes flick up to Jace, the question looping in my head like a broken record.

How the hell did he know?

After dinner, the energy shifts. Music’s louder, with enough bass to dislodge my internal organs.

Shirts are off. There’s alcohol, laughter, a hockey team trying to prove they can dance when they very clearly cannot, and two girls doing body shots off one of their wingers.

Someone else is definitely making out on one of the patio loungers.

Girls giggle and scream as two men carry them into the ocean in the distance.

I sit at the edge of the long table, twisting my napkin in my lap, scanning the crowd. Jace walked into the house five minutes ago, and he hasn’t come back.

It bothers me that I even noticed he was gone—especially when it took me long enough to realize my own brother is missing too. I don’t want to know what he’s doing.

I check my phone again. Still nothing. Ghost hasn’t messaged back. Not a meme, not even a thumbs-up to the photo I sent hours ago.

I push away from the table and slip through the open doors into the house. It’s cooler inside and much quieter.

I head straight to the fridge to grab the jug of lemonade. But there’s already a woman standing near the fridge, taking two glasses out of the cupboard.

I recognize her immediately. She’s the blonde from the store in Ozona who was talking to Jace, touched his arm, and tilted her head like she was about to purr. She’s barefoot now, wearing a bodycon sundress, hair down and glossy.

She grabs a bottle of wine from the shelf and turns just as I do.