Page 16 of Trick Shot (Miami Blazers #1)

“Oh,” she says, blinking at me. Then her lips curve. “You’re Dom’s little sister, right?”

“Right,” I mutter under my breath. That’s all I am here, apparently.

“Thought you were one of the girlfriends at first,” she laughs like the thought itself is ridiculous. “But Dom’s sister makes way more sense. One of the girls recognized you from some paparazzi pics with him and your parents.”

“That what you do? Come to team parties and guess who belongs to who?” I nod once, lips tight.

“Sometimes,” she says easily, twisting the cork from the bottle. “Not that it matters. These guys don’t belong to anyone.”

Her eyes flick toward the hallway as I walk over to the fridge. She gives me a look like she knows she struck something.

“Anyway,” she says sweetly. “Nice meeting you.”

She walks across the kitchen and down the visible hallway. She doesn’t pause as her free hand reaches for the handle of the first door. My heart skips, hand resting on the lemonade bottle in the fridge. She opens the door, walks in, and closes it behind her with a giggle.

She just walked into Jace’s room.

My chest caves in like someone punched through it. The bottle in my hand nearly slips. I set it on the counter and stare at the closed door.

That’s why Jace wasn’t outside. He was waiting for her in his room.

I blink hard. All I can think about is a closed door and who’s on the other side.

I don’t go upstairs. I storm upstairs. My legs move, feet hitting the stairs fast and hard.

I’m swallowing around the pressure in my throat, the sting behind my eyes, the heat in my face.

My jaw is locked so tight I’m worried I’ll grind my teeth down to dust. My fingers are clenched, nails digging into my palms, but I don’t stop.

Because if I do, I’ll cry. And I’ll be damned if I cry over this man.

But I can already feel the first tear sliding down my face.

He can enjoy his little puck bunny rendezvous for all I care. I hope her perfume gives him a migraine.

God, I feel stupid for thinking I mattered. For believing, even for a second, that the way he looked at me meant anything. It’s just what he does, isn’t it? He makes girls feel seen right before he makes them nothing to him again.

I reach the hallway, storming toward my door, ready to pack my stuff. I don’t care if Dom gets mad. I don’t care if I have to Uber all night back home or walk barefoot. I just want out. I can’t stay here, knowing he’s… doing things with these girls.

“Melody?” The sound of his gravelly voice reaches my ears, sounding so concerned that I think I might have imagined it.

I turn slowly, like I’m not entirely sure if his voice is real.

But he’s standing right in front of me now, tall and massive, with his shorts slung low on his waist. The V-line cuts sharp and disappears under the waistband, and above it, rows of muscles covered in ink.

He’s paused, walking out of the room next to mine with a concerned look on his face.

My brain stutters.

He’s here, upstairs. Not downstairs with that girl.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes scanning my face as he walks toward me.

I blink at him, swallowing thick. My chest’s tight, my thoughts are all screaming at each other, and my heart won’t slow down.

I feel relief, but I also feel anger. I’m angry at myself for caring.

“It doesn’t matter,” I snap, looking down, brushing past him.

He steps in front of me, not touching me. The size of a door and entirely blocking my way.

“What’s wrong,” he repeats, softer now.

I shake my head, and he moves closer, lifting his hand, fingers under my chin.

Even now, even after everything, he still makes my stupid heart flutter like I’m thirteen and he’s some celebrity crush on my wall.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, eyes locked on mine, “until you tell me what’s wrong.”

I try to look away and not fall for the way he’s looking at me.

“Did one of the guys try something?” he asks, voice hardening instantly.

“No,” I say quickly, shaking my head.

If only it were that simple.

I shake out of his grip, putting space between us. My chest is still rising too fast. I can’t look at him.

“You said you were staying downstairs,” I say, sharp. “A girl walked in—”

Shit.

I stop myself too late. I shouldn’t have said that.

His face shifts, concern melting into something else. Something smug that makes me want to scream. Because I just gave him a piece of information that I shouldn’t have. Now he knows I care.

A slow grin tugs at the corner of his mouth.

I take a step back. He takes two steps forward. He’s too close. The hallway suddenly feels smaller.

“You saw a girl walk in my room,” he says low. “That’s why you’re upset?”

I don’t answer, my jaw shut tight, my chin lifted high.

“God,” he mutters, chuckling under his breath. “That pissed you off, didn’t it?”

I curse myself for saying too much, for feeling too much, and for giving him anything.

“Forget it.” I cross my arms.

“Must be Tanner’s lucky night,” he chuckles. “We switched rooms.”

I whip my head up, and his grin widens.

I want to punch him. I want to kiss him. I want to set the whole house on fire and blame it on him for smiling like that.

“Damn,” he murmurs, eyes dragging down me and back up. “You really thought—”

“Move,” I snap, brushing past him.

But he moves faster. His hand wraps around my wrist, spinning me back and pulling me flush against him. Chest to chest, breath to breath.

His hand slides to my lower back, keeping me there like he dares me to fight it.

“Why’d it piss you off so much?” he asks low.

“It didn’t do anything,” I say flatly, heart slamming into my ribs.

His eyes flicker to my face, then soften. He lifts a hand and brushes my cheek, rubbing something wet. A tear—a single line down my cheek he catches with his thumb, wiping it away softly.

He holds his finger up between us, glistening with my tears.

“Didn’t it?” he asks quietly, but there’s cocky amusement in his eyes.

I stare at his finger, then at his smug face. I want to deny it. I want to smack that smug grin off his face. I want to kiss him.

His mouth curves while he still holds me against him. My heart is thudding like it’s trying to reach him first.

His gaze drags down my face to my lips, then back to my eyes.

“I didn’t touch anyone else,” he says softly. “I haven’t.” His voice is rough, honest in a way that disarms me completely. “The only girl I want walking into my bedroom is you.”

God. Why do I want to believe that? Why do I feel like my knees are giving out?

His hand slides up, thumb catching my bottom lip.

He rubs it gently, like he’s testing the idea of kissing me. Like he’s memorizing the shape of my mouth. My entire body is buzzing, tummy feeling like someone set off a million butterflies.

His face lowers to mine, his breath warm against my mouth, and my pulse spikes even more. He’s about to kiss me, but his lips don’t touch. They just hover over mine, a single breath of space between us. Close enough that I can feel the warmth of them.

His eyes flick to mine.

“You got jealous,” he murmurs. His voice is barely a whisper, the words dancing right on the edge of my lips.

I swallow. My entire body is humming.

“I didn’t.” It comes out as barely more than breath.

His eyes flash, but he doesn’t call me a liar. He just studies me—slow, intimate, and devouring.

Being this close to him does something to me. His cheekbones are sharp, his long lashes could make any girl jealous, his nose is perfectly straight. Those honey-flecked eyes, dark around the edges like he’s forever a little bit ruined...

I feel dizzy.

“I’m not going to do anything,” he says quietly, lips still just above mine, “until you’re honest with me.”

I exhale shakily, on the edge. I’m barely holding on. I want to close the distance. I want to lean in, let him taste the confusion and fire he put in me.

But then… everything about him screams danger. Everything about him screams “I’ll ruin you.”

I jerk back a step, then two, pushing his hands off me. His arms fall to his sides, like he’s letting me go on my terms.

I turn before I can lose my nerve and storm down the hall toward my room, chest heaving.

Behind me, he chuckles. It vibrates in my ears, low and amused.

“Now you know which room is actually mine,” he calls after me. “In case you want to come visit.”

I slam my door so hard the walls shake. I stand there, in the silence, with my hands trembling and my lips still tingling from where his thumb touched.

My heart is pounding and my stomach’s doing cartwheels. I almost said it. I almost gave him what he wanted. I almost let him win.

Well, two can play this game.