Page 21 of Trick Shot (Miami Blazers #1)

His tongue slowly drags across the bite. He tastes the blood—and grins.

Because he knows my words are useless. He knows they mean nothing when his tongue’s already memorized the shape of mouth—like taking cover from the rain after the storm’s already drenched you.

The storm is right in front of me, the danger of giving in to it still lurking.

So what do I do?

I bend down, grab my phone, and bolt like a coward.

I sprint toward the lights coming from Jace’s house and the music spilling through the trees.

I don’t need to turn around to know he’s already following me—yet I still do.

He’s stalking after me, his shorts finally on. The empty bottle and glasses dangle from his hand as he walks. The muscles on his torso twist and dance with every step he takes, illuminated by the moonlight.

And then he stops, looking at me silently, eyes pinning me in place like a wild animal’s.

My heart’s erratic, the low pulsing between my legs gets worse, and I instinctively take a step back.

“Run, Melody,” he murmurs—but I hear it clearly.

And I do.

I turn and start running again toward the house, secretly hoping that someday he’ll catch me.

The music’s still going outside, low and thumping against the open windows as I lay in bed. Laughter echoes from the deck, someone yells something about beer pong, and I hear Dom’s voice snap back a reply.

It’s a comforting sound, one I’d be falling asleep to if I wasn’t thinking about his teammate.

I spent so much time wondering what he would taste like, what it would feel like if he kissed me, touched me.

Now it’s even worse, because I found out and I want more.

Because now that I’ve gotten a taste of him, now that I’ve felt what he’s working with, all I can think about is how he’d use it if I let him.

Would he be gentle? Rough? Or would he be an intoxicating mix of both?

My thighs press together automatically. I can’t stop thinking about it. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m not supposed to want Jace.

I’m supposed to want the man who remembers the smallest details about me, who makes me feel like I’m something more than a daughter my parents want to marry off—something more than a shadow behind Dom’s name.

And tonight I almost threw it all away.

Outside, someone cracks open a beer. There’s more laughter, more off-key singing, and more splashing from someone jumping into the pool for a midnight swim.

I reach for my phone again just in time to feel it buzz with an incoming call from Lennie, whom I’ve been on the phone with for the past twenty minutes.

I pick up and put the phone on speaker, tossing it next to me on the bed.

“Okay,” Lennie’s voice comes through. “I brushed my teeth. Where were we?”

“Me cheating on Ghost,” I sigh, closing my eyes.

“You’re not even dating him,” Lennie scolds me. “You’ve been talking to him for almost a year and you still won’t meet up with him.”

“I don’t want to ruin what we have.” I blink up at the ceiling, taking a long breath.

“What you have is a digital situationship with a guy who might be a catfish, a priest, or someone with three secret families.”

“He’s not a priest,” I laugh, but it’s weak.

“Shame, because you need exorcising.”

“It doesn’t feel fake when I’m talking to him.” I roll over to the side, staring at the open window.

“Because he gives you a version of him that feels safe to you. You get to control what he sees, and he gets to control what you see and what he gives back.”

I squeeze my eyes shut.

“But that guy on your brother’s team?” she continues. “He’s real, and he’s unpredictable. And maybe that’s why it’s scarier.”

I say nothing, because she’s right. Ghost is curated. He says the right thing because he has time to come up with it, and I’m the one making up his tone of voice in my head. Half of him is just the fruit of my imagination living in my mind.

And Jace is raw. He’s physical, and completely not someone I should be losing sleep over—but here we are.

“You’re going to keep spiraling like this,” Lennie adds gently, “until you figure out what the hell you actually want.”

“What if I want both?” I whisper, before I can stop my thoughts from spilling out of my mouth.

“You can’t have both, Mel,” she scoffs into the phone.

I lie there in the dark, guilt bleeding through my veins, while the party continues outside. Lennie is silent, not pushing or probing, simply being here.

Jace’s kiss still burns on my lips, Ghost’s name is still tucked away in my phone, and I’m slowly losing my mind.

I lie in bed, blanket tucked under my chin, eyes locked on the ceiling.

There’s still faint music echoing from downstairs, bass thudding through the floorboards, and voices trailing into drunken laughter.

Underneath all of that is moaning—high and unmistakably pleased.

It’s coming from somewhere outside. One of the girls is finally getting her moment with an NHL star.

The sounds definitely aren’t helping my current state of mind…

and my throbbing clit. I’m still thinking about him, and not just the kiss or the press of his hard body, or the size of him.

I’m thinking about the way he looked while we talked on the beach.

He let his guard down for a few moments and I saw it.

The cocky smirk had faded just long enough for me to see something different behind it.

And the raspberry wine. I never told him I liked raspberry wine—just like I never told him I hate pickles.

There are things about Jace that don’t make sense.

I shift under the covers, my legs rubbing together.

The memory of him is too strong. My stomach does that stupid flip each time my mind decides to play everything on repeat.

And right now, it’s deciding to remind me of how he felt pressed against my stomach, hard and thick.

It felt so big it made my entire body lock up when I realized what I was feeling.

If he’d kept going…

I turn my head to look at the wall. He’s on the other side, just a few feet away. I let my mind carry me to that place, for just a moment, needing to be honest with myself, even if it’s in secret. I press my hand over my stomach. What if I hadn’t run? What if he hadn’t let me go?

I close my eyes, remembering the weight of his hands as they gripped my waist and pulled me against him. He made me feel like every part of me was designed to be touched by him.

My eyes snap open, my mind warring with itself, reminding me of Ghost. The soft words in the dark, the man who’s held my soul in his hands for ten months without ever seeing my face.

Ghost doesn’t kiss me, doesn’t touch me. But he talks to me like I’m worth fighting the world for.

Jace makes my body ache. Ghost makes my soul sing.

And tonight they blend together, and I finally admit to myself what has been nagging at the back of my mind since I met Jace. They’re the same height, same build, same cocky little remarks that drew me in.

I close my eyes and I let it take me.

One man behind me—big, broad, cocky. Jace. One man in front—wearing a Ghostface mask—tall, silent, and dangerous. They press against me, skin to skin.

My hand slides past my stomach and underneath the waistband of my sleep shorts, imagining theirs instead of mine.

One holds my wrists above my head, the other slowly spreads my thighs. Both of them are talking. One voice is honey and arrogance. The other is smoke and shadows.

“Look at you,” Jace murmurs behind me, kissing down my spine. “Already wet and we haven’t even started yet.”

Ghost tilts my chin up and all I can see are the black eyeholes of the mask.

“You’re going to take both of us tonight,” he says, voice low and muffled.

I whimper. In real life, alone in a bed I definitely shouldn’t be doing this in.

My fingers slide beneath my panties and find the place that’s been aching to be touched. I’m so wet.

They pin me between them. Jace’s cock teases my entrance, hot and thick and exactly how I remember it from earlier. Ghost’s hand slides between my legs, rubbing slow circles.

“You’re gonna be brave and let both of us fuck you, Melody.”

“Yes,” I gasp, my fingers working faster now. I’m not entirely sure if I just said it out loud or in my head, but at this point, I’m not sure I care.

“Which one do you want first?” Jace teases, biting my neck. “Do you want me to be your first?”

“Or a stranger in a mask,” Ghost purrs.

They both press in at once. And even though I realistically don’t know what that would feel like, I still try to imagine it as best as I can.

My hand’s moving faster now and my hips grind against the air.

“Choose, Bunny,” Ghost growls, hand tightening on my throat. “Or we’ll choose for you.”

Their voices are everywhere. Their hands are on me, their mouths worshiping and ruining me all at once.

And when I finally come undone, my entire body arches off the bed, thighs trembling, lips parted in a silent scream. A single moan manages to escape as I collapse into the bed.

It takes a few moments for me to realize what I’ve just done. What I’ve just touched myself to. And my eyes immediately snap toward the wall separating me from the man I just came to.

What if he heard me?

My window is open, and that wall is the only thing separating us. My cheeks flush so hard it burns. Maybe he heard me and thought it was just another puck bunny having fun. Or maybe he knew exactly who it came from and what I was thinking.

But maybe I want him to know exactly what he does to me—what I just did because of him.

As if on cue, my phone buzzes beside me, lighting up with the notification. My stomach lurches as I read the message.

GHOST: Why are you still up, Bunny?

I go still. Because the answer is I just came thinking about you railing me with my brother’s best friend.

I exhale, wipe the back of my hand across my forehead like it’ll clear the shame, and reply.

ME: How do you know I’m still up?

The dots appear instantly.

GHOST: For starters, you just replied. And because you always say goodnight before you fall asleep.

I smile, biting my lip, yet my chest tightens.

ME: I’ve been thinking.

GHOST: About what?

I stare at the screen, trying to talk myself out of it. This isn’t the right moment to ask. But will there ever be a right moment?

ME: You. The man behind the mask.

There’s a long pause, long enough for my pulse to spike. The dots don’t come this time, just a read receipt.

Seen.

I can feel my heartbeat in my throat as I double text him.

ME: Who are you?

There’s another long pause before the dots finally start dancing while he types. I hold my breath the entire time.

GHOST: That’s what makes it fun, isn’t it?

I stare at the screen, not knowing what to reply to that. He just refused to tell me. Worse—he just used my own words to refuse. This is something I’ve said before, more than once, and right now, it’s coming right back to bite me.

Another message comes through.

GHOST: Goodnight, Bunny.

I swallow, not sure why it bothers me so much now. He’s asked me for my name countless times, even threatened to tell me his—to which I’ve always replied with deflection. I’m the one who wanted to keep this anonymous. So why does it bother me so much now?

I lie back, blinking at the ceiling. My thighs are still trembling a little. And somewhere behind this wall, he’s there.

And Ghost? I have no idea where or who he is.

But I’ll be damned if I don’t find out.