Page 23 of Trick Shot (Miami Blazers #1)

But now, after Dom’s little sister came into my life, everything feels worse.

Because I’ve tasted real. I’ve tasted what it truly is for someone to listen, to talk to you, to be your peace when the world feels like chaos.

And now nothing else is good enough. Not the girls, the fame, or the casual, empty bullshit I used to swallow like pills just to feel okay.

I want something real. And fuck me, I want it with her. Even though I know better. Because the truth is, I don’t believe in happy endings. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting it.

“You good?” Dom’s voice cuts through my head.

I blink, shaking the thought off.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Just spacing.”

He stretches his arms behind his head, chest rising slowly with every breath like he’s not just spent the last hour sprinting. Show-off.

We keep walking down the beach, cooling down as the others laugh and roughhouse behind us. Dom sighs one of those deep, weighted sighs that tells me we’re about to have a moment.

“I’ve been thinking about Mel,” he says, eyes locked on the ocean.

I stay quiet, even though my heart kicks up at the mention of her name.

“I don’t know if bringing her here was the right call.” He continues.

“Leaving her in Miami by herself was better?” I shoot him a sideways glance.

“I mean here in general. I know she needed out—from our parents, the rules, all the bullshit. But… Miami’s chaos, man. You’ve seen the girls who hang around the team. The parties. The fucking—”

“Orgies?” I offer, grinning.

“It’s not exactly the tamest place for her,” he says instead, giving me a look.

“She’s not a kid anymore, Dom.”

“I know,” he says quickly. “Trust me, I know. That’s what scares me.”

“She’ll be fine,” I say automatically.

“She’s always on her phone, have you noticed?”

“No,” I say—too quickly—shaking my head.

He pauses, taking a deep breath, making the huge eagle inked on his chest rise. He slowly releases it before turning to me.

“Can you do me a favor and keep an eye out? I don’t want one of the guys to get drunk, forget who she is, and say something or touch her. Because I will break someone’s fucking jaw.”

You’re dragging your stick on that one, bro.

I school my face to look casual and swallow the guilt that tastes like rust and ash in my throat.

“She’s not stupid,” I say again, shrugging. “If someone crosses a line, she’ll throat-punch ‘em before you even get a chance.”

Dom chuckles, but it’s strained. “Just keep an eye out when I’m not around.”

I nod and stay silent. Because what am I supposed to say?

Last time you weren’t around, I had my tongue down her throat and my dick poking at her stomach? My bad.

I’m a piece of shit. I know it. And I hate how good I am at hiding it.

“You did the right thing by bringing her here,” I say finally, actively stabbing him in the back with every word.

“You sure?” Dom looks at me.

“Positive.” I smile, and I hate myself for how convincing it is.

I’m sweating. Sun’s still out, everyone else is half-drunk, half-sunburnt, and entirely useless. The projector’s working, the beach poofs are set, but the damn sheet we’re using as a screen won’t stay up. I’m trying to tie it between two palm trees, and it’s slipped like five fucking times.

Behind me, the guys are cracking beers and tossing a football.

Melody’s lounging on a sunbed like I don’t exist. But she’s been texting me all day.

Well, him, technically. She’s been sending me pictures all day—storefronts, empty lots, little cafés she thinks she can turn into her dream flower shop.

And still, she hasn’t looked at me once.

Not even when I took my shirt off to hang this stupid sheet like I was auditioning for The Bachelorette: Sex Starved Edition.

I pull the rope tighter and curse as it snaps loose again.

“Tanner!” I yell, glancing back. “Can I get a hand here?”

“Just a second!” He waves me off from where he’s chest-deep in the ocean with the brunette that has a tongue piercing.

“I don’t have a second!” I snap, just as the sheet falls again. I’m about to throw it in the fire pit.

Without a word, someone grabs the other end. I turn and come face-to-face with the goalie. Zed offers no announcement and no greeting, like a shadow that’s decided to help.

He’s shirtless, chest and arms ripped like a pagan war god. Dark hair falling into those sharp eyes that look like they’ve seen some shit. He doesn’t say a word as he starts tying the rope—loop, pull, tighten, and knot. The damn thing finally holds, which is definitely a hit to my pride.

“Jesus,” I mutter. “You tie that like you’ve done it a thousand times.”

Still no smile. He moves to my tree and starts on the second knot.

“Were you a Boy Scout or something?” I ask, my hands resting on my hips.

“Or something.” He glances at me, brief and flat.

Oh. Oh.

The knots, the precision, the calm… This isn’t summer camp training. This is something else. Something that involves people and ceiling hooks.

He finishes the second knot and steps back. The ropes are tight, straight, and clean. The sheet hangs perfectly, not a wrinkle in sight.

“You’ve got skills.” I cross my arms.

He takes another step back, checking the angles like he’s done this before. Too many times before.

I clear my throat. “You and Dom played together, right? In juniors?”

Zed doesn’t look at me, but he nods once.

“He talked a lot about you. Said you were one of the best he played with and that you were everyone’s favorite.”

“He said that?” That earns me the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Word for word.” I nod, pretending like I’m also inspecting the ropes.

“Dom’s a good guy.” Zed glances at the waves.

“You guys still talk often?”

“No.”

I wait, but nothing else comes. He doesn’t explain, just drops the rope in my hands and walks off. I scoff, eyes following him, pinned to his broad back inked with the battle of David and Goliath.

This guy’s a real piece of work.

By the time the sun sets, the clouds are already rolling in. They’re dark, slow, and heavy, with that eerie pressure that makes your skin feel tight.

The air smells like a summer storm, and movie night is officially on.

Dinner’s casual—plates balanced on knees, huge beach poofs, and little side tables. The makeshift sheet screen lights up from the projector, there’s a fire pit crackling in the center, and the air smells like woodsmoke, moisture, and summer.

Some of the guys have puck bunnies curled into their sides, giggling into red Solo cups and pretending to care about whatever’s playing next. Zed’s leaning against the outside bar, silent as usual. I’m off to the side on my own, and so is Dom.

Which is weird, because Dom usually… partakes in puck bunny activities. He’s not a slut about it, but he’s not exactly a monk either. But since Melody moved in—no girls, no flirting, not even a comment when one of them walked past in a string bikini and asked him if he wanted “dessert.”

He’s definitely putting up a front for his sister, playing the responsible big brother card.

My eyes flick to Melody. She’s across the circle from us, curled up on her own little poof, dipping fries into ketchup—which she makes look like the most important task in the world.

She hasn’t looked at me once since we sat down, pretending she can’t feel me watching her like I’m trying to burn a hole in the side of her head.

“Alright, alright,” Dan, the equipment manager, says, waving a greasy pizza slice. “Vote time. Hereditary, Scream, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, or that one with the creepy clown.”

“It?” Dom asks.

“No, the other creepy clown,” Dan groans through the pizza in his mouth.

“There’s more than one?” Matt asks before shoving French fries into his waiting mouth.

“Terrifier,” Dom suggests, and Dan nods, mumbling something that might sound like “yeah, that’s the one,” if you let your mind fill in the blanks.

More shouting. Someone starts chanting, “Scream, Scream, Scream,” and everyone joins in. And the decision is made.

Scream. The very fucking movie with the very fucking mask I wore.

Oh, this is gonna be fun.

We’re about halfway through the movie when the wind picks up, the waves get louder, and the air feels like it’s holding its breath. The fire pit’s still burning low in the sand, and Ghostface flickers across the makeshift screen like a warning.

Melody’s sitting across from the fire, curled up on that oversized poof, legs tucked under her, hoodie sleeves wrapped around her hands like she’s trying to disappear inside them.

She’s not watching the movie—not really. She’s watching him. Ghostface.

And I can see it in the way she shifts slightly every time he’s on screen. The way her body tightens, like her muscles remember how it felt to be pinned to a bar with that exact mask inches from her face.

She pulls in a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out. Then she glances around before she pulls her phone from the pocket of her hoodie. She holds it low, just under her knees, types something, and tosses it onto her lap.

I feel the buzz in my pocket a second later. I already know it’s her, so I wait on purpose before subtly checking my phone. She’s sent a photo of Ghostface on screen with a text underneath it.

BUNNY: I guess this is the only way I get to see you.

I bite the inside of my cheek to suppress my smile as my fingers work.

ME: You wanted it this way.

I hit send and take a sip of my beer, eyes still on the screen like nothing’s happening.

Another buzz.

BUNNY: I changed my mind.

This time, I can’t fight it. I bury my smile in my beer bottle like I’m not five seconds away from throwing her over my shoulder and dragging her behind the dunes to see if she’s really changed her mind.

But she’s thinking about him —the mystery, the mask, the safe, curated version of me that lives in her phone.

And nah. I’m done letting him take the spotlight. I want me in her head now.

The real version. The one who kissed her in the ocean. The one she throws pillows at. The one who’s not letting her hide behind a screen anymore

So, I look at her through the flickering shadows, past the fire, across the circle of guys and laughter and popcorn. I watch her and wait.

Look at me, baby.

And right on cue, she feels it and looks up. Her eyes meet mine—wide, curious, and caught. I don’t look away. Instead, I tilt my head and smile, just enough to plant the bug in her head.

She sucks in a breath as if I reached across the fire and touched her. Her eyes dart between me and Ghostface on screen before settling on mine. And this right here feels like a choice she just made subconsciously.

My smile turns into a grin as she slowly breaks the staring contest and looks back at the screen like nothing happened.

But we both know something did.

She just blinked first. And I’m taking my place back.