Page 24 of Trick Shot (Miami Blazers #1)

Chapter twelve

~MELODY~

It’s past midnight, the storm’s getting louder, and the rest of the house sounds like a frat party on mute. There’s muffled bass, bursts of laughter, and the occasional sound of men sparring under the covered patio.

But I can’t sleep.

Actually, I can’t stop thinking. I can’t gaslight myself into not being affected by my brother’s teammate. More than affected.

But Ghost…

I groan, set my phone down on the bedside table, and flip onto my side. I sound like a broken record even to myself.

Thunder rumbles low in the distance, the wind moans against the balcony doors, and the waves are high and visible—crashing and frothing like they’re trying to crawl up the sand and reach the house.

One of the guys already suggested a late-night swim during the storm, which was followed by my brother’s voice: Absolutely the fuck not. Sit down.

He’s always been the one in charge—a control freak in every sense of the word.

Which has proven useful, since he’s talked me out of a lot of stupid decisions that sounded good in my head before he’d step in.

But this one? What would he do if he finds out?

What would happen if someone sees me with his best friend and snitches?

God, I’m an idiot.

I should’ve never gone to that cove with Jace. It’s just made everything a lot worse. Because I want to do it again—without running away this time.

I shut my eyes and try to focus on the rain, anything other than the heat curling low in my stomach every time I replay that moment in my head.

I shift in bed as an odd feeling comes over me, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I don’t have time to wonder what it is before I hear a sound behind me followed by a soft click. There’s a shift in the air and what’s definitely the sound of footsteps.

My eyes fly open and my body goes rigid.

What the hell?

I whip around, heart hammering. A massive body blurs past my vision before flopping on the empty side of the king-sized bed. A familiar scent reaches me—cologne, soap, and a hint of whiskey.

The storm growls outside as I scramble for the lamp and turn it on.

Warm light spills into the room and confirms my suspicions. My heart pounds against my ribcage, my body already going wild. Jace is sprawled beside me with one muscular arm under his head. His hair is tousled, white shirt tight against his broad chest, and his lips are slightly parted.

He’s so annoyingly handsome it makes me want to slap him.

“Shit.” His eyes squint against the sudden light, brows furrowing.

“Jace?!” I whisper-shout as I blink at him.

He blinks back at me, confused for a second, then that familiar lazy smile slides across his face.

“Ah, my bad. Walked in here out of habit.” He sounds like he’s had a few drinks.

“You walked into my room out of habit?” I snap, yanking the blanket up around me like it’ll protect me from whatever this is.

“Technically, it’s my house.” He lifts his hand, palm out, like I’m the dramatic one. “So… all the rooms are mine.” He waves his finger in a circle to make his point clearer.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m tipsy,” he says, rolling onto his side to face me. “There’s a difference.”

His voice is warm and teasing, and I hate that my body reacts to it like it’s being whispered to by the devil.

“Well, now that we have this sorted, get out of my room,” I hiss.

“This is my room,” he says, eyes glinting.

“Yeah, yeah, the whole house is yours. Now get out.”

“No,” he sighs, his speech slowed. “This is my room.” He gestures lazily to the walls. “Best view in the house, quietest and furthest away. I always sleep in here.”

“Then why am I the one sleeping in it?” I ask, genuinely surprised.

“I gave it to you,” he shrugs lazily. “I liked the thought of you sleeping in my bed.”

I sit up a little higher, suddenly remembering exactly what I did in this bed last night. And after the comment he made earlier, I have no doubt in my mind that he knows about it too.

“I made the headboard myself, by the way.” He knocks against the carved wood behind us twice. “And that coffee table over there. Do you like it?” He turns to face me, eyes glazed.

Yeah, he’s tipsy, all right.

I stare at him for a few moments, very aware of the distance between us—or lack of it.

His body is close to mine, his right arm almost brushing the side of my thigh.

His presence is overwhelming. I’m not sure if it’s the size of him or the memory of what we did yesterday, but it’s shredding my self-control.

“Always thought you slept naked,” he murmurs, gaze dropping to my mouth before flicking back up to my eyes.

I sink a little deeper into the blankets, every nerve on high alert, my pulse loud in my ears.

“In a house where insufferable hockey players can walk in at any given moment?” I ask, voice tight.

“Just one.” He taps his chest with a finger, that lazy smile inching wider.

“You’re lucky I didn’t scream.”

“I was hoping you would,” he murmurs.

“I knew you wouldn’t be asleep,” he says after a beat. “Storm’s too loud.”

“So you did walk in here on purpose.” I glance at him.

He shrugs one shoulder.

“You could’ve stayed on the patio with the others.” I exhale.

“I didn’t feel like being around people.”

“You’re with me.”

“You’re not people.”

“What am I then?” I snap, sitting higher.

“It’s a compliment,” he chuckles. “Try to keep up.”

I shift slightly, trying to breathe through the heat spreading low in my stomach. He doesn’t want to be around people, but he wants to be around me.

“You’re tense,” he says, like he’s offering an observation.

“I wonder why.” I roll my eyes.

“Is it me?” he asks, tilting his head. “Afraid there’s nowhere to run off to this time?”

“I can always go to Dom’s room,” I toss.

“Mm.” He hums. “And tell him what?”

I clear my throat, pulling the blanket tighter like that’ll save me.

“This is…” I struggle. “This is stupid.”

“Which part? You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“You’re on my brother’s team.” I shoot him a look. “And his best friend,” I add, in hopes of reminding him that Dom is terrifying when he gets mad.

That should be enough, but Jace just grins wider.

“Ah,” he breathes. “That’s what we’re going with.”

He shifts onto his elbow, body angling toward mine, the space between us shrinking by the second.

“So, according to you, if your brother wasn’t in the picture, you’d already be under me right now?”

My breath stutters. I press back against the mattress like it might swallow me.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere near you,” I bite out, knowing it’s a lie.

“And where were you yesterday, Melody?”

I scoff with a roll of my eyes, doing my best to hide just how turned on I’ve been for the past five minutes.

He exhales a quiet, amused sound, then leans in just enough that his face is inches from mine.

“Your brother’s best friend,” he echoes. “Is that why you’re pressing your thighs together under the covers?”

“I need to pee,” I lie, feeling my cheeks get warmer.

He lets out a laugh and shakes his head.

“You know what?” I glare at him, shoving at his shoulder. “Out. Now.” I shove again, harder this time.

I’m trying really hard to keep whatever is left of my sanity, and him being in my bed is the worst possible way to do that.

“Jace.” I hiss it now, shoving harder. His body barely shifts under my push.

His laugh is deep and rich as I try to kick him out of the bed. The fact that he’s not even fazed by it makes me even angrier and… somehow aching even more.

He shifts. One second I’m pushing him, trying to win some pathetic power struggle with the actual Hulk, and the next, the room spins.

Suddenly I’m flat on my back, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his massive body caging me in.

His hands grab mine, pinning my wrists to the bed, one on either side of my head.

My stomach flips, my heart is a mess, and somehow my thighs are open and he’s between them.

Jace looks down at me, messy hair falling slightly over his forehead, eyes molten. His body is all heat and mass and power as he towers over me.

He watches me, gaze flicking to my lips, my neck, and the way my chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths beneath him.

“Still need to pee?” he whispers, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

I hate him. I hate how much I want him. I hate how right he feels on top of me.

“Jace,” I warn.

“Melody,” he echoes, dragging my name out like silk as he leans closer. “If you want me off you, you’re gonna have to try harder,” he says, still smiling.

“Pushing you wasn’t enough?” I breathe out.

“That barely counted as pushing,” he says, voice low. “You really want me gone?” He tilts his head. “Do something about it.”

He releases my hands and places them on either side of my head, watching me with challenge in his eyes.

I stare at him, studying his features. My eyes fall to the curve of his mouth, the cut of his jaw, the hard chest rising and falling above me—broad and solid, his shirt stretched tight over muscle.

I raise my hands and place them against his chest.

Push him.

But the moment my palms feel the hard muscle underneath them, I forget what the objective was. I can feel his heat, his strength, and his erratic heartbeat. His body feels like everything mine’s been searching for in the dark.

My fingers curl into his T-shirt, my knuckles tightening, telling myself to just push.

Before I can regroup, his fingers come down and start stroking my hair.

It’s such a gentle, unexpected thing that it throws me off guard completely.

My eyes snap back to his as his hand keeps playing with my hair.

I clearly don’t have any control over my own body anymore, because my right hand automatically slides up his chest and hooks around the back of his neck.

My left hand slides to the side and down his forearm, over the cords of muscle and the slightly raised skin where the ropes of veins slither.

And I pull him down until his nose brushes mine.