Page 38 of Trick Shot (Miami Blazers #1)

During a scrimmage, Rylan cuts across the middle and tries to deke me out.

Stupid.

I lower my stance, read the angle, and lay into him with a body check so clean and hard it rattles the glass.

I’m locked the fuck in. Every muscle primed, every move clean, and behind every move is Melody. I didn’t sleep—not really. We texted until three a.m. last night, which proves me two things:

She misses me.

She wants this.

And that’s all I needed to know.

My legs burn and my lungs are screaming, but I missed this. Missed the rush. Missed the pain. Missed the sound of steel slicing ice and the boards rattling when you bury someone clean.

And right now I’m dialed the fuck in. Melody’s still in my head, but not like a distraction. She’s fuel. She’s in every stride, every hit, and every pass. And I never want her out.

The guys start peeling off the ice, sweat-slicked and breathing hard, sticks tapping the boards as they head toward the locker room.

I skate slow, dragging my blade across the blue line. My chest’s still heaving, adrenaline still spiking. I haven’t felt this good on the ice since I made the fucking league.

“Brooks!” a voice barks behind me.

I turn.

Coach Bennett. Big fucker, late forties. His hair’s going gray at the temples, but his body’s still built like he could lace up and bulldoze the league all over again. He’s a legend on the ice, a tank off it. And when he talks, you shut the fuck up and listen.

He stops in front of me, slapping a heavy hand on my shoulder pad.

“Hell of a session today, Brooks. That’s the kind of focus I want to see this season.”

“Thanks, Coach.” I nod, grinning.

Dom skates up behind me, tugging off his helmet.

“He’s not wrong,” Dom says, his voice proud, eyes sharp. “Whatever you’re doing? Don’t stop.”

I almost fucking choke.

Whatever I’m doing?

Oh, I could tell him. I could give him a full fucking breakdown of exactly what I’m doing.

Your little sister.

The words echo in my head like a filthy secret with a halo.

My house is loud, the music’s bumping, and my teammates are pouring in and out of the glass doors with drinks in hand.

I throw these parties all the time—for post-game wins, pre-season hype, and just random Tuesday nights—but tonight there’s only one reason I opened my doors.

And I’m looking at it right now, wearing a tight black dress, bare legs, and black Doc Martens.

Her dark curls are spilling over her shoulders, and her eyes are already locked on me.

She smiles and winks, and biting my tongue is all I can do not to walk up to her. Because her brother’s talking to me.

I lean against the kitchen counter, solo cup in hand, pretending to listen as Dom talks about breakout formations. He leans against the counter next to me with a fresh beer in his hand.

“Didn’t expect you to throw this whole thing together just for pre-season kick-off,” he says, nodding to the crowd.

“Yeah, well.” I shrug, taking a slow sip of my drink.

“You miss us that bad already, huh?” Dom nudges my elbow.

“I cry myself to sleep every night you’re not spooning me,” I deadpan.

“Oh, cupcake,” he sighs dramatically, “just say when.”

I backhand him in the chest, laughing, before turning back to his sister. He gets into Zed’s save percentage, and I nod like I’m engaged, but I’m only half-listening. I’ve been looking for an opening to talk to her, but her brother hasn’t left my side since they got here.

I tilt my body away from Dom and unlock my phone. I need her alone.

My thumb hovers before I quickly type:

Me: Follow me. Don’t make it obvious.

I hit send and glance up at her. Her phone lights up on the counter beside her drink.

She glances at the screen and bites her lip to contain a smile. Her eyes find mine, and she nods—a tiny little nod that nearly levels me.

“Bathroom,” I announce to Dom.

“Go ahead, I’m gonna go tell Dan to slow it down with the shots.”

I push off the wall and start moving through the bodies, down the hallway toward the back exit near the garage. The music muffles behind me, the buzz of conversation fading. I duck out the side door and hook left, not to the garage but to the side door before it.

My workshop.

I stop at the door, my hand already on the knob and my pulse beating hard. I hear her steps behind me—light and fast.

Melody slows as she gets close.

“What’s this?” she asks.

I close the distance and bring our lips together, parting her lips with my tongue, needing to taste her, needing to feel her against me.

One day away from her and I’m already starved.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” I say after pulling back.

“Is it the kind of surprise that makes me walk funny tomorrow?” She raises a brow.

“Depends how you’d like to use your surprise.” My lips twitch, my heart beating against my chest like crazy.

“Interesting.” Her eyes narrow slightly, amused. “I never thought I’d see Jace Brooks looking nervous.”

“No, I’m not,” I say quickly. “I’ve just… shit, I’ve been working on something, and I think you’d like it. If you don’t, it’s okay. You don’t have to pretend or anything.”

“Jace,” she says, voice gentler now. “Just show me.”

I take a breath and open the door. The scent of cedar and sawdust hits instantly.

“After you.” I step aside to let her in.

She steps in and stops cold. Her eyes sweep across the room, slowly, silently, taking in the carvings, the workbench, the hours etched into every inch of the space.

“You…” She glances at me. “You really carve wood?”

“I haven’t lied to you about anything.” I step behind her and brush her hair behind her shoulder. “My grandfather was a carpenter. He used to give me small pieces of wood and—”

“Taught you how to make animals,” she finishes for me with a smile. “I remember.”

“You do?” My smile is huge.

“I remember everything you’ve ever told me,” she says softly, turning back around.

“So do I,” I admit, stepping around her. “Which is why I’ve been working on this.”

I look toward the rocking chair and wave my hand at it. Her eyes narrow slightly before they widen in recognition.

The chair sits in the center like it’s been waiting. And it has. It’s stained deep brown, every curve shaped by my hands.

“Jace, is that…” Her voice falters as she steps closer to the chair.

“It took me months, a busted thumb, and a couple of rage breaks. I’d never done anything like this before,” I huff out a laugh.

Melody walks toward it like she’s approaching something sacred. Her fingers brush the armrest, slow and reverent.

“You made this for me?” she whispers.

I nod once, my throat tight.

“I started it the second month after the Halloween party,” I say. “I just… I thought you’d like it.”

“You built a rocking chair because you thought I’d like it?” She turns, eyes wide.

“Yeah, well.” I huff a laugh, rubbing the back of my neck.

Her gaze drops back to the chair, then to the workbench.

“What’s this?” she murmurs, picking up the carved wooden flower. Then the tiny slab of wood I etched into a Halloween snapshot—her mask, the bunny ears, and me towering over her with the Ghostface mask.

“You made all of this for me?” Her hands are shaking now.

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Is it weird?”

She turns to face me again, and her eyes are glazed with unshed tears.

Melody walks back over to the chair and sits in it slowly, her dress tightening across her thighs, curls spilling around her shoulders.

She rocks once, twice. Finally seeing her in it is something surreal.

I’ve been carving it out for her, trying to picture her in it—reading, drinking coffee, bounding on top of me—but seeing her, in the flesh, sitting in the chair I made for her… it almost feels unreal.

“It’s perfect,” she whispers. “It’s the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.”

I swallow hard, my throat tightening.

“Everything I’ve carved in the past few months is for you.”

“I didn’t know,” she whispers, looking up at me.

“No one does,” I say. “No one’s ever been in here.”

“Not even Dom?” She stands up, the chair rocking behind her.

“Especially not Dom.” I chuckle and step closer. “I’d finish practice, come home, grab a drink, and come in here.”

“And I thought I was the one obsessing,” she breathes out a laugh, but a single tear rolls down her cheek.

And then she launches herself into me, arms wrapping around my neck.

“Thank you so much,” she mumbles against me as I lean down to make it easier for her. “You don’t have a clue how much this means,” she adds, squeezing me tighter.

“You’re very welcome, Bunny.” I smile into her hair, and she pulls back, craning her neck to look up at me.

God, she’s breathtaking. Every inch of her is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen and I can’t be without her anymore.

I’m done hiding. I’m done staying away from her.

I’m going to talk to Dom and tell him everything.

But right now, I need her—so I slide my hand up her cheek, my thumb wiping a tear as my fingers wrap around the back of her neck. And I pull.

We collide like magnets, her mouth crashing into mine, fingers in my hair. My other hand is already sliding up the back of her thigh. She moans into my mouth, tasting like the only thing I’ve ever needed.

I grip her ass and lift her, spinning her until she’s perched on the edge of my workbench. That little black dress hikes halfway up her hips.

“Jace,” she gasps into my mouth when my hands part her knees.

“Fuck,” I growl against her lips. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Then touch me,” she pants, arching her back and pushing her hips forward into my hand.

Her panties are wet, already clinging to her. I slide my hand beneath the fabric and feel it.

She’s more than ready. Because I’ve been watching her. Because we’ve been eye-fucking each other all night. The foreplay began the moment she stepped into my house a few hours ago. And now, I’m ready to collect.

Two fingers slide into her with no resistance, and her body jerks.

“Were you walking around wet all evening because of me?”

“Yes,” she whimpers with a nod.

I add pressure, dragging my fingers inside her until her back arches and her hands fly to my shoulders.

“Yes!” she gasps.

“Yeah?” I kiss her jaw, nipping the skin. “You wanna test out your new chair, baby?”

She nods again, lips parted, eyes glassy.

Somewhere behind me, there’s an odd sound. A sharp shuffle and a sharp intake of air.

Melody’s eyes slide to the source and widen, a shocked gasp escaping her lips. My head snaps toward the door, and my heart tanks.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Dom.

He’s standing in the doorway, chest rising and falling with slow, lethal fury.

His eyes lock on mine, then flick lower—catching the way Melody’s legs are tense against me, the way her breath is ragged, my body pressed flush to hers.

He can’t see my hand. But there’s no mistaking what I’ve been doing.

Melody lets out a strangled gasp, eyes wide with horror, completely frozen.

He doesn’t move as the air turns to fire.

I shift, pulling my hand away and keeping my back to him, blocking his view, angling myself to shield her completely.

“Dom—” Melody chokes out, voice thin and trembling.

He doesn’t look at her. He only sees me like I’m the only target. Like I’ve murdered him.

And then he opens his mouth to speak, and what comes out is a voice so calm and lethal, it might as well be poison.

“Get your fucking hands off my sister.”