Page 13 of Trick Shot

Maybe I am my mother’s son after all.

I spent years trying to piece my father back together after she cheated and left us—swore I’d never turn into something that resembles her.

But how long can I fucking keep doing this? How long can I keep waiting for a girl who won’t even give me her name?

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had this conversation with myself. It all ends with the same conclusion—I can’t fucking let her go.

On the other hand, maybe this is what I need—a distraction. Something to finally rip Bunny out of my head and give me a reason to stop building furniture for a ghost.

I set the empty glass down with a little too much force and start moving across the room like I’ve already won and I’m just collecting the prize.

I get close enough to catch the scent of her—something sweet, maybe cherries, and definitely familiar.

She doesn’t look at me, which only makes it worse.

I stop beside her, lean one arm against the couch, and let my voice drop low.

“Pretty bold wearing an embroidered dress around this many men with mommy issues.”

She blinks and turns to face me, craning her neck.

Her dark eyes lock on mine, and even though she’s looking up at me, it feels like she’s staring me down.

“Pretty bold assuming I’m wearing it for any of you.” She raises a brow, unimpressed.

Oh. Fuck. Yah.

“I like bold,” I murmur, grinning instantly. “Especially when it comes with a mouth like yours.”

“Does that line usually work?” she asks, eyes scanning me. “Or are you just hoping I’m drunk enough not to notice how recycled it sounds?”

Goddamn.

Okay.

“All right. I deserved that one.” I let out a low chuckle, tilting my head slightly.

“You walked into it.” She shrugs one shoulder.

“You’ve got bite.” I glance down, taking her in now that I have her in front of me. She’s even more beautiful up close. Ridiculously so. “I like that,” I add, voice dropping just enough to hint at where my mind’s already gone.

“Most men do,” she says dryly. “Until it’s aimed at them.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

My teeth sink into my bottom lip, but it doesn’t stop the grin stretching across my face. I take in the soft curve of her jaw, the shape of her mouth, the way her lips pull tight before she hits a punchline.

Something about her… her energy and sharp tongue make me see Bunny in her.

My brain keeps trying to make it fit, but my mystery girl lives in Pennsylvania—far from Miami and far from me.

Still, something crawls up the back of my neck, like an odd itch. Familiarity.

I shift slightly, eyes narrowing, and she catches it.

“What?” she says.

“You remind me of someone,” I say truthfully, before I can think better of it.