Page 147 of Trick Shot

So I did.

Same black fabric, same bunny ears, and the same thigh-highs that make my legs lose blood circulation. I took everything with me when I moved to Miami.

I stand at the outdoor bar, gripping my drink, heartbeat in my throat. My chest is already tight, and I haven’t even seen him yet. But I know he’s watching me.

I feel it like a spark crawling down my spine.

I scan the crowd below, that sixth sense pulling my eyes like gravity. And then my gaze lands on a man—massive, tall, same black hoodie. His face is hidden by a Ghostface mask.

The moment my brain registers it, my entire body locks up, excitement and anticipation crashing over me like a tsunami.

He’s standing in the far corner of the huge patio, half in shadow, still and huge. Shoulders built to take a hit and give one back, that same mask staring up at me from across the crowd.

My breath stops right in the middle of my chest, like my ribs locked shut. Because tonight it’s not just Jace. It’s someone I’ve been waiting a year to see again. Tonight, I finally meet Ghost.

I take a sip from my drink, trying to breathe, trying to appear calm, but my heart is pounding and my thighs are already pressing together. I knew what would happen. What this would do to me. But knowing it and experiencing it are two different things.

And nothing could have prepared me for this. Because now, seeing the mask a year later, I realize that this isn’t just a costume. This is him. This is the man who made me come just from his voice, who listened to my darkest fantasies, to my deepest fears, who dreamt alongside me…

And I know it’s Jace under there. I know every inch of his body. I know his voice, his hands, his soul. But somehow, tonight is different. Because I’m looking directly at my faceless, nameless obsession that lived under my skin for months.

And now he’s mine.

My clit pulses like it remembers. My body’s been aching for this moment since the second I first saw him. I swallow hard, legs trembling, and stomach flipping in on itself.

That mask is staring straight into me like it can see my thoughts. Like it can smell the want dripping out of me right now.

And then his head tilts, like a warning.

My fingers dig into the bar, eyes locked on him, chest rising and falling way too fast.

And he moves, walking toward me with slow strides.

My entire body lights up just from the sight of him closing the distance. My pulse is thundering in my ears. Each step feels like a countdown.

By the time he reaches the bar, I’m already breathless.

I hear the distortion in his voice through the mask when he speaks.

“Didn’t know Playboy Bunnies drank whiskey on the rocks.”

I shudder.

Every part of me floods with memory, with recognition, with raw, animal need.

Because those were the first words he ever said to me. The words that started it all. I swallow, lips curling as I lift my chin to look up at that mask. My body remembers everything—the ache, the game, the verbal dance we shared.

I give him a coy smile, playing along, even though I’m already soaked.

“Didn’t know Ghostface flirted before the kill.”

He chuckles behind the mask, leaning closer. His hand slides to my waist, slow and confident.

“Only when the victim looks like you.”

I take a sip from my drink, feeling the burn on the way down.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here all alone?” His fingers trail the curve of my hip, ghosting over the fabric of the dress he’s already seen once before.