Page 15 of Trick Shot

Once.

Twice.

“That’s your…” I glance toward her again, hoping there’s another girl in her place and we’re not talking about the same person.

But no. She’s still standing there—thighs and curls and fire in a dress that’s too fucking short for my self-control.

“You said your sister’s younger.” I look back at him.

“She is younger,” Dom says slowly, giving me a weird look. “I told you she’ll be staying with me for a while.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” My brain refuses to accept what it’s being told.

“What’s the matter with you?” Dom asks, looking at me like I’ve lost it.

And maybe I fucking have, because when he said baby sister, I pictured braces and pigtails. Some teenager with a curfew and a Pinterest board titled Study Motivation. Not someone I just mentally pictured in at least eighteen different positions—including one that probably defies the laws of physics.

I drag a hand down my face. A part of me wants to laugh at the absurdity; the other part still has her pinned underneath me in my mind.

Fuck. Me.

I glance back at her like I’m seeing her for the first time.

She catches my eye, reads my expression instantly, and gives me a look full of amusement.

I stare at her, drink in hand, wondering if Dom would make it look like an accident, or simply murder me in front of everyone once he finds out how I’m imagining his little sister.

And in that exact moment, two truths slam into me.

One—I should walk away and try to get my best friend’s sister out of my fantasies.

Two—I’m not fucking going to.

Because that look she’s giving me right now? That told you so little smirk?

It’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.

And I am so, so fucked.

Chapter four

~MELODY~

The sun cuts through the curtains, hot and ruthless. A sharp, golden beam slices straight across my face, burning through the thin fabric and landing directly on my closed eyelids. I groan and burrow deeper into the covers, blindly scooting to the left, chasing shade. But there’s only so far I can go. One more inch and I’ll roll off the side of the bed.

I peek one eye open. The other side of the mattress is glowing like it’s been blessed by heaven, and the AC remote is perched neatly on the dresser across the room, completely unreachable.

I groan again, louder this time, and dramatic enough for an audience I don’t have.

“Fine,” I mutter to no one, dragging myself upright to lean against the headboard.

I blink at the unfamiliar space around me. It’s only my third morning here, and I still half expect to wake up in my bedroom back home. But one look at the glass balcony doors and the ocean past them reminds me where I am.

I reach for my phone on the nightstand to check the time, but I’m not even surprised when the first thing that flashes on the screen isn’t the hour but a message from him.

GHOST:Dream of me?

I blink at the screen and smile before I can stop myself. He always texts first. Every morning, without fail. My fingers move before my brain wakes up.