Page 33 of Trick Shot

“Lennie, it’s not like it’s a romantic getaway. It’s a team bonding trip that I’m being forced to go to, along with fifteen other hockey players.”

“This is better than porn.” She cackles.

The suitcase is heavier than I remember, which is impressive, because I packed it myself. Yet somehow, when Dom grabs the handle and hauls it toward the driveway, he makes it look like it’s empty.

“Which car are we taking?” I shout after Dom, carrying my travel bag.

He leaves both our suitcases on the driveway and goes back to set the alarm system.

“Jace’s,” he throws over his shoulder as he passes me.

“What?” I do a 180, my brows hitching up to my hairline.

The roar of the engine answers my question before Dom can. It’s loud. A deep, guttural growl that echoes down the quiet street. I turn toward the sound just in time to see a massive blacked-out SUV turn the corner and glide toward us. The window is rolled down, giving me a glimpse at the sin disguised as a man inside.

He pulls up fast, tires kissing the curb, then throws it into reverse with one hand on the wheel. He backs in, one arm slung across the passenger seat as he turns to check the angle.

Why is that so attractive?

The SUV settles into the driveway like a beast finding its resting place. Music thumps from inside—something heavy and bass-driven. He cuts the engine and climbs out.

He’s wearing a fitted white T-shirt, black sunglasses, veins popping on his forearm as he slams the door with one hand and runs the other through his already-messy hair.

“Nice of you to finally show up,” Dom calls out, walking back toward the front door to double check the alarm. “You said ten.”

“I said around ten,” Jace fires back.

“Suitcase,” Dom barks, motioning to mine. “Grab hers.”

Jace’s eyes slide over me once, from my hair to the biker shorts I’m wearing and finally to the suitcase beside me.

“I got it,” I start, already pulling it along.

His steps are casual, lazy even, as he walks up to me. He stops beside me, and his hand lands on top of mine. His palm is warm and rough, massive enough to make mine completely disappearunder it. The contact lasts maybe two seconds, but my skin burns like it’s been branded.

The pulse between my legs kicks once, then twice. A throb that shouldn’t exist from touching a handle.

“I’ve got it.” His voice drops low.

“I said I got it,” I protest, stunned by the heat between my legs.

His fingers tighten around my hand, eyes not leaving mine.

“I heard you,” he says, voice low, amused.

I blink up at him, the sun hitting the side of his face, making those sharp features even more ridiculous.

“I don’t need your help.”

He smirks.

“I know you don’t. Doesn’t mean I won’t help just to watch you get all worked up.” He leans in close enough for me to catch the scent of his cologne. “You looked like you needed something to be bratty about this morning. I’m happy to provide it,” he murmurs, lips a breath from my ear.

Every part of me is vibrating. Before I can come up with something halfway intelligent to say, he hauls it off the ground with one hand.

He walks it to the back of the SUV as the trunk door slowly lifts and throws it in with a clean thud. I stand there with my hand still in the air, fingers curled slightly like they miss the weight of his.

“Mel.”