Page 41 of Trick Shot

Which is both hilarious and ridiculous, since she’s sending me pictures of my own house, telling me it would be better with me in it.

And I’m here, splitting wood and trying not to imagine what her thighs would feel like wrapped around my waist.

“You need to learn to hide it.” Zed breaks the silence with a quiet murmur.

“What?” I blink, turning.

“The way you look at her. You’re making it obvious.” He drops another piece of wood onto the block, lifts the axe, and swings.

My stomach drops, and my fingers tighten on the axe handle.

“Who?” I ask, too fast, too sharp.

“Dominic’s sister.” He doesn’t look at me, just lifts another log.

My mouth goes dry.

“I have no idea what you’re on about,” I say evenly, but my voice suddenly sounds like sandpaper.

“I know what men look like when they’re about to snap.” His lips twitch, barely, and he finally looks at me.

Before I can fire back, movement catches our eyes—one of the puck bunnies, teetering just two tequila shots away from going fully feral. She’s wearing a bikini top so small it might be dental floss and a pair of jean shorts. She stumbles up, sunglasses pushed up on her head, lips already pulled into a practiced smile.

“Oh my God,” she giggles, tossing her hair over one shoulder as she eyes both of us. “Are you guys like… lumberjack porn right now? Should I be filming this?” She pauses, then adds, “Are you going to make me choose?” she purrs, eyes flicking between us like she’s picking a meal. “Or… not.”

Zed slowly turns his head toward me, and for the first time, I read the message in them clearly: Should I get rid of her or you?

I wipe sweat off my brow, grip the axe tighter, and sigh.

“Try the grill,” I say, nodding toward where a few guys are setting it up and shouting over who gets the next beer. “They’re already warmed up.”

“Seriously?” She pouts.

“Seriously. This one doesn’t talk much,” I nod at Zed. “And I bite.”

Her eyes widen just a little before she blinks a few times in hopes of us changing our minds. When none of us budge, she huffs and spins on her heel, stomping off like a toddler denied candy.

“Whatever you think you know about Dom’s sister, you’re wrong.” I glance at Zed.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he simply splits another log. Dead center.

The upstairs hallway is quiet, golden with the last light of day bleeding in through the arched windows. Some of the guys are downstairs, some are outside playing lawn games, and all of them are pretending they’re not aching to fuck something.

I walk out of my new room and close the door behind me, phone in one hand, towel draped around my neck. I just moved my shit out of the downstairs guest room. Technically Tanner’s room now.

I make it to the corner of the hallway when a head of wild curls comes into view. My heart kicks like it always does when she’s around. And right now, she’s barefoot, hair a little damp from a shower, wearing shorts and a tank top that’s doing jack shit to hide the fact she’s not wearing a bra. Again. She’s holding a book in one hand and her own phone in the other.

She doesn’t see me at first. She’s too busy tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes skimming over the pages as she walks slowly toward her room—my old room.

My eyes drag down her body and back up just in time for hers to lift. She stops walking, eyes wide and a bit startled. We stare at each other for a few moments as the hallway shrinks.

“I hope you’re not planning on having dinner like that,” I say, voice surprisingly stern.

“Excuse me?” The startled look leaves her face, replaced by defiance.

“Put on a bra before you go downstairs,” I say simply, surprised by my own tone.

She blinks and looks down at herself.