Page 43 of Trick Shot

“Move, Jace,” she snaps, trying her best to sound angry.

“Make me,” I counter.

She lets out a low growl and plants her hand on my chest. Her palm is flat against my sternum, and my heart kicks just to say hello. Then she pushes—sharp and firm, harder than I expected. Still, I don’t sway.

“Out of my way,” she grunts. Her nostrils flare as she shoves again, stronger this time.

“You sure you want me out of your way?” I tilt my head. “Cause this feels more like foreplay.”

Her nostrils flare. Her eyes narrow. She shoves once more, both hands now, pressing against my chest like she’s furious and doesn’t want to admit she’s enjoying it.

“Fine,” she groans, stepping back and charging to run around me. I reach my arm out and wrap it around her waist, pulling her back toward me. She might be the only person who thinks they can get past a professional hockey player. It’s cute.

Her book hits the floor with a soft thud. Before she can twist or pivot or scream, I grab her wrists, spin her around, and press her back against the wall. Her gasp is quiet, barely a breath.

I’m not touching her anywhere inappropriate... yet. My hands are braced on the wall beside her head. Her wrists are free, but the air between us is molten.

Her chest rises and falls fast, brushing against mine with each ragged breath. Mine isn’t much better.

I lean in, just enough that my lips hover a whisper above hers.

“You really thought you could get past a defenseman?” I murmur.

“I’ll scream,” she breathes.

“Oh, I’ll make sure of it.” My mouth twitches.

Her lashes flutter and her head tilts slightly—just a fraction. Like she’s about to close that final inch. Like she wants to.

I can already feel it. Taste it. I’m one second away from doing it. From kissing her and stepping up this little dance we’ve been doing since the kitchen. Since the Halloween party. Sinceforever.

Footsteps pound against the hardwood, and the sound of laughter climbs up the stairs.

Fuck.

“I’ll go get Mel.” Dom’s voice booms, closer than I’d like.

Her eyes widen as she stands completely frozen against the wall. I hold her gaze a second longer before brushing her hair behind her ear. I love her hair.

“Another time,” I promise and drag myself back.

She doesn’t move and doesn’t blink as she stares at me. Her nipples are threatening to tear through her tank top as her chest rises and falls, and I pray to all the fucking gods she actually listens and puts something on. Because apparently, she’s right. I am a little fucking boy who can’t control himself around her.

I straighten and walk away like I wasn’t just about to ruin my friendship, my self-control, and her ability to walk straight for the next couple of days.

Chapter eight

~MELODY~

I slam the door shut behind me and lean back against it, chest heaving. My skin is on fire, my mouth is dry, and my thighs are…

I press my hand between them like that’ll calm the ache, but it just makes it worse. His voice is still in my ear, his scent still on my skin, and his eyes still feel like they’re on my body.

I push off the door and start pacing.

This is so bad.

I should be angry. I should be furious. No one pins me against a wall like that. No one backs me into corners and talks tome like… like I’m theirs. I stop in the middle of the room and squeeze my eyes shut.