Page 47 of Trick Shot

“Thought you were one of the girlfriends at first,” she laughs like the thought itself is ridiculous. “But Dom’s sister makes way more sense. One of the girls recognized you from some paparazzi pics with him and your parents.”

“That what you do? Come to team parties and guess who belongs to who?” I nod once, lips tight.

“Sometimes,” she says easily, twisting the cork from the bottle. “Not that it matters. These guys don’t belong to anyone.”

Her eyes flick toward the hallway as I walk over to the fridge. She gives me a look like she knows she struck something.

“Anyway,” she says sweetly. “Nice meeting you.”

She walks across the kitchen and down the visible hallway. She doesn’t pause as her free hand reaches for the handle of the first door. My heart skips, hand resting on the lemonade bottle in the fridge. She opens the door, walks in, and closes it behind her with a giggle.

She just walked into Jace’s room.

My chest caves in like someone punched through it. The bottle in my hand nearly slips. I set it on the counter and stare at the closed door.

That’s why Jace wasn’t outside. He was waiting for her in his room.

I blink hard. All I can think about is a closed door and who’s on the other side.

I don’t go upstairs. I storm upstairs. My legs move, feet hitting the stairs fast and hard. I’m swallowing around the pressure in my throat, the sting behind my eyes, the heat in my face. My jaw is locked so tight I’m worried I’ll grind my teeth down to dust. My fingers are clenched, nails digging into my palms, but I don’t stop. Because if I do, I’ll cry. And I’ll be damned if I cry over this man. But I can already feel the first tear sliding down my face.

He can enjoy his little puck bunny rendezvous for all I care. I hope her perfume gives him a migraine.

God, I feel stupid for thinking I mattered. For believing, even for a second, that the way he looked at me meant anything. It’s just what he does, isn’t it? He makes girls feel seen right before he makes them nothing to him again.

I reach the hallway, storming toward my door, ready to pack my stuff. I don’t care if Dom gets mad. I don’t care if I have to Uber all night back home or walk barefoot. I just want out. I can’t stay here, knowing he’s… doing things with these girls.

“Melody?” The sound of his gravelly voice reaches my ears, sounding so concerned that I think I might have imagined it.

I turn slowly, like I’m not entirely sure if his voice is real. But he’s standing right in front of me now, tall and massive, with his shorts slung low on his waist. The V-line cuts sharp and disappears under the waistband, and above it, rows of muscles covered in ink. He’s paused, walking out of the room next to mine with a concerned look on his face.

My brain stutters.

He’s here, upstairs. Not downstairs with that girl.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes scanning my face as he walks toward me.

I blink at him, swallowing thick. My chest’s tight, my thoughts are all screaming at each other, and my heart won’t slow down.

I feel relief, but I also feel anger. I’m angry at myself for caring.

“It doesn’t matter,” I snap, looking down, brushing past him.

He steps in front of me, not touching me. The size of a door and entirely blocking my way.

“What’s wrong,” he repeats, softer now.

I shake my head, and he moves closer, lifting his hand, fingers under my chin.

Even now, even after everything, he still makes my stupid heart flutter like I’m thirteen and he’s some celebrity crush on my wall.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, eyes locked on mine, “until you tell me what’s wrong.”

I try to look away and not fall for the way he’s looking at me.

“Did one of the guys try something?” he asks, voice hardening instantly.

“No,” I say quickly, shaking my head.