Page 56 of Trick Shot

“So what?”

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to fall for you just because the view is stunning?”

“No.” I shake my head. “This is the part where you’re supposed to fall for me because I’m charming.”

She rolls her eyes. She tries to hide it behind a sip, but I see the smile breaking through.

“Why here?” She sets her cup down in the sand beside her.

“Hm?”

“This spot.” She gestures at the cove. “You brought me here. Why?”

I look out at the water again. I want to talk to her—really talk to her. I’ve been waiting for this moment for the past ten months, and as fun as it might be to play with her, I finally got to meet the person I’ve been pouring my soul out to. The ice is long broken, but not for her. To her, I’m still a stranger. Not the man she’s been messaging for almost a year.

The breeze catches her hair, a few strands wrapping around her neck.

I nod towards the ocean.

“I came here after I signed with Miami,” I say. “The guy who sold me the house didn’t even mention this place. I found it by accident on day one.”

I pause, glancing over. She’s watching me, unblinking.

“And when I stepped out onto this beach…” I exhale, slow. “It was the first time I could hear myself think.”

“No one knows about this spot,” I add. “None of the guys come out this far. It’s too hidden. I don’t bring my phone here. No music. No cameras. No expectations.”

“Expectations,” she echoes, like she’s trying the word on for size.

“Yeah.” I nod, picking up a rock and tossing it lazily into the water. “People think being good at something makes you free. But the second you’re good, they want you to stay that way. And the second you slip?”

“They crucify you,” she finishes softly.

I glance at her again. Her expression’s shifted. It’s less sharp, less defensive. I know she knows that feeling a little too well. We’ve talked about this before. I’ve calmed her down after fightswith her parents, arguments with Dom—before I knew who she was referring to.

“You get it,” I murmur.

“I was raised by politicians,” she says, voice low. “Smiling on cue is my first language.”

I let out a laugh. Bunny hid what her parents did—said they run a business. In some ways, she didn’t lie. I obviously know what Dom’s parents do. I know what they did—everything they could to keep him off the ice. Politics and hockey isn’t a good look. I know what they did to her too. That’s why she’s here, on the other side of the continent. She wants to get away from it all.

“What?” She gives me a look.

“That explains the posture.”

“Posture?”

“Yeah. You sit like you’re being interviewed at all times.”

“Are you saying I’m stiff?” she mock-gasps.

“I’m saying if I shouted ‘say cheese,’ your back would snap.”

She scoffs, shaking her head, but her smile stays. She’s loosening up. I can see it. In the way her fingers trace the rim of her cupand in the way her foot brushes mine by accident and doesn’t move away.

A beat of quiet stretches between us.

“You said no expectations,” she says. “So, what? No one expects you to be anything here?”