Page 73 of Trick Shot

I groan, set my phone down on the bedside table, and flip onto my side. I sound like a broken record even to myself.

Thunder rumbles low in the distance, the wind moans against the balcony doors, and the waves are high and visible—crashing and frothing like they’re trying to crawl up the sand and reach the house. One of the guys already suggested a late-night swim during the storm, which was followed by my brother’s voice:Absolutely the fuck not. Sit down.

He’s always been the one in charge—a control freak in every sense of the word. Which has proven useful, since he’s talked me out of a lot of stupid decisions that sounded good in my head before he’d step in. But this one? What would he do if he finds out? What would happen if someone sees me with his best friend and snitches?

God, I’m an idiot.

I should’ve never gone to that cove with Jace. It’s just made everything a lot worse. Because I want to do it again—without running away this time.

I shut my eyes and try to focus on the rain, anything other than the heat curling low in my stomach every time I replay that moment in my head.

I shift in bed as an odd feeling comes over me, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I don’t have time to wonder what it is before I hear a sound behind me followed by a soft click. There’s a shift in the air and what’s definitely the sound of footsteps.

My eyes fly open and my body goes rigid.

What the hell?

I whip around, heart hammering. A massive body blurs past my vision before flopping on the empty side of the king-sized bed. A familiar scent reaches me—cologne, soap, and a hint of whiskey.

The storm growls outside as I scramble for the lamp and turn it on.

Warm light spills into the room and confirms my suspicions. My heart pounds against my ribcage, my body already going wild. Jace is sprawled beside me with one muscular arm under his head. His hair is tousled, white shirt tight against his broad chest, and his lips are slightly parted.

He’s so annoyingly handsome it makes me want to slap him.

“Shit.” His eyes squint against the sudden light, brows furrowing.

“Jace?!” I whisper-shout as I blink at him.

He blinks back at me, confused for a second, then that familiar lazy smile slides across his face.

“Ah, my bad. Walked in here out of habit.” He sounds like he’s had a few drinks.

“You walked into my room out of habit?” I snap, yanking the blanket up around me like it’ll protect me from whatever this is.

“Technically, it’s my house.” He lifts his hand, palm out, like I’m the dramatic one. “So… all the rooms are mine.” He waves his finger in a circle to make his point clearer.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m tipsy,” he says, rolling onto his side to face me. “There’s a difference.”

His voice is warm and teasing, and I hate that my body reacts to it like it’s being whispered to by the devil.

“Well, now that we have this sorted, get out of my room,” I hiss.

“This is my room,” he says, eyes glinting.

“Yeah, yeah, the whole house is yours. Now get out.”

“No,” he sighs, his speech slowed. “This is my room.” He gestures lazily to the walls. “Best view in the house, quietest and furthest away. I always sleep in here.”

“Then why am I the one sleeping in it?” I ask, genuinely surprised.

“I gave it to you,” he shrugs lazily. “I liked the thought of you sleeping in my bed.”

I sit up a little higher, suddenly remembering exactly what I did in this bed last night. And after the comment he made earlier, I have no doubt in my mind that he knows about it too.

“I made the headboard myself, by the way.” He knocks against the carved wood behind us twice. “And that coffee table over there. Do you like it?” He turns to face me, eyes glazed.