Page 113 of A Lucky Shot

A moment that had already passed. Cass stared at the cloth he held out to her, already cooling.

“Sure.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

JOSH

For the second morning in a row, Cassidy St. Claire was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes, and she was so beautiful he couldn’t breathe.

She was a work of art. A Botticellian beauty painted in watercolour, all curves and softness pressed against his hard, lean edges, a secret garden of jasmine and sleepy sweat clouding his thoughts. The personification of plenty, and still, he’d never get enough of her. He wanted to tattoo each tendril of her dark curls onto his chest and permanently imprint her on his body.

He stroked her hair back from her face. “What have you done to me?” he whispered into her temple, like she would answer him in her sleep, and when she didn’t, he turned to wrestling with his raging thoughts.

On one side, something had awakened in him. She shone a light and saw him. Him, not a version of what was expected. Who challenged him and shared his values and understood what he was about and what he wanted.

On the other side, his brain ordered his heart to stop before it went any further.

The second side was losing. Had lost.

Because he’d fallen in love with her. This beautiful ray of sunshine had claimed his heart.

And it was going to end before it even began.

It had been a punch to the gut when she had said she was preparing for him to leave. Not because she was wrong, but because she was right. Their time was running out.

Focus on the time you have with her. It was all he could do. He leaned in to kiss the space between her brows and quietly snuck out of bed.

Thin winter sun snuck through the cracks in the curtains, sending pale blue shadows across the cluttered countertops. He shoved aside the feeling that he was invading her cupboards, even though she’d given him explicit instructions to not wake her up for his caffeine fix after showing him where everything was.

Their mugs from yesterday—her extra tall mug with Aunties let you get away with more and his hand-painted neon monstrosity—were upside down in the drying rack beside the sink. He snickered as he pulled them out and felt an unexpected pang at their mugs. He set the coffee to brew and turned to his phone to flick through the messages that came in overnight.

A handful of group spam texts with the generic Merry Christmas, his dad, and ones from old hookups were ignored as he went straight to the creative team group text that had exploded.

Stephen

Merry Christmas!

u ready for next week?

Then

We have a problem

hey call me back

dude call me

Terry

I’m on my way to set.

Recalling the team now.

A bucket of ice water doused his insides, and Josh braced himself as he dialled. “Yo.”

Stephen’s voice came through a Bluetooth, road noises punctuating the background. “It’s not an emergency yet, but we need you on set now.”

“What happened?”

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