Page 16 of Fated Shot

I don’t know what the hell came over me, but I know that was fucking close. Dragging my hands down my face, I try to shake off the memories of what just transpired.

I don’t know what happens to me when I’m around her, but my body gets a mind of its own. It’s fucking dangerous.

When I gave her my number on Saturday, I was ninety-nine percent sure she’d never use it. It took me every ounce of willpower not to text her the next day, but I did it because this situation, whatever it is, is an all-around bad idea. Taking myself out of the equation was the only solution. One cheek kiss was all I was ever going to get, and I was going to be okay with that.

On Sunday, I grabbed what was left of my things at the Wyndham rental and locked it up for the last time. My focus had returned the moment Penn and I trekked back to the city, and I was finally starting to forget about her. I was beginning to feel like I was moving on. For the first time in weeks, it felt like everything was right again in my world.

But just like that, the moment her name flashed on the screen, I was wrecked. I leaped out of bed, threw on whatever I could grab, sprinted straight to her building, and now I’m back to square one.

I wasn’t about to let her sit there in front of her door all night. I think even Coach would have agreed with me on that. Ahotel would have been the sensible option, but the second I saw her face, any rational plan flew out the window. When the elevator doors slid open, I caught the faintest spark in her expression, like a tiny bit of hope had flickered to life, and there was no chance I was letting her out of my sight. With that reaction alone, I swear I would have offered to take a bullet for her.

She’s got me good. I am so fucked.

Once we settled on the couch, I started looking for something to put on, but by the time I gave up on cable, she’d already knocked out. She looked so peaceful, her head resting gently on her delicate hand, and a few blonde spirals had slipped free from her messy topknot. It took everything in me not to reach over, tuck them behind her ear, and fall asleep just staring at her perfection.

I woke up super early, earlier than usual, and smiled like an idiot at the sight of her still asleep on my couch. I told myself to clear my head, so I slipped upstairs to change and headed out the door. Thirty minutes into my run, the fresh air finally knocked some sense back into me, so I made my way to Java for coffee and headed back to the apartment.

Clearly, the fresh air wasn’t enough though, because as soon as she started talking, I lost my damn mind again.

She just needs a friend, jackass. You don’t kiss friends.

I huff, walking into the kitchen to set my coffee down. This weird thing going on in my head right now is not fucking good.

My phone pings as I drop onto the kitchen stool.

Penn:run?

Me:pass.

Penn:? alright, carpool to practice?

Me:yeah.

Penn:i’ll drive, you still haven’t experiencedthe glory that is Big Red

Me:oh here we go, you named that monstrosity?

Penn:how dare you disrespect her like that

Me:what the fuck you need a pick-up for in the city anyway?

Penn:chicks dig it

Me:sure they do big guy & I bet they don’t even care about what it’s compensating for

Penn:rude & unnecessary :(

Less than an hour later, I’m forced to climb into the passenger side of Penn’s new F-150. It roars to life as he tries to back out of the parking spot. It takes five attempts, with the truck bed always threatening to bump into the Prius across from him.

“Dude, I miss the Tesla,” I say once we start moving, finally heading toward the garage opening.

He sighs. “Yeahhh, well, gotta play the field a bit before pulling the trigger, ya know?” He reaches for the sun visor and clicks on the garage door button that’s fastened to it. “Already have my next lease lined up for January. Range Rover,” he says it while lifting his eyebrows at me, grinning widely.

“All right, hot shot, we get it, you’re loaded. I’m happy for you. Now, eyes on the road.” He’s got a great career ahead of him, he can obviously afford a little extravagance, but I prefer to be more pragmatic with my spending. I know he’s not reckless, but I’ve seen too many guys change completely the second a contract hits their hand, and I won’t let that happen to him.

“Speaking of playing the field… you never did tell us what happened with your mystery girl,” he asks, glancing over briefly at me.

A frustrated sigh escapes me. “There’s nothing to tell. Plus, it’s the start of the season, time to focus up.” Maybe lying to himwill be enough to convince my brain to stop daydreaming about her every waking second.

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