Page 29 of Fated Shot

Just as I start to find the words to explain, I hear a roar of voices and laughter coming from the apartment next door. Instinctively, I peek over. The handle clinks as the door starts to open, and before I can process, two arms are wrapped around me and I’m pulled into his apartment, the door slamming shut behind us.

Pressed against his abs, the steady beat of his heart thrums as I look up at him. There’s a panic in his eyes as he slowly pulls one finger up to his mouth and moves his gaze to watch the door. The muscles in his arms are protruding in a protective embrace as if shielding me from whatever is coming.

The voices grow louder. Clearly, a crowd has formed in the hallway. I stay silent, confused, but ridiculously comfortable with his hands on me, engulfed in the smell of him. Ten seconds later, there’s a hand slapping on the door as a young voice calls out, “YO, we’re heading out. Meet us at Frank’s if you change your mind.”

Jack keeps his grip tight on me as the voices fade down the hall until they disappear completely. He looks down at me again before releasing me, and I take a step back. The moment I do, I miss the closeness, an urge to nuzzle back into his arms creeping in.Bad Mia, very bad.

“I should go,” I say more so to myself than anything.

He slowly reaches for my hand, intensity in his eyes.

“Stay, Mia.” The deep timber of his voice hitting me hard, as he adds a more desperate plea, “Please.”

Chapter 14

Jack

She hasn’t said yes, but she also hasn’t moved from her spot in the entryway.

She stays blinking at me, struggling to make a decision, so I jump into action. “Stay here,” I let out before bounding up the stairs two at a time. It hurts like hell as I throw on sweats and a t-shirt before I chuck my toothbrush in the garbage. Not the smartest move, but I can’t risk giving her enough time to leave. A wave of relief envelops me as I see her still standing by the doorway when I return fifteen seconds later.

“Come on, sit, please. I could use the company,” I say softly, a bit of desperation in my voice. She’s here, she came to see me. My heart does a little flip at the thought, and I want more time with her. I need more time with her.

“Twenty questions?” I ask hopefully.

“Sounds like an interrogation to me,” she mocks, a slight smile cracking across her otherwise still stunned and pensive face.Finally.Now I’m grinning like an idiot because she makes her way over to the couch and flops down.

I race to the kitchen. “Do you want something? Tea?”

Her soft voice returns, warming me instantly. “Sure.”

I throw on the kettle, grab two mugs, and settle in next to her a few minutes later. My mind flashes back to a week ago. There’s about two feet less distance now, and her ease when I grab the spot directly beside her makes me smile more.

“Thanks,” she says, barely more than a whisper, as she grabs the mug from my hand.

“Ten questions,” she decides with a small smile. “And you've already used one.”

“Hey, you make the rules, I’ll follow them.”Blindly.

“Why do you always fight?” she asks, reaching over, her hand hovering above the cut on my lip. She hesitates before making contact and, clearly deciding against it, looks down and tucks her hand in her lap. The question takes me by surprise. I was half expecting, ‘What was your first pet’s name?’ or something like that to come out of her mouth like last time.

“Oh, uh…” I think about it for a moment. I’m not really sure when it started, but I try to answer as truthfully as possible. “I’m a big guy, so it’s always been kinda what was expected of me. I don’t pick fights, but I’ll jump in to protect the boys when I have to. It’s my job.”

I wait for her reply, but she just nods a little absent-mindedly. She’s still looking down when she says, “It’s scary to watch.”

It takes every ounce of self-control not to pull her into me.

“I’m tough, promise,” I say, offering my most reassuring smile. She didn’t like me getting hurt, and something swells in my chest at the thought of her concern for me. The reality of the situation from earlier interrupts me, though.

“Why’d you go to the game with Seb?” It slips before I have a chance to filter it, coming out more hurt than anything. I clearly just love pushing her away; my conversation skills continue to astound me. To my surprise, though, she answers almost immediately.

“It’s complicated. My dad offered him the seats. He knew Seb was going to be in town this weekend, and I guess he thought we were getting back together so…” She pauses, thinking, as she takes asip.

Peeking over the rim of her mug, she adds, “We’re not together.” Not an ounce of uncertainty in her voice.

“He wants to get back together, though,” I say, less of a question, more of a statement. I know it’s not my turn, but I can't help digging further.

“All summer, he’s been trying to. Now he’s saying that he’s going to move, wants to transfer to the Toronto office. It’s…”

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