Page 18 of Shoot Your Shot

“Be better when I get out of here so people stop staring at me like I’m one of those performers who’s fallen on their ass, and no one knows what to say, so instead, they give them that look.”

“That’s very specific.” He chuckles. “You’ll be all right. It’s good for your grumpy ass to be reminded that people actually like ya, even if you’re like the Grinch.”

“He is not the Grinch!” Amelia whines, stamping her tiny foot. “He’s Uncle Kolty.”

“Babe, remember the movie? Even Cindy Lou Who liked the Grinch’s grumpy ass—butt.”

“Nice catch,” Maci says, giggling behind them.

My eyes finally lift, looking around at my entire team and some fans lined up on the sidewalk, and they all give me a nod. I start to walk toward them to get it the hell over with when Logan stops me by patting the wheelchair.

“You’ve been on your feet long enough, sit your ass back down. I’ll be your chauffeur today,” he singsongs. “Well, at least for the next thirty seconds. Seeing as that’s all I foresee you tolerating of this parking-lot party.”

“You’re not kidding,” I grumble, reluctantly plopping my ass back down in the seat. “Whose idea was this?”

“It was Daddy’s idea,” Amelia blurts out, walking beside me. “He calledeverybody!”

I make sure Amelia isn’t looking, and then I crane my neck to look at Logan and hold up my middle finger.

Fuck you, I mouth.

He attempts to shrug innocently. “Just because we love ya, Kolburne,” he tosses back. “Just because we love ya.”

Once Kolt has said his goodbyes to everyone, I open the car door so that he can climb in, which earns me an eye roll.

“I can open my own door, you know,” he grumbles like a toddler.

“Maybe, but I’m still going to open it for you anyway,” I toss back.

He stares at me for a moment, narrowing his eyes, but eventually, he steps past me and plops himself down in the passenger seat. “I think I’d be safer having a heart attack while driving than be over here, in the passenger seat, with you behind the wheel,” he mutters. “I saw your rims. Nice to know you still hit curbs.”

My mouth hangs open in annoyance, but the smell of his signature deodorant hits my nostrils, and instantly, my heartflutters. Sadness washes over me for a split second, but I feel a sense of comfort at the same time.

He’s used the same deodorant since he was in high school, and I always teased him that, eventually, the brand was going to go out of business and he’d have to find a new one. He joked that he would have to stockpile it because it was the best kind.

In the past year and a half, anytime I smelled a similar scent, my heart would skip a beat. It washisscent. A scent I’d found great comfort in for so long.

Even now, I have an old shirt of his. The smell is gone for the most part, but I refuse to ever stop sleeping with it. It’s the closest thing to him I have.

Not that I’d ever admit that to him.

Closing his door, I ignore his comment, hating that he’s right. I never claimed to be the world’s best driver. Sometimes, I take a turn too hard, and my rims hit the curb. I’ve popped tires from hitting potholes too fast. It is what it is, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him.

I know he hated everyone coming here today, but I’m glad they did. He deserves to know how many people in his life love him. And watching him with Logan’s daughter was the sweetest thing I’d ever seen. It’s clear Kolt loves that little girl. Just thinking about them together sends a shot of pain through my chest. Kolt would make the best dad.

Pulling my door open, I climb behind the wheel, and now … my entire car smells like Kolt. My belly has butterflies, and there’s a faint throb between my legs.

Dammit, body. Don’t betray me now.

“What’s the address?” I say before pulling my seat belt over my chest and bringing the GPS app up on my car’s screen.

“Unless you’ve got amnesia, you shouldn’t need that fancy GPS to find it,” he murmurs. “Seeing as it’s the same as it was a year and a half ago.” He drawls the words out sluggishly.

I quickly turn my head, my eyes flying to his. “You kept our house?”

When he bought the house, I was still in college, finishing my degree, and it didn’t make sense for me to go in on it with him. With my name on the mortgage, our interest rate would have gone through the roof. So, all this time, since I didn’t have any ownership of the house or my name on the mortgage, I had no way of knowing if he’d sold it or not.

“Yep,” he utters.

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