Page 9 of Shamrock Kisses

Meanwhile, our opponents—a couple of early-twenties guys—are getting smug, landing another ball with ease. Rachel’s face scrunches up in frustration.

“It’s kind of a common story for hackers,” I continue, trying to keep the conversation going. “Unless they’re ‘black hat,’ which means they’re motivated by chaos or money.”

“Black hat?”

“Yeah, there are three types: black, gray, and white. White hats are the good guys. Black hats are the bad ones. Gray hats … well, we’re somewhere in between.”

“We’re,” she repeats, narrowing her eyes at me playfully. “I like morally gray guys.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She giggles, and I squint at her, not fully understanding the joke, but I’m loving the banter.

The other team rolls the ping pong balls back to us. Rachel grabs both and hands one to me. Without thinking, I take her hand in mine and kiss it. “For good luck,” I say, surprised with myself by the bold gesture.

Her face lights up. “I don’t want to lose to these guys,” she whispers, her expression suddenly serious as she concentrates on the game. She tosses the ball, and it lands perfectly in the cup.

“Yeah!” I shout, high-fiving her.

Now it’s my turn. The pressure is on, and I know I need to make this. Taking a deep breath, I aim and toss the ball.

“You made one!”

“All luck, no skill.” I wink.

“You’ve got one more shot to prove luck is on your side.”

The guys roll the balls back to us, and Rachel scoops them up.

“If we both make it again, we could be back in this.” She extends her hand to me. “Kiss it—for good luck.”

I smirk, covering her hand with mine and kissing her knuckle. We hold a flirty stare until I break away and take a sip of the beer, which we haven’t even touched yet.

“You got this,” I say, chuckling at how focused she is on the game now.

Rachel takes a deep breath, holding the ball at shoulder level. With a flick of her wrist, it lands in a cup again.

“You’re on fire!” She’s jumping in excitement, being too cute.

Now the pressure isreallyon. I have to make this.Please, go into the cup,I internally tell the ball as I toss it.

“You’re heating up!” she cheers when it goes in, and without warning, she playfully smacks my ass. I turn to look at her in surprise, and she does this shrug-shimmy thing that makes me smile.

“Double bring-backs!” one of the guys shouts, impressed by our comeback.

Rachel smiles, putting the balls back in her hand. “For good luck?” she asks, teasingly extending them toward me.

Wrapping my hand around hers, I guess we’re leaning into superstition, and I kiss the same knuckle again. “For good luck.”

The tension between us is thick. There’s a new competitiveness and something more. Rachel flicks her wrist, and we both watch in slow motion as the ball hits the cup—then bounces off the rim.

She groans, her face deflating in the most adorable way. I pull her into a side hug, trying to cheer her up. “Two in a row was impressive,” I say, my arm still around her shoulders.

“Give me the beer. I’m mad.”

I laugh, handing her the glass. I love how into the game she’s getting. It’s hot.

“If I make the next one …” I pause, gauging if I should say what I’m thinking. I take a sip of the beer, deciding if I’m really going to say this. The vibes are definitely there … “IfI make it … I get to smack your ass.”

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