Page 1 of A Shot at Love

Chapter One

Oliver

My sneakers squeak against the hardwood as I pivot, sweat dripping down my face as I pass the ball to my teammate before peeling away. I fall back, keeping an eye on the drill as I do. Pants and grunts echo across the court as our feet trample the ground, focused and undeterred from the goal of treating each practice with the importance it deserves.

I’m dehydrated and exhausted but knowing we’re on track to win the championship this year keeps me going. If we win, our team will bring home the first trophy in six years. For me, it’d be my first win as a starting point guard, and I’ll be damned if I let my team down.

From the way everyone’s moving, focused on pushing themselves to nearly passing out, it’s obvious they want this win as much as I do.

I rush forward, ready to catch another pass and shoot, but the something…not something, a flash of red hair pulled into a ponytail, catches my eye. Momentarily distracted, I glance over, and I involuntarily stop in my tracks. Years of training tells me to keep my head in the game, but what I see is enough to silence all the protesting voice in my head. There’s a girl, tall and beautiful, with the most striking face I’ve ever seen. She’s talking to our coach, who hasn’t noticed I’m at a dead stop in the middle of practice.

“Christ, Harmon,” my teammate says as he slams into my back. “What are you–”

“Break!” I bark out, not bothering to apologize.

I don’t wait to see if the rest of my team is listening, either. I’m pulled forward on instinct alone, because suddenly the most interesting thing in the room is this red-haired beauty queen. I brush my hand through my hair, only to realize how sweaty and disgusting I am from practice. Great. I want to introduce myself to her, but this isn’t the best impression.

And is that…yup, I’ve sweated through my deodorant.

Fuck.

As if sensing my approach, or my inner turmoil, she turns, her fluffy ponytail swishing over her shoulder. God, she’s even more beautiful up close. Forest green eyes, orange freckles dotting her nose and cheeks—and when my eyes drop to her full, pink lips, I know I’m a fucking goner.

“Harmon,” my coach says, annoyance twinging his tone. I know I’m staring, but he can fuck off. “Is there a reason you’ve stopped practice to interrupt me with my daughter?”

His daughter… Oh, fuck. That would explain the death glare I’m getting, and the similar eye color from said glare. I clear my throat, not willing to back down.

“Figured we needed a water break. They’re dead on their feet,” I tell him. It’s not technically a lie, but wewerein the middle of a drill. Coach doesn’t need to know that, though. “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

“This is–”

“Jenna.” Holy shit, her voice was as beautiful as her. She cuts her father off and offers me her hand. “Jenna White.”

I take her hand in mine, noting its exceptional softness. “Oliver Harmon,” I say as I squeeze her hand, reluctant to let go.

“I already know who you are,” she says. “My dad’s starting point guard, the pride of the team.” She rolls her eyes but smiles.

“Seems like my reputation precedes me,” I laugh, loving that challenging spark in her gaze.

The way she’s looking at me tells me that she could give a shit less about my position on the team. I’m not surprised, this is a girl who’s grown up around professional basketball players. We’re nothing special or new to her. That only makes me want her more.

As the moment stretches out before us, Coach White clears his throat, breaking our intense eye contact. The annoyance from before has shifted to irritation. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that he’s protective of his daughter. I can’t say I blame him. I’ve just met her, and I’m confident that I’d do anything to keep her safe, especially as more and more of my team shoot curious glances her way. I’ll break every one of their kneecaps and win the damn championship myself if they don’t mind their business.

“I’ll reiterate,” Coach says, leveling me with a venomous look. When I glance over at Jenna, it’s clear she doesn’t appreciate her dad’s bitter tone. “Is there agoodreason why you stopped practice? Jenna has to leave soon for her own practice.”

“Just wanted to introduce myself,” I say casually. I turn to Jenna then. “You play basketball?”

“I do,” she says, speaking before her father has the chance to dismiss me. “Over at the university.”

And, just like that, a plan to get Jenna alone starts to unfold in my mind.

“Really?” I say, grinning. “Maybe I can give you some pointers, go a few rounds after practice one day.”

Coach laughs. “She doesn’t need that.”

Jenna rolls her eyes. “He’s right, but I’m always open for a friendly game. I don’t have to be back for another two hours. Can’t have these boys thinking they need toschoola woman on how to play basketball.”

“Didn’t mean it like that,” I say quickly. “Walk with me.”

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