Page 4 of A Shot at Love

Despite my best efforts, my teeth grind together. I’m pretty level-headed, most of the time. I didn’t get to where I am today without being a little cold and calculating, but explicitly telling me that I can’t have the woman of my dreams? That’s officially one of the top five ways of getting under my fucking skin.

“I don’t think that’s up to you to decide,” I say, my voice calm as fire burns hot in my chest. “She’s an adult, and so am I.” When he scoffs, I continue. “You’re my coach. You can tell me what to do on the court. When it comes to my personal life, you have no authority. Even if I was interested in your daughter, it’s none of your business.”

He laughs, loud and derisive. It’s loud enough that it can be heard over the squeak of shoes on the court. I can feel my teammates' eyes on us, but that isn’t enough to make me back down. Let them see.

“That’s the thing, Harmon,” Coach White says after a few moments, letting his volume drop low enough that I have to lean in to hear what he says next. “I’m your coach. That means your career, everything you’ve worked for… that’s in my hands.”

“What are you saying?” I growl, working my jaw as I clench my hands into fists at my sides. “Because it sounds like you’re extorting me.”

“Is that what you’d call this?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. “Don’t I get something out of extortion? I’m just ensuring that the members of my team are focused on the game. I think it would be well within my rights to terminate a player who’s cutting practice in pursuance of girl he knows nothing about. Don’t you think?”

“Are you threatening to kick me off the team if I pursue Jenna?” I ask, my tone lethal.

There’s conviction in his eyes, a kind of determination that nestles itself there when he’s giving us a pre-game speech. He means what he’s saying. In fact, I bet he’s never meant something more before in his life.

“It’s not a threat, Harmon,” he says, rolling his shoulders back. I narrow my eyes at him as he prepares for the final blow, a blow that isn’t going to land as hard as he hopes it will—because I’ve already made up my mind. I’d let my world burn to the ground if it meant I was left standing with Jenna at my side. “If you find yourself distracted by my daughter again, you won’t have a place on this team anymore.”

Part of me wants to call his bluff. He wants to win this championship as badly as I do. But Jennia is his daughter. She’s no doubt more important to him than the damn title.

Fuck, she’s more important to me than the title. As intense as my hunger for that win is, my hunger for Jenna is even more all-consuming. I’m willing to risk it all for her, even if Coach White is willing to take that same risk.

So, with that in mind, I look my coach square in the face and say, “Okay.”

He seems content with that answer, though the fire is still in his eyes. His eyes finally drift away from me and over to where the rest of the team is still running drills. With an authoritative tone, he says, “Now get back out there, Harmon. I’d hate to see you falling behind.”

I nod, turning around to head back to the court. There’s no reason to say anything else. It’s best that he thinks I’m going along with his demands. But, for the rest of practice, I look forward to having Jenna to myself later. By the time she gets to my place, I’ll have a foolproof plan for making her mine. What her father thinks be damned.

Chapter Four

Jenna

After a long drive and plenty of time to think about what I was doing, I now sit in front of Oliver’s home. His house is outside the city and seems far too big for someone who lives alone, but that’s not uncommon with professional athletes. It’s all about show, not practicality.

Seeing that Oliver is no exception to this phenomenon makes it easier to turn him down.

I’ve spent most of the day thinking about Oliver in good and bad lights. At first, I was obsessed with replaying our kiss in the locker room. It was like a short film that would start over again and again in my mind. I let him kiss me; I could have thrown a fit and told him no, even told my dad what he tried to do. That’s not how it went through—but now that I’m thinking rationally, my next steps seem obvious.

I glance at my overnight bag in my passenger seat. I packed it knowing what a huge juxtaposition it would be considering I was here to turn him down, but I’m leaving it in the car and that has to count for something right?

I take a steadying breath and finally start to make my way up the well-lit walkway leading to his oversized front door. On the short walk there, I remind myself of all the reasons why Oliver is off-limits, whyI’moff-limits to him. I remind myself why dating or getting involved with athletes isnota good idea. Just like the houses and the expensive cars, women are nothingmore than trophies to them, and I’ll be damned if I’m anything more than a commodity.

I knock on the door, and almost immediately Oliver pulls it open. We stare at each other for a few seconds before a wide grin stretches across his face. My heart flutters in my chest and damn if my conviction doesn’t start to crumble. Oliver’s eyes quickly roam over my body, heating my insides like a warm blanket draped over my shoulders.

“Jenna,” he says. “It’s good to see you.”

I give him a nod as he steps aside, welcoming me inside. The interior of his home wasn’t what I was expected; it’s understated, furnished in a minimalistic way. Parties aren’t held at houses like this, this isn’t the kind of place you show off to women or friends. This is the kind of place that exists only for Oliver to relax after practice.

I don’t let this information sway me though.

The door clicks shut, the lock engaging. Then, Oliver’s hand is on my shoulder. As he turns me toward him, I can already feel his intentions. I have to speak before he kisses me, before my body surrenders to him without my permission.

“Wait, Oliver,” I say, putting my hands on his chest and staring into his eyes. I give him my most serious expression. “I’m not here to hook up with you.” Even though the overnight bag in my car tells me otherwise.

“I already told you that’s not what I want, Jenna,” he replies, tone silky smooth and sure. “Is it less intimidating if I said I want to marry you?” He flashes me a coy smile when my eyes widen.

“Oliver, don’t be ridiculous. You can’t justhaveme.”

“Of course not,” Oliver says, unaffected by my rejection. He rests a hand against my jaw, cupping my cheek and urging me to look at his face again. “But you feel something between us, too. I know you do.”

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