Page 24 of Hot Shot

“Hell. I don’t know. They probably won’t come. And if they did, I doubt Beck would be happy about it.”

I nod. I’m aware that Beck and his parents have a strained relationship. Hayden told me about Beck’s childhood, how he hated the wealthy, privileged life they raised him in, how he always wanted to do different things than they wanted, and how they now want him to come home to Boston to take over running their family business (which apparently makes their family super wealthy). But he’s happier here running the tequila bar with his buddies.

I admire someone who follows their own path.

I wish I had a path.

Iwillhave a path. I’m going to Spain and that’s going to take my photography to the next level, and then I’ll stop modeling. I’ll be creating something beautiful instead of just posing.

Like Beck’s family, my parents aren’t happy about the path I’m choosing. Their idea of success is different from mine. But I figured that out a long time ago.

“Well, I’ll invite them just to be polite,” I say. “If they happen to show up, we’ll figure something out.” I pause. “And if they don’t show up, don’t tell Beck we invited them.”

I feel Marco’s gaze on me and turn my head slightly to meet his eyes. One corner of his mouth has lifted. “Got it,” he says quietly. “Thanks.”

I go retrieve the decorations from my closet and show them to him.

He nods as he looks them over.

“You’re not excited about these.”

“That’s why I gaveyouthe job of decorating.”

I catch the sparkle in his eye and know he’s teasing. “Riiiight. Okay. So this should be fun. We’ve already figured out some games and I’ll let you deal with the menu.” I open Pinterest on my computer and show him the pictures I saved. “See, we could do a burger bar, with all kinds of toppings. And the beers in tubs like this . . .”

“Sure.”

I sense he’s still watching me and not looking at the computer. Heat rises up my chest and into my face. I turn to him again. “What? Are you really not interested in the party? It was your idea!”

“I’m more interested in you.”

My stomach does a flip-flop. “Oh.” I let out a short breath. “Marco. The other night . . . we were drunk—”

“Oh no.Youwere drunk.”

“Oh. Right. Okay, I was drunk . . .” Wait. Where was I going with this? I was about to blame our dirty dancing and French kisses on intoxication. Only,Iwas the one slightly inebriated. “Okay, I was drunk. We shouldn’t have danced like that. And we definitely shouldn’t have kissed like that.”

“How should we have kissed?” He tilts his head, dark eyes gleaming. “Like this?”

And he leans in to lay his mouth on mine in a long, soft kiss. He draws back with a barely there touch of his tongue on my bottom lip.

I stare at him. With his lips parted like that and his eyelids half lowered, his beard stubble up close and personal, and his warm scent of lime and cedar teasing my nostrils . . . damn, he’s hot. And that kiss . . . Delicious warmth unfurls low in my belly.

“Or like this?” He bends his head and claims my mouth again, this time harder, opening me to him. He licks inside my mouth and heat bursts in my core, liquid warmth pooling between my thighs. A moan climbs up my throat.

When he draws back, a small whimper escapes me.

“Or maybe like this . . .” He reaches for me.

This time I find the strength to resist, hands on his chest. “No. We can’t do this.”

He goes very still. Our eyes meet in a fiery clash. My heart thumps wildly and I almost can’t breathe. “We can’t do this,” I say again, pushing against his chest to distance myself. I scoot away from him on the couch.

His jaw tightens and his eyes narrow.

“That’s what I was starting to say.” I smooth damp palms over my sweatpants. “I had a few drinks last night, and I guess I was a little drunker than I thought. We don’t even like each other. Let’s just get this party planned and done with and then we won’t have to see each other again.”

For a moment he says nothing, his beautiful lips pressed into a grim line. Then he gives a short nod. “Much as I hate to admit it, you are so right. Itwouldbe a bad idea.”

---