Page 28 of Playboy

My mouth waters at the sight of her. She’s wearing the same thing she wore the night of our date, a Bolts jersey and tight black pants. She’s got on a Bolts beanie that saysBrooks’s Puck Bunny. Yeah, in any other circumstance, that would send me spiraling, her wearing another man’s name, but Sara made the hats a couple of years ago, back when she and Brooks were only fake dating, as a joke, so I let it go.

With pouty red lips and a big smile on her face, she’s just as gorgeous as the last time I saw her. Only now I know the way those lips feel against mine.

“Let’s do a shot.” Camden pushes a shot glass filled to the brim with tequila at me.

Head lowered, I pick up the drink. I’ve got to figure out what the hell to say to her. With a quick inhale, I toss the tequila back, relishing the way it burns.

I look back up at Hannah, now turned away from me, and inhale so sharply I choke on air. What the fuck? There, on the back of her jersey, is the number sixty-nine—not eighteen—andHarrisonis emblazoned across her shoulders in big white lettering.

Why the fuck is she wearing Noah’s jersey?

Also, I’m pretty sure Gavin gave Noah that number just to fuck with me. It’s not the number he wore for his previous team, and worse, it’s the number I specifically requested when I first signed with the team and was denied.

Fucker.

I slam the glass onto the bar, and before I can think better of it, I’m moving.

Jealous rage has me acting blindly.

Maybe this is good. This way, I won’t have the chance to bumble through an apology or act awkward.

Without pausing, I clutch her arm and pull her away from her friends.

“What the?—”

When I glare at her over my shoulder, she snaps her mouth shut, and rather than fight me, she allows me to drag her along.

Where the fuck do I go from here? Not the locker room. Not the arena, where the janitorial staff is surely all over the place.

I settle for a closet near the entrance to the bar.

It’s a small space, but there’s nothing actually in it. No coats, no cleaning supplies. Just an empty supply closet. Thank fuck.

When the door snicks shut behind us, we’re blanketed in darkness. “Daniel.” My name is a whisper on her lips, and fuck, do I like the way it sounds.

I grasp her hips, and when she doesn’t push back, my heart thumps. There’s no snarky comment. No feisty attitude. Hell, she doesn’t even seem pissed. If anything, she’s surprised. I know I sure as fuck am. “Dream girl, what are you doing to me?”

She tilts her head, her lips turning down a fraction. “What?”

“The jersey. I get that I screwed up that night, butfuck, seeing you in his number? Was it really that bad?”

Fingers tangled in the front of my shirt, she pulls me closer. As my eyes adjust to the dark, I can just make out her facial features. “You smell like tequila, Baby Hall.”

“Don’tBaby Hallme. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you. Tell me it’s not too late for us.”

She licks her bottom lip and loosens her hold on me. “There is no us.” The words are whispered. Like she doesn’t actually believe them.

That’s all the encouragement I need to grasp her upper arms and squeeze.

“There could be. Give me another shot. Let me make you feel good. And then promise me you’ll never wear his jersey again.”

She sighs. “This is a bad idea.”

It’s just enough of an opening for me to take a step closer. I run my nose against her neck and inhale her. “Nothing could be a bad idea when you’re this close.” I press a kiss to her collarbone, and her breath catches in her throat. Her pulse flutters at the base of her neck, calling to me, so I trace it with my tongue.

She hisses out a breath. “Daniel.”

“Every time you say my name in that raspy tone, I die a little from being unable to touch you,” I murmur in her ear. “Let me touch you.”

---