Page 18 of Hot Shot

“Hey,” he says, still smiling.

“Hey. Good game—proud of you for staying awake the whole time. Sorry I kept you up all night.”

That smile of his smolders, his big fist squeezing around his bag strap. “You can keep me up all night anytime, Cassidy Winfield.”

My ovaries explode into fireworks, the embers lighting my uterus on fire. A rush of blood to my cheeks has me laughing to cover.

“That an invitation?” I ask, feeling cheeky.

“Honey, that invitation has been open for a decade.”

I’m so hot, I nearly faint. I shake my head at him, smiling in an attempt to compose myself. “You’re playing with fire, Wilder.”

“Lucky for you, I’m a trained professional.”

He takes another step, and I’m pulled into his gravity like a rogue meteor.

“More like a hot shot,” I say, looking up at him. I can smell the sweat and fresh cut grass on him. He’s filthy. I want to lick his neck. “Heard you’ve banged half of Roseville since I’ve been gone.” The sting of jealousy is so sharp, it nauseates me, but I hold my ground, my smile a challenge I all but beg him to take.

He shrugs, still inching closer. “People like to talk, but I’ll tell you one thing.”

“Yeah?” My chin tilts up as I try to maintain eye contact.

“Not one of them was you, no matter how bad I wished they were.”

I swallow hard, my lips parting and pulse fluttering in my neck. I forgot how he could do this to me, strip me down to the studs with nothing more than a few words uttered so openly, so casually, like facts recited for my convenience. Just one dangerous little sentence that happens to be the hottest thing a man has said to me in, oh, I don’t know. Ten years?

My brain is empty of words, only dirty, deplorable thoughts. Distantly, I wonder if I’m about to kiss my high school boyfriend in front of half the town and subsequently wonder if I give a damn if they all see.

Remy slaps Wilder on the arm, breaking the hold he has on me. I stumble back a step and nearly crumple to the ground like an empty sack.

Oblivious, Remy says, “Hey, y’all coming to The Horseshoe for a drink?”

Wilder looks to me for an answer. As if his answer relies on my answer.

Do I want to make bad, bad decisions with Wilder? Absolutely, indubitably, to the fucking heavens,yes.

ShouldI? Probably not. I mean, maybe? But I probably shouldn’t. Right?

The ping pong game between my ears is my answer. My poor, broken gut is a wishy-washy mess. I can’t trust myself to make important decisions. Better to let fate decide until I figure out how I’m ever going to trust myself again.

“You know, I think I’m gonna head home.”

Jessa groans. “Oh, please come with me? Don’t leave me alone with all these brutes.”

“You’re on your own, kid.” I salute her with a wink and a smile. “Mom’s home, and I have a charred backyard to explain.”

She pouts but steps over to give me a hug and kiss each cheek. “Well, alright,” she says between kisses.

“You coming?” Remy slaps Wilder in the chest.

So much slapping. It’s like they’re always trying to hurt each other.

Wilder looks exhausted and maybe a little disappointed at the news that I’m heading home and not dive bombing his cock like I’m inclined. “Nah, I’d better get home and take a nap before my brain gives out or something.”

“Suit yourself,” Remy says, hanging his gorilla arm on Jessa’s pristine shoulders. “See y’all.”

“Have fun,” I call after them, putting some distance between me and Wilder. “And you go get some rest. Thanks for putting me in bed last night. Jessa might have broken her neck trying to get me up the stairs, and I never would have forgiven myself.”

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