Page 49 of Worlds Collide

“Awesome. Meet here at eight?” I nod in agreement. “Cool, and thanks again for telling Hawk it was okay to invite me over. I know it was weird... but it’s helped.”

I grunt in reply because that’s what everyone expects of me, but also because I know damn well my throat won’t work.

Not when CJ’s eyes are all soft and grateful.

Not when I want nothing else than to ask him if he wants to come over to my house to have some dinner.

Not when my hands twitch with the urge to pull him close to me.

Instead, I watch him smile happily then turn around to walk up the hill to the guest cottages.

FIFTEEN

CJ

I bite down hardon my lip to keep myself from laughing the second Wolf realizes I’m not your usual tennis player. I aced that ace but I’m going to keep that fun little pun to myself. Or at least until he can close his mouth.

“You said it yourself, Maxi boy, I’m a trust fund baby, and I was put into tennis and golf classes before I turned four.” I let myself smirk at him and he actually snarls—teeth and all and no less scary from thirty feet away—so maybe a bit of a chuckle does come out, sue me.

“What the fuck is Maxi boy?” he demands from across the net.

“You know how every dog in every movie is called Max? Well you’re Wolf, that’s a canine, and you have an awful nickname for me, so I thought I’d return the favor,Max,” I emphasize just to get a rise out of him.

The laugh finally wins out when he throws the ball over his head and hits it hard enough that it would’ve hit me right in my face if I hadn’t moved. He’s got good aim.

“Definitely going to keep that nickname if it makes you so mad, Max,” I shout at him and then I’m just running around trying to dodge balls for the next few minutes. He runs out of balls and I’m still laughing at him, but I spy a little tilt to his lips too. He definitely wants to laugh, I just know it.

“Pick them all up again and we can start this,” he shouts at me.

I take a few deep breaths as I pick up two balls and put one in my pocket.

“You ready to play fetch, Max?”

“Fuck you,” he shouts as my serve goes flying.

He wins that point.

Because I’m on the floor laughing.

I’ll never tell him mean nicknames are bad, because this is funny as fuck.

“How canthis place not be full of people?” I wonder, seriously perplexed, then go in for more pancakes.

“I don’t know,” Wolf tells me. “But you’ll never hear me complain about getting some damn peace.”

“Please, you live on a huge ranch and probably don’t have to see anyone around if you don’t want to.”

“You have met my brother, haven’t you?” he asks with a raised, judgy eyebrow.

“Point,” I concede.

“So, did you really start playing tennis at three years old?”

“Yup,” I answer with a nod and take a sip of the also amazing coffee. “Well, to be fair, I’m pretty sure my nanny helped me hold the racket and the golf club for the first few months.”

“Huh,” is all he says.

“What?”

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