Page 5 of Shootout Daddies
He looks at the guys, then back at me. “I’m beat. You wanna head out?”
Before I can answer, Hunter cuts in. “We might be hitting this salsa place downtown. You should come. We’ll get you home safe.”
I glance at Tanner. He shrugs. “Up to you.”
“You sure?”
“I’ve got to be up early tomorrow. I’m the one taking Buddy to the vet, but you…fun,remember?”
My gut twists, but I nod. “Okay. I’ll go.”
“Okay!” Then he turns to the guys. “She’d better be home safe or Brooke will kill all of us.”
Rhett laughs as he puts out his cigarette and then imitates my earlier salute. “You have my word, King.”
Tanner gives me a quick hug. “Thanks again for coming with me.”
And then he’s gone.
CHAPTER TWO
Ivy
Hunter waves downa passing server and flashes a boyish grin that probably gets him anything he wants in life. Three shots appear like magic.
No salt, no lime. Just clear silver in slim glasses lined up between us.
We clink. The sound is sharp and clean.
I tip mine back. The tequila scorches my throat on the way down, and I suck in a breath through my teeth, wincing.
Hunter laughs, low and wicked. “You good?”
“Peachy,” I rasp, blinking the burn out of my eyes. “Didn’t realize I signed up for gasoline.”
Rhett’s mouth curves into something crooked. “It gets better.”
Does it?I’m already buzzing. Not enough to forget where I am or who I’m with, but just enough that the edges of everything start to blur.
Music thumps through the walls behind us. Laughter spills from the bar. Inside, the team is still celebrating.
“We really cooked those bastards tonight,” Hunter says, stretching like a satisfied cat. “Poor guys. I almost felt bad.”
I grin. “You didn’t.”
“Not even a little.”
Rhett’s quiet, leaning back against the balcony railing with another lit cigarette in one hand and his gaze on me. That hazel-gold stare hasn’t drifted since we stepped out here. It should be unnerving. It isn’t.
I’m not sure what surprises me more—that I’m bantering with two professional athletes on a balcony in Miami, or that it feels easy. Familiar, almost. They don’t know me. I don’t know them. And yet…
They keep leaning closer. Not in an obvious way. It’s subtle. A brush of Rhett’s arm against mine. Hunter’s knee bumping mine and not moving away. The way both of them angle their bodies toward me like I’m already part of whatever this is.
I let my weight shift onto one hip, steadying myself. My legs are bare—thanks to Brooke and her summer manifesto—and the night air slides over my skin like silk.
“Is this normal?” I ask, turning toward them. “You guys flirt with strangers after every win?”
Hunter shrugs, all teeth and dimples. “Only the pretty ones.”
