Page 116 of False Start

“Ladies, meet Remy, Linc, and Dom. They’re experienced, so don’t think they’re just going to roll over and take it today. They’re going to give you a fight. I expect you to give it right back.”

Zach carried Lana across the track and set her up in a manual wheelchair in the infield. The look on her face, the way her eyes lit up with passion for the sport and a longing, made me wish I’d had a chance to see her in action before the accident.

Her mischievousness and determination would have been a potent combo.

No wonder Priest was drawn to her.

I would have loved to play with her.

A shrill whistle sliced through the air and we all snapped around to where she sat.

“Sorry, just making sure it works.” She shrugged, but grinned with that sly smile of hers, the same one she got when she was in the ER and thought she’d managed to sneak away from her mother.

Older than me, but in a lot of ways so much younger and a prankster at heart, she and Priest were so different yet so much alike—both hesitating to break free.

She from her mother, him from the past.

I wonder if he realized it.

But her time was coming. More precocious, and in love, she’d have to break free soon.

And who knows, maybe a taste of the bank would give her the final push.

“Hustle up and pick your first five. Best out of ten jams. And don’t be afraid of Dom. He may be big, but just the mere mention of flip-flops turns him into a total pussy cat.”

“You’re a real asshole, Priest,” Dom said, shooting him a dark look.

“Never tried to sell myself as anything else. Now get your helmet on or I’m going to have my girlfriend kick your ass.”

“Not man enough to do it yourself,” Dom tossed back.

“Sure, but why when she’s so much sexier doing it?”

His girlfriend, huh. Maybe all he needed was a few rules. Like about wandering off and shit.

If only it were that easy to keep him.

We skated off the track, each team heading for their benches, until Priest reached out and took my elbow, spinning me around to face him. “Hey, you better kick our asses out there today.”

“Count on it,” I said, smiling up at him.

He traced his fingertips along my eyebrow, over my temple, and down my cheek before sliding those long fingers around the back of my neck.

I swayed on my skates, blood rushing straight to my head. Seeing the wristguards on him as he did it, knowing we’d go head-to-head on the track—yes, fucking please.

He gave me all sorts of lusty thoughts like this.

Like laying him out like a damn buffet and biting into him.

Thanks, Rory, for the total food horn dog influence.

“Watch out for the hand,” he murmured as he hovered over my lips.

“Yes, Coach,” I said on a rush of breath.

“Hey! Stop trying to sex up our best jammer,” Rory said with a snap of her fingers and a slap of her thigh. “Mayhem. Come.”

Marty threw her head back and laughed. “I think she just did.”

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