Page 14 of Shot Taker

Nova shoves my hand away and takes off toward the back of the bar, leaving us staring after her.

“She had three cappuccinos today,” Brooke supplies, and the others shrug it off.

I wait two minutes before I go after her, pacing the hallway between the bathrooms.

Feeling her up in a moment of insanity at a public bar? Not my finest move.

But I was coming out of my skin. I could never keep my head on straight around her, and I guess some things haven’t changed.

I’m planning to apologize, but when Nova comes out of the bathroom, she grabs my wrist and drags me into a pitch-black storage room.

“What the hell was that?” she demands in the dark.

“Dropped a knife.”

“It didn’t fall into my underwear.”

My chest heaves. “You and Miles were one mixed drink away from getting a room.”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

“It is when you’re wet for me.” I reach for the light switch and slam it on. “You once told me how much these fingers turned you on,” I continue, lifting my hand. “You can taste them again if you doubt your memory.”

Her eyes widen with blue fire, her pink hair swinging around her shoulders. “My body doesn’t call the shots anymore, and I don’t owe anything to a man who ended things in a letter the same way my ex did.”

She hurls the words at me like attack, but she’s the one who looks wounded. It’s not the accusation on her face but the hurt beneath that guts me.

I wanted to make room for her to choose for herself, to know she was enough. Instead, I gave her another reason to believe she wasn’t.

How fucking callous I must have seemed.

“You didn’t want me then. I’m not yours now,” she goes on, her voice wavering at the edges. “If you need that hand to play basketball, you’ll think twice before touching me with it again.”

She spins and heads back out, letting the door slam behind her.

5

CLAY

“Utah are grinders on defense.” Coach points at the screen in the dark theater room. “Watch these rotations.”

We’re reviewing game tape in our team meeting, and I shift back, extending my legs over the seat in front of me. Utah is technically sound but not as physical as LA.

Which is why instead of going over matchups, my mind cuts to wondering if a certain pink-haired princess is occupying a hallway a few hundred feet from here.

Now that I know how bad I hurt her, I can’t think of anything else.

She’s under my skin, in my blood, on my brain.

I’ve built an exceptional career being a selfish prick, but where she’s concerned…

I hate living in a world where she thinks I’m an asshole.

I don’t live my life regretting where I’ve been, but I can’t help wondering if I made the wrong call with her.

With us.

“… we’re going to make the playoffs, we gotta take Utah for three of four.”

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