I love him, but I don’t really like him.
I miss being the kid who didn’t know better, who could just love him in blissful ignorance. Way back when loving him didn’t hurt.
"Join Blake and me in the library soon, would you? We'd love your input on some projections."
Because apparently, I'm good enough to play the role of the pretty little think tank—here to make their proposals shine before being shuffled off to the sidelines.
Fiery irritation burns under my skin. Let them underestimate me. It’s almost adorable how little they know about what I’ve got in my arsenal—a pitch sharp enough to draw blood and the guts to use it.
I risk one last glance at Chance, and I hear his quiet words once again.
I see you too.
Under the intensity of his stare, my frustration morphs into determination.
Suddenly, I can't wait to show them all exactly how big I can dream.
Chapter Nine
Chance
Her taste lingerson my lips like an unauthorized security breach.
Sweet.
Dangerous.
The kind of chaos that turns the strongest of men into fools.
And let’s be honest—I deserve it. I’ve spent the past year giving Nick endless grief about Charlie. Now, here I am, a walking cliché, fighting my dozenth hard-on just being in close proximity.
You know, like the same zip code.
I watch her walk away, trying like hell not to notice how that skirt hugs every curve.
Or how she still has that little swing in her step—the one that used to drive us nuts when we were kids because it meant she was up to something.
Only now it's driving me nuts for entirely different reasons.
I suck in a breath, only to have the familiar scent of pine and cinnamon fill my lungs dragging me back to a childhood that refuses to let go.
Same massive stone fireplace where Holly set the stockings on fire trying to roast marshmallows when she was eight—still scarred from her attempt at "campfire chic."
Same worn leather armchairs where Nick and I plotted every harebrained scheme while she sat behind a book, pretending not to eavesdrop.
Same Holly who tagged along after us, all scraped knees and pure, unrelenting determination.
A different Holly, one who kisses like she's declaring war and laughs like she's already won it.
"You coming?" Nick's voice cuts through my definitely-not-appropriate thoughts about his sister.
"Yeah." I scrub a hand over my face. Between the drive to Portland, the night at the hotel with Holly, and that kiss—I'm running on fumes.
Horny, lust-filled fumes. “You owe me a drink."
Between her early morning exploration of my face and the way she trusted me with her fears, sleep feels impossible. Every time I close my eyes, I feel her fingertips ghosting over my skin.
And if I don’t lock it up, my best friend is going to see it written all over my face.
