Page 135 of Lucky Shot

My sigh is deep. “I think we need to make a new rule.”

“You can’t change the rules once you start.”

“Yes, I can because if I’m about to have my arse handed to me in a game of foosball, I better get something out of it.”

“And what do you want out of it?”

My gaze is slow and deliberate as I run it up her body. By the way she squirms, my point is made. “Winner has to answer the same question or lose a piece of clothing.”

“Ha.” She grins. This playful side is new and sexy as all fucking hell. “Answer my question, Hardy.”

“Biggest failure? Taking the contract that brought me here. Financially it was smart, but I’m letting my team down.” I shrug and spin the rod. “How was I to know after signing the contract that my team was going to gel so well? Not being there this year is a rough one. For me. For them.”

“Simply bad timing.”

“I know, but I’m letting them down and that’s brutal on all fronts.” I shrug. “Your turn, Lucky Shot.”

“I’ve failed at a lot of things. Overcoming my ACL tear. The inability to bring the academy to its full potential. Failing at making my mom love me more than the drugs.”

“Whitney.” Jesus. That last one is like a knife to my chest.

“Nope.” She holds a hand up and smiles through the tears welling in her eyes. “I’ve been drinking. Enjoy the candid side of me because you won’t get it often.” She chuckles, but I wish I could erase the sadness in her eyes.

“For the record,” I say quietly, “I couldn’t make my mum love me more than money and prestige. So, I know.”

“See? That’s why we’re the perfect pair.” She holds the ball up. “Moving on. Let’s play.”

I lose. Again. And I think maybe it’s on purpose to see her smile chase away the touch of sadness that still lingers.

“Question time. Biggest fear.”

“Christ. Are you trying to make this a therapy session or foreplay?” I cough the words out and then hold up my hands in surrender. “Fine. Okay. Um . . . let’s take our parents off the table here, or else every question is going to revolve around them.”

She high-fives me and then leans in to brush her lips over mine. She tastes like gin and Whitney, and I’m not going to complain. “Deal,” she says with a definitive nod. “Now answer up.”

I grin at her playfulness while trying to think of a response that doesn’t involve either of my parents. I don’t want to die young like my dad. I don’t want to value the wrong things like my mum, which is already fucked up, considering I took this contract because it was so garishly large. “Okay. Hmm. My biggest fear is that I’ll miss out on the most important things in life because I’m so busy trying not to be my parents.”

“What are you afraid of missing out on?” she asks.

“That’s two questions.”

“You’re right. That is.” And without batting a lash, she pulls her shirt over her head to reveal a pink, lacy push-up bra that gives me the slightest hint of her nipples beneath. “Better?”

My mouth goes dry, and my dick goes hard. That didn’t take long. It never does when it comes to her. “Yes. Much better. Please, ask me more questions.”

Her throaty laugh fills my ears. “I’m waiting.”

“Jerseys.”

“What?” She laughs the question out.

“Never mind. It’s stupid.” I play with the handle of the game, hating this question and my answer.

“No. Explain.”

“The one thing I remember most about my dad was how, when he was on the pitch, the pride that owned him when he’d look in the stands and see my mum and me in our Hardy jerseys. It sounds stupid, but he’s out there living his dream, and he’d look over at us like we were the best things that ever happened to him.” I can still see his face clear as day. Can still feel that bursting sensation in my chest when he’d look at me that way.

“I’m not following you.” She gazes at me with a puzzled expression. “How is that your biggest fear?”