Page 84 of Lucky Shot

But this time around, her question stumps me.

“Apparently, I’m the problem.” I chuckle and shake my head. While I told her I drove here on impulse—I told myself the same thing—neither of us are buying it. “It’s complicated.”

She barks out a laugh. “When have you not been complicated, Whit?”

“True.” I look around the empty parking lot. Light towers dot the massive space, casting a pattern over the parking spaces.

“How do you even know he’s there?”

Because I watched from afar as the team bus pulled into the lot, bringing them back from the airport and their flight home from Dallas. Then, one by one, the cars in the lot started and left until there was all but one—the one I’ve since parked beside—a sexy, red sports car.

I look up to the glow the stadium lights cast all around and smile.

“Hardy’s known for putting time in on the field after a game. The lights are on and his is the only car in the lot left.”

“Didn’t you say they won, though?”

I nod even though she can’t see it. “Yes.” And he played well from my vantage point on the couch watching the game. One goal and two assists on the day is incredible. A great game indeed, but not good enough for Alexander Hardy. “But apparently, that never stops him. It’s always talked about on every sports show.”

“Uh-huh,” she says and then pauses. “So you watched his game, then drove to the stadium knowing he was going to be there, but now you’re hesitating?”

“Pretty much.”

I can pretend that I don’t know why my hands kept steering here while my head kept saying I was crazy, but I do.

I want the man, and I’m sick of fighting it.

If you saw me on my own turf, you’d see that.

I want the man who says he wants me, who kisses me senseless but then says he’ll wait. The man who’s Alexander fucking Hardy and should be as off-limits as off-limits can be.

Him alone in a stadium should be the easiest reminder of that there is and yet . . . it makes me want him even more.

“But why?” she asks

“Because . . . the first was impulse. The second is insecure reasoning at best?” I chuckle, realizing how stupid this must sound. “I don’t know, Suri. It’s like everything with him and about him just adds confusion to the situation.”

“I can see why you think that, why you feel that—especially with what you’ve been through in your life—but it’s okay to like someone.”

“Obviously.” I try to play it off.

“No. I mean, it’s okay to like someone beyond the sex aspect.”

“Oh.” She means the flutter. “I know. I mean—”

“But do you really? In the past, you’ve gone out. You’ve had fun. But you never stick around long enough to let whoever it is in. Once that happens, you’re gone with a list of reasons why.”

“That’s not fair.”

“But it’s the truth, isn’t it?” I fall quiet and let her words settle. “Because of the circumstances—his presence at the academy, the media digging into your history, seeing him every day—Hardy probably knows more about you than you’ve ever divulged before. That has to be terrifying to you.”

And this is the detriment of having a friend who is as close and knows me as well as she does. You can’t hide from your own bullshit.

“It’s intimidating wanting him,” I whisper.

“Well, at least you don’t have to worry about him seeing you naked, right? You already got that part out of the way, and he seemed extremely happy with what he saw . . . so those nerves can be gone,” she teases. She knows I need that levity right now.

I run when shit gets too real. Ironic, considering that’s what I’m terrified of someone else doing to me.