Page 88 of Lucky Shot

“To see you on your turf? I was out for a drive and . . .”

“And now, you’re here,” he says softly.

“Right. And now I’m here.” And suddenly very nervous.

“Kind of like how I went out for a jog and just ended up on your couch.”

I didn’t think of it that way but the comparison eases my nerves slightly. “Kind of.”

“It seems we keep drifting toward each other. At some point, something has to give here.”

“Depends on what the give is,” I murmur.

We continue staring at each other, the tension snapping between us, his smile pulling up one side of his mouth more than the other.

“If I had known you were coming, I would’ve planned something.” He holds his hands out. “Instead, you get this.”

“I’m okay with this.” I want this. Especially when he looks like this—hair mussed, shirtless, mouthwateringly attractive, and with a deeper tenor to his voice than normal—and the taste of his kiss and the groan of his climax burned into my mind.

He quirks his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

My eyes scrape over him before landing back to his. “It was unplanned, me coming here.”

“No, it wasn’t. You knew where you were headed all along.”

I laugh. “You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

“I am.”

“Maybe I wanted to come here to see you practice,” I lie and then smile to sell it.

“Practice is foreplay for you?”

I bark out a nervous laugh. Am I that transparent? “No. Of course not. I mean—”

“I’m just teasing you.” His stoic expression breaks, and he chuckles.

You had the brilliant idea to come here, Whit, but didn’t think much past that, did you? Not the how this might happen. The where it might happen. The forwardness of it all.

“Why does this seem so awkward?” I ask.

He gives a soft chuckle that feels like a whisper over my skin. “Sometimes taking what you want is,” he says and glances at his watch.

“And what is it that I want?” I ask coyly, teeth biting my bottom lip.

As if by some stroke of perfect timing, Hardy tugs on my hand so that I land firmly against his chest at the exact same time the lights of the entire stadium fall dark.

“Me,” he says a beat before his lips find mine, swallowing my chuckle with his kiss.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Whitney

The kiss is like fire.

It heats every part of my body that his hands don’t touch. It’s like I can’t get enough and I’m getting too much all at once. The need to savor him is overrun by the urge to have. To taste. To finally know what Hardy feels like.

He’s desire in a way I’ve never experienced. He’s inhibition in a way that I want to.