Page 95 of Lucky Shot

She let her guard slip and let me see more than she’d intended. Lust. Fear. Longing. Confusion. A mixture of baggage that has me wanting to unpack it rather than ship it off unopened.

And talk about letting guards slip. Isn’t that what I just did? I had sex in the fucking stadium. On the bloody pitch.

I mean, I’ve fucked in some random places but never where I work. What’s the saying? Don’t shit where you eat? Yeah, I never have before.

Until now.

Until her.

I scrub a hand over my jaw, throw my head back, and laugh into the empty night.

How do I already want her again?

How fucked is it that I truly do when I just fucking had her? Wanting too much can cause the crazies to be crazier. And yet, here I am, staring after her car and already wanting her again.

Better or easier?

It’s my question. Is it better to be uncomplicated or easier?

I asked it.

And I fucking hated her answer when normally I’d be the first one to fist bump over it.

Most women I can’t shake even if they know going into the night that it’s a one-and-done type thing.

Then there’s Whitney Barnes. The woman I can still taste, still feel wrapped around my cock, and she doesn’t give a shit about who I am or the life I live.

It’s the weirdest fucking feeling. Liberating in one sense. Obsessive to figure out why not in another.

Both.

That was her answer without hesitation.

Well maybe I don’t like the answer.

Or maybe I need to reword the question until I get the answer I want.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Whitney

Irritation.

It’s what I expected to feel the next morning when I saw him.

I’d had enough time to process the fact that we’d slept together. That I really, really like him when I don’t want to. And yet, he’d invited me up to his place but when I’d said no, he went out to find another woman for the remainder of the night.

Cheap. Used. Duped.

Again.

Those were the three words that came to mind—well, maybe those and motherfucker—when I got the text from Suri that said, “Well, I guess you lost your courage then.” Followed by a link to a social media page. I clicked the link to be greeted with a picture of Hardy with his arm around a gorgeous woman and her mouth nuzzled up against his neck at a club.

The high of being with him that I’d woken up with? Yeah. That vanished in an instant, deflating me like a helium balloon.

What did I expect though? Didn’t I already know it when I answered his question?

Better or easier?