Page 98 of Lucky Shot

She starts to walk again, and I jog to catch up. I step in front of her again to force her to stop. “Why was it a mistake though?” I glance around to make sure we’re out of earshot of everyone. Almost everyone is gone and the few who are left are on the other side of the field hanging out. “Because you orgasmed or because you want me to make you feel that way again and you’re not sure how to ask for it?”

There’s a stutter in her movement, an opening and closing of her mouth, and a forced swallow. But the minute the shock from my words gives way to anger, I can sense it in every cell of her body. “How about because we had sex and then when I didn’t go to your place, when I explained why and you so casually played it off, you went out with someone else instead?”

She could have swung her fist and cold-cocked me, and I would’ve been more surprised.

“What?” I laugh the word out. “I have no bloody clue what you’re talking about.”

“Convenient.”

“Or the truth.” I shrug. “If I’m going to be accused of something, you can at least let me know what I did.”

“The picture is plastered on social media. It’s not like you even tried to hide it.”

“Picture?” I bark out a laugh. “What are you—”

“You know what? Forget I said anything.” She snorts, her eyes wild and cheeks flushed, before throwing her hands up. “I’m the one who said no complications, and I meant it.”

“Meant it or mean it?” I say, catching the nuance.

But it’s the hurt that flashes through her eyes that gives me the answer, but I don’t know how to fix something I don’t understand.

I don’t know if I want to fix it at all.

“Should have stuck to my guns before you sweet-talked me into thinking differently. Is that what you do to every woman who says no? Is that—”

“Whitney. What in the hell are you talking about?” Picture? Another woman? My head spins. My arse went home and sat on the couch after she left. A grueling game, two hours of practice, and some incredible sex afterward would put any man at his house with a beer in his hand. “I assure you—”

“Save it, Hardy. Like I said. I don’t care. Not one bit. But—”

“Coach?” a voice calls from our right. Relief, being saved from this conversation, is a visual transformation on her face. It’s also a major frustration on mine.

Go away, Joey. We have some business to take care of.

I’m a prick for thinking it, but I still think it.

“Joey? Hi, bud.” Her smile is genuine and her voice softer as she moves toward him and squats down. “What can I do for you?”

His big brown eyes shift from her to me and then back again. “My parents haven’t come to get me. I’m not supposed to walk home unless I tell someone. So . . . I’m telling you.”

“No bike today?” she asks.

He shakes his head and bites his bottom lip. “No. The tire . . . it’s flat.”

“That stinks, but that’s very responsible of you to tell me. The good news is that I’m heading by your house. Why don’t I take you so you don’t have to walk?”

“You know where I live?” His eyes widen.

“Not exactly, but you can show me.”

“I’ll take you guys,” I say without thinking. The last thing she needs is to be driving around this shady-as-shit neighborhood. And the last thing Joey needs to be doing is walking it.

She does it every day, Hardy. Check that savior complex of yours at the door. She sure as shit doesn’t need or want it.

“No. Really.” Her head shakes as quickly as her words tumble out. “I can take him—”

“You want to take me home?” Joey looks at me with eyes the size of saucers.

“No need,” Whitney says, clearly wanting an out from our conversation.