Page 82 of Lucky Shot

I take a step toward him, fingers twisting together, and teeth dug into my bottom lip. “Well, I mean, it was a good kiss.”

“It was. I drank enough alcohol last night to prove it.”

“Apology for this kiss not accepted. For the moment, the situation in which you chose for us to have our first kiss though? Sure, I’ll accept.”

A ghost of a smile plays on his lips. “Interesting,” he says softly as mischief lights up his eyes.

“I may be a hard-ass, Hardy, but there are some things that soften me.”

“Like good-looking football stars?”

Definitely, but I’m not telling him that. “Like honesty. Sincerity. Apologizing when you’re wrong.”

He meets my eyes. “I let you down today. I apologize.”

I chuckle. “He learns fast.”

“He’s hoping for another kiss.”

I smile. “Funny.”

“You opened the door.”

“I did.”

“But the apology stands. I should have been here.”

“I got it covered. Besides, it was probably for the best.”

“Why’s that?” he asks and takes another step closer.

This feels weirdly intimate. It’s a strange thought, but it’s true. The dim light. The room I’ve been in during many stages of my life. The man and his hushed voice before me.

“Because maybe I was starting to like you a little too much and needed the reminder that this is all just temporary. That you’re unpredictable. That you’re someone I should steer clear from.”

“Right back to the pushing me away, huh?” He smiles. “But you’re right. You should steer clear of me. But fuck if I’m going to tell you that.”

“You just did.”

He tilts his head and studies me. “Did I warn you already that I have this habit of . . . acting out when I don’t get what I want?”

“Yes. Minutes ago.”

“And what exactly is it you want Alexander Hardy?”

Something flickers in his eyes, but the minute it’s there, it’s gone. “Please. Just Hardy.”

“Noted,” I say but want to know so much more. “Question still stands. What have you not gotten that you want, because I suspect it’s not much?”

“You,” he says evenly.

“I see.” I swallow harshly and feel completely out of place. And yet, this is where I’ve always felt at home. The intimacy is still there, but it’s charged now. Electric. A livewire snapping against water, daring me to step into its current.

Especially now that I’ve seen his naked body and that his fingers have been inside me. It’s worse knowing what he feels like. How he kisses. What he sounds like when he comes.

I shuffle my feet, break the hold he has on me despite desperately wanting to kiss him and begin to tidy up things that don’t need to be tidied up.

“Why do I make you nervous?” he asks, closer to me than expected.