Page 152 of Hard Pass

She points at me with a dramatic flair.

“Cole Valor,” she says, like she’s announcing it to the room, but then throws her head back and laughs.

I shake my head, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth before I can stop it. “You’re drunk.”

She shrugs unapologetically. “So? I walked through fire. That means I earned the right to be a little tipsy, right?”

I don’t even think about it. I step through my friends and reach for her hand, loving when her fingers slide into mine without hesitation.

She doesn’t pause or overthink like normal and that alone throws me more than anything. I tug her toward me, expecting her to hesitate or let that careful, controlled version of herself to step in.

But she doesn’t. She comes willingly, easily, and stumbles just the slightest into my chest before tilting her head up at me like this—us, her being here for me after a game—is the most natural thing in the world. Like there was never a question.

“Your hair’s kind of wet,” she says, studying me.

I huff out a quiet laugh, wishing desperately that it was just the two of us in here alone. “That’s what a shower does.”

Her lips twitch. “Is this the part where you kiss me?”

Jesus. Buzzed Dublin is adorable. And dangerous.

I lean down and brush my lips against hers. She melts into it for a split second, like she always does, but this time it feels so much more defining than any other.

Because it’s the first time we’ve kissed in public.

And when I pull back and glance up, the guys are all staring.

Malachi’s smirking. Jaxon’s grinning like he just won whatever these three assholes no doubt bet on regarding us. And Tristan’s observing.

“What?” I bark out through a grin.

“Barbecue?” Tristan asks, referring to our typical post-game hangout in my backyard.

But it’s not a real question. It’s more of a test.

“Not tonight, guys,” I say as I look down at her.

“Ooooh,” Jaxon draws out.

“While I’m selfishly bummed we don’t get to use your kick-ass grill, it’s about damn time you pick someone over us, Valor.”

“No shit,” Tristan says. “So that’s a no, then?”

I flip them all off with the hand not currently settled on Dublin’s ass.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Malachi says, already heading toward the door. “We’ll leave you to it.”

“Try not to get kicked out of your own suite,” Jaxon adds with a wink before following Tristan through and shutting the door behind them.

Silence settles as she looks up at me, eyes glassy. “Thank you for the jersey.” She steps back and does a fake model twirl in it wobbling at the end.

But when she stops and her eyes take in my grin and then meet my eyes, she says, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

I’m speechless. I’ve had girls I like wear my jersey before. Women I dated. Women who wanted more. Women who were fine with being exactly what I needed them to be, but never—never like this.

A woman with grit and determination and that hint of vulnerability that steals a piece of me every time I see it. Never a woman who I gave my own jersey to.

“That’s one of the jerseys from my first game. First one I have framed on the wall in my office at home. It got ripped halfway through the game so in the second half, I wore that one.”