Page 44 of Sweet Redemption

“I’m not running anywhere,” I finally manage.

“No?” His brow lifts as he looks around me. “Langley with you tonight?”

“Rafe?” I ask, confused. “No.”

“Good.” One word. That’s it. That’s all it takes, and my pulse immediately betrays me.

Gigantic. Asshole.

He takes a step closer. Just one. Just close enough to still be appropriate. Close enough to smell the ocean waves. Damn, he still smells good.

Nope. Not going there.

Hendrix drops his eyes, but this time it’s to the floor, not to me, and my heart sinks again. I hate this. Hate that this is us. That this is what we’ve done to each other. “Did you enjoy the game?”

“It was okay.”

He laughs softly, and my throat clogs. “Just okay?”

“It’s preseason, Sinclair. Don’t get cocky.” I smile, and it’s almost genuine. Almost. But hey, I’m not mid-panic-attack, so I’ll take that as a win.

“I scored twice.” He smirks.

I lift a shoulder, forcing indifference. “Did you?”

That beautiful grin widens, and so does the crack in my heart.

“You know I did.” His voice is deep and warm and so fucking gravelly I could cry.

“I might have noticed something like that,” I tease and wonder who I am and how I got here. On the verge of tears but somehow teasing the one man who threw my heart into a blender and pressed grind. “There were a lot of players out there.”

“Yeah.” He smiles, really smiles. And it’s everything I remember. “There were.”

And suddenly, it’s hard to breathe.

“What are you thinking, princess?”

My eyes fly to his, and I suck in a breath, steadying my heart.

I can do this. Right?

“I’m trying to figure out what all the fuss is about.” The words are meant to be teasing. Easy. They’re anything but, even if he doesn’t know it.

“And?” He moves out of someone’s way as they round the corner. Hendrix’s hand brushes my waist, steadying me as they walk by, and a million memories flash in an instant. His hands on my face. My hips. My— “Did you figure it out?”

“What?” I ask, barely breathing.

“What the fuss is about . . . Did you figure it out?” His grip tightens, and my heart betrays my brain.

“No,” I whisper, needing to move. To leave. To break his hold. But I can’t. I’m frozen.

My body and my brain.

“Guess I’ll have to give you something worth watching next time.”

Next time . . . We won’t have a next time.

“I better . . .” I point toward the end of the hall and step out of his hold, my mask on the verge of shattering. “I have to go.”