Page 92

Sidebar was packed with the usual post-game crowd. Fans who'd watched us win, media people looking for quotes, the general chaos of a playoff victory in a basketball-obsessed city. Our team had claimed the back section, and I could hear Destiny's laugh from across the bar before I even made it through the door.

I scanned the crowd, looking for wild curls and dark eyes and trouble wrapped in a body I wanted to unwrap with my teeth.

Then I found her.

Harper stood near the bar with Mia and Laine, still wearing that Fangs jersey with Trish's number, still making me irrationally jealous, over high-waisted black jeans. She was laughing at what Mia said, her head thrown back, that dimple in her left cheek visible even from across the room.

Our eyes met.

Everything else faded to background noise.

The bar was loud, music and conversation and the ambient chaos of too many people in too small a space, but I heard nothing except my own heartbeat thundering in my ears as I moved toward her like she was gravity and I was helpless against the pull.

My teammates noticed.

"Cap's got that look," Destiny called out, grinning.

"What look?" I asked without turning around.

"The one that says you're about to do what we've all been waiting for you to do."

"I'm just saying hello to a friend."

"Sure you are." Morgan whistled low. "That's why you've been staring at her for the last thirty seconds like she's the only person in this entire bar."

Trish appeared at my elbow, her expression warm and knowing. "Go talk to her, Cap. Life's too short."

I didn't respond, just kept walking.

Harper watched me approach with dark eyes that held hurt and wanting in equal measure. When I reached her, she tilted her chin up to meet my gaze, and I caught the scent of her perfume, citrus and warmth, the same scent that had clung to my clothes after that kitchen kiss.

"Let me get you a drink," I said. “Vodka soda?”

She nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

I signaled the bartender, ordered her drink and a water for myself, hyperaware of how close we were standing. When Harper's vodka soda arrived, I handed it to her, and our fingers brushed. The contact sent electricity racing up my arm.

"Congrats on the win," she said, taking a sip.

"Thanks. You stayed for the whole game."

"I'm learning to appreciate it." She took another sip.

"What changed?"

"Maybe I started paying attention to the right things." Her eyes were on mine, and there was heat there. The memories burned. "Like you making that impossible three-pointer in the fourth quarter while maintaining direct eye contact with someone in the stands."

My throat went dry. "You noticed that."

"Kind of hard to miss. Very bold. Very 'watch me do the impossible while thinking about you' energy."

The air between us felt charged. Electric. I stepped closer, close enough that anyone watching would know this wasn't casual. "What if I was thinking about you?"

"Then you're very good at multitasking." She took another sip, and I watched her throat work as she swallowed. "Making game-winning shots while being distracted by memories of—" She stopped herself.

"Memories of what?"

Her eyes met mine, and I saw the same hurt I'd been carrying for the last few days. "You know what."