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“I can’t show you all my cards, Moore. I have to test ya out.”
“No reason. We’ll never see each other again, and nothing will ever happen between us.”
“Maybe,” he says with a nod. “But we’re making memories.”
“That’s a really girlie thing to say.”
“Yeah? My mom says I am kinda sensitive.”
I smile. “So in all reality, you’ll be the one crying when I score?”
He grins back. “Will you comfort me?”
“With a beer. That’s all.”
“So, no sex?” he says, and I’m not sure if he is joking or not.
I nod. “No chance.”
“Hmm, so I guess the only way of scoring is by winning this, huh?”
“You can try,” I suggest, and his grin gets bigger.
“Sounds like a plan,” he says, but he doesn’t realize I am distracting him. And because I’ve cut left every time, I go right. It’s like he is in my brain, though, because he takes the puck from me with ease and rushes the goal. Before he can shoot though, I poke check it out to the right and rush it. I hear him behind me, ready to steal it, so I shoot from my backhand, and to my complete and utter surprise, it hits the side of the fucking pipe.
Oh my God, my dad would flip his shit if he saw that!
Our little audience screams out, some in victory—the girls—and the others in distress—the boys—as I throw my arms up. Turning, complete surprise on my face, I say, “Holy shit.”
“That was a lucky shot,” he says with a grin, his eyes boring into mine.
I nod and then I point at him. “Maybe,” I say in a teasing way. “But luck or not, I won.”
“Today, Moore,” he says, holding out his hand. I take it, his large, warm hand wrapping around mine. For some reason, it feels erotic, almost dirty, and I like it. Coming closer, he squeezes my hand as he says roughly, “But we’ll see who really scores later.”
Pulling back, I grin at him and shake my head. “Well, I guess that means you’ll be zero for two if you think you’re scoring with me.”
“Maybe,” he says with a wink. “Or maybe not.”
Heat washes over me as my stomach clenches while his eyes hold mine. As I watch his retreating back while his brothers give him shit, I decide that he could be my Achilles’ heel.
And I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“Ha, you got beat by a girl.”
I roll my eyes, pushing Jace away from me. “She isn’t even a girl. She’s a hybrid.”
That has him laughing as Jude says, “And you got shot down. She’s beating you in every possible way.”
“For now,” I say confidently.
“Whatever, you won’t get any,” Jude laughs, rolling his eyes. “She’s probably a lesbian.”
“For sure. I’m kinda scared of her,” Jace adds.
“Why, ’cause she might eat pussy?” Jude asks, confused.
“No, because she’s too good. Like he said, hybrid good. She’s hot and can beat your ass in the sport we are supposed to be the best at.”
