Page 1 of Never Say Never

ONE

A SPECIAL KIND OF TORTURE

Daisy

“You really should have known better,” Briar calls to me from her position on the other side of the net.

I resist the urge to sigh and instead just nod my head. “Yup. Hard to argue that.”

She’s right. I should have known that going on a date with Scott Dickens was a bad idea. I mean, the date wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t all that… good. It was kind of like having a cocktail with the human equivalent of an anaesthetic. Not painful, but also not in any way memorable.

Briar strides toward the net that separates us in her lime green sports bra and white pleated athletic skirt. “So did he try to kiss you?” She pauses before her eyes widen in horror. “Oh god, please tell me he didn’t.”

I watch a shiver pass over her, like kissing Scott is the worst thing she could possibly imagine. Briar can be so dramatic, which is honestly one of the things I love about her. But she doesn’t need to worry this time.

Scott is nice.

He is stuffy and ridiculously boring and very, very nice.

We just have zero chemistry.

I want that spark. That sensation in your belly that flutters to life when your gaze catches theirs. That feeling that makes your pulse race, that leaves you breathless.

I’ve felt that euphoria once.

Stop it, Daisy.

I inhale a long, frustrated breath. Withhim, there was definitely chemistry, but there was also intense aggravation. He only got my pulse racing because he knew exactly how to get under my skin. He enjoyed it. He still does.

“Earth to Daisy!” I blink back to the present when Briar hollers at me from across the pickleball court. “Did he stick his tongue in your mouth or not?”

“God, no. He is way too much of a gentleman.”

“You mean he didn’t have the balls.”

She’s right about that too. Scott isn’t one of those douchebags who seem hellbent on sleeping with half of the women in Reed Point. Believe me when I tell you I run into my fair share of those guys. Scott is considerate and decent, which is why I agreed to go out with him. He’s a doctor at the clinic I work at, he comes from a good family—he’s the perfect guy to bring home to meet your mom and dad. So, when he asked if he could take me out to dinner, I decided to give him a chance. I had never really felt any attraction between us, but I thought maybe that part could develop if I got to know him outside of work. Halfway through dinner, I realized that Scott wasn’t the guy for me.

The last thing I wanted to do was lead him on, so when he dropped me off at my apartment, I didn’t give him the opportunity to try to kiss me. Instead, I politely thanked him for a nice evening and ducked inside, leaving him standing on my doorstep. I guess I am going to have to break it to him that there won’t be a second date.

“Scott will make someone very happy one day,” I tell Briar, tossing a pickleball in the air and catching it in my palm.

“It’s just not going to be you.” She shrugs one shoulder. “You tried. Got yourself out there.”

For all the good it did me. Sometimes I wonder if I’m ever going to find my person. I’ve dated a bunch of guys, but I’ve never experienced that fire-in-my-chest feeling with any of them. Maybe there’s something wrong with me.

“3-3-1.”

My attention returns to Briar, who announces the score then gets into position to serve the ball into play. We’ve been playing pickleball since college. Anyone who calls this a game for retirees clearly hasn’t played. It’s a serious workout and there’s a trickle of sweat running down my spine to prove it. We rally back and forth until Briar hits the yellow, plastic ball past the sideline. I jog over to grab it, laughing as she groans loudly in frustration, only to find someone else has already retrieved our ball. My gaze slices from black Nike runners up the very familiar lean, muscular body of the six-foot-two former football player who has snagged my pickleball from the asphalt.

Tucker Collins.

My stomach does a weird flip-flop before I will it to stop.

Steel-blue eyes lock on mine. His honey-brown hair is long and messy on top and trimmed short on the sides. I have felt how soft those thick strands are. I will cut my fingers off before I allow them to touch it again.

I hold out a hand for the ball, noticing for the first time that Tucker is not alone. Standing next to him is Holden Banks. Of course. Some things never change. The two of them have been best friends since childhood, and wherever Tucker goes, Holden is probably not too far behind.

Holden flashes an easy-breezy grin as he steals my gaze. “Daisy-Cakes! Perfect! We’re looking to play doubles. You in?” I’ve known Tucker and Holden since we were all kids, hence the silly nickname.

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