Page 13 of Make the Play

“Oh my god,” she laughs, yanking open the curtain. “I need vodka.”

I follow her out, unsteady and still not breathing right, still feeling the ghost of her lips against mine and her nails scraping my skin.

My hands flex at my sides, because they’re missing something.

Missingher.

I hate it because this was supposed to be a joke, but there’s no way in hell she didn’t feel what I felt. I know it, she knows it. But she won’t admit it because she never does.

I sigh, watching her hips sway as she moves with purpose across the dance floor and back to the bar, as if nothing happened behind that curtain.

And I follow her, because when it comes to Zoe Carlson, I don’t have a fucking choice.

Chapter four

I will ruin your entire existence

Zoe

Fuck.

I need vodka. Or tequila. Or a lobotomy.

Dodging through the throng of people on the dance floor, I head straight back to the bar and drop onto a barstool, waving at the bartender for emergency assistance. Because after what just happenedtwicein that photo booth, that’s exactly what this is.

A goddamn emergency.

Chase slides in beside me a moment later, too close and too smug for someone that just rearranged my entire nervous system with his mouth. His body heat presses against my side, and I swear to God, I can still feel his lips on mine.

He signals for a beer, then drums his fingers against the polished wood. “So...”

I level him with a look. “No.”

His mouth twitches. “Didn’t even say anything.”

“You were about to.”

He looks at me, letting his eyes dance over my face while he waits me out. And that’s one of the many problems with Chase fucking Walton. He knows how to stretch silence, how to settle into it and wait for me to crack. But I’m not going to crack. I don’t ever crack.

The bartender sets my drink down, and I snatch it up, staring straight ahead as I take a large, aggressive gulp. Maybe if I don’t acknowledge Chase and the way he’s just slipped his tux jacket onto the back of the barstool, steadily rolling up his shirt sleeves to expose his fucking forearms, he’ll simply cease to exist.

But instead he shifts closer, and I feel the tickle of his forearm hair, the heat of his skin brushing against mine, his voice low near my ear.

“What’s wrong, Zo? Regretting our little photo booth encounter? Didn’t enjoy it?”

I let out an exasperated laugh. “Oh my god. Please tell me you’re not fishing for compliments right now.”

“I’m just saying.” He lifts his beer to his lips, eyes coasting over my face. “Didn’t seem like you hated it.”

My fingers tighten around my glass, but I tilt my head, making a show of considering it. “Honestly? Top five worst kisses of my life.”

“Damn. What’d the other guys do?”

Before I can stop myself, the words slip out. “Used too much tongue. You used too little.”

The second it leaves my mouth, I realize my mistake.

Chase goes still and his eyes darken, his smirk fading into something feral.

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