Page 4 of Make the Play

Whatever this is, I don’t like it.

His jaw works, clearly wanting to say more, but he doesn’t. Instead, his lips curl with a smile, breaking the moment just enough to pull me back and give me respite.

“Know what else lasts a long time?”

I shoot him a warning look. “If you say something disgusting, I’m walking away.”

That cocky grin of his breaks free again, the same one he uses to get away with far too much.

“My desire to dance with you.”

I snort. “That was worse.”

“Oh, come on.” He leans in slightly, just close enough to make my pulse trip for half a second. “One song.”

I take a very long sip of my champagne. “No.”

“Why not? You allergic to fun?”

“I’m allergic toyou.”

He laughs, but his eyes do a slow, deliberate pass over me, cataloging every inch.

“Just one dance, Zo.” His voice is low, less playful now. “You look too good to be sitting on the sidelines.”

Something simmers beneath his words, something heavier than I can deal with, so I pretend not to hear it.

“I don’t dance.”

“Since when?”

“Since you started asking.”

Chuckling, his eyes roam freely over my face trying to find a crack in my resolve. “What’s the worst that could happen? You actually enjoy yourself?”

“Highly unlikely.”

“I dunno.” Chase shrugs a shoulder, taking another sip of his beer. “I heard dancing with me is a life-changing experience.”

“From who? Your last one-night stand?”

Something shifts in his expression. It’s quick, barely a flicker, but I catch it before it’s buried back beneath his easy, reckless smirk.

“I promise I’ll behave.”

My eyes narrow on him. “Walton, the last time you said thoseexact words, I got roped into an emergency press conference about your fight with… Who was it? That Boucher guy from the Milwaukee Steel Riders?”

“That was averydifferent situation.”

“Was it?”

“I’m just saying… the guy had it coming.”

I pretend to be unimpressed. I’m not. It was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen, but I’d rather die than ever admit it.

Chase exhales, tongue flicking against his bottom lip, watching me in a way that always feels a little too dangerous.

“Okay.” His voice dips lower. “What if I told you Dancing with the Stars reached out, and I need to practice?”

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