Page 7 of Make the Play

She looks at me for a beat, and then she’s moving, cutting across the dancefloor toward the bar.

I want to let her go. Ishouldlet her go.

But I fuckingcan’t.

Sighing loudly, I rake a hand through my hair, hoping the action will give me the solution I need to stop agonizing over this woman. To let her be. Before I can completely combust, I catch movement in my periphery.

Reid is watching me, smug as hell. His arms are crossed, expression unreadable, but his eyes say everything.

“You good there, Walton?”

“Great. Why?”

He shrugs a shoulder nonchalantly. “No reason. Just looked like you were ready to fall to your knees. Again.”

I roll my shoulders, jaw clenching. “Shut up, Hutchy.”

Reid doesn’t move, just keeps watching me, clearly waiting to see what I do next. Like he doesn’t already know.

I glare at him. Then at Zoe, who’s halfway to the bar, not looking back.

I plant my feet firmly just for a second to stay put. To besmart.

And for one long moment, I think I might.

Then she tucks her hair behind her ear. It’s nothing. A small flick of her slender fingers through chocolatey waves, dusting her pulse point. I’ve seen her do it a hundred times, but it still gets me every single time. It’s an inevitable hook through my ribs, yanking me forward before I can stop it.

I mutter a curse under my breath, annoyed at myself for how much she affects me.

And then I flip Reid off and follow her anyway, like I always do. Like I always fucking will.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I slide into a barstool beside her and signal for another beer. “One dance, no injuries, and you actually looked like you were having a good time.”

She huffs, turning her martini in her hand. “A good time? You mean enduring the longest three minutes of my life?”

I hum in response. “Sweetheart, you were eating it up.”

Zoe tilts her head, her eyes narrowed as she considers whether I deserve to live. Then she exhales, setting her glass down with more force than necessary.

“I just don’t see the appeal of all this.” She waves a hand around, gesturing toward the dance floor, where Eli is twirling Tamara in some romantic fanfare. The movement draws my attention to her nails, and I snort at what I see there.

A little pixelated bride and groom on each feature nail. And right beneath them, in neat block lettering:Game Over.

I reach for her hand, tipping it toward the light just to be sure.

She quirks a brow. “What?”

“Subtle,” I say, dragging my thumb over the design and down her knuckles before releasing her.

Her grin turns downright wicked. “Do you actually buy into that?”

I look over at Tamara and Eli, dancing like they’re the only two people in this room. It could be cringey, but it’s not. Not really.

Zoe looks at them as if she’s annoyed, but I know that look. The tightness in her jaw, the way she watches too long before turning away.

It’s not annoyance, it’s deflection.

I tip my beer back to cover my smirk. “You’re asking me if I buy into the marriage thing?”

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