Page 9 of Make the Play

She shrugs a shoulder. “Not everything’s that deep.”

“Maybe.” I let my gaze drag over her to soak her in, because God help me, I can’t stop looking at her tonight. “Or maybe you’re just really good at pretending it’s not.”

Zoe’s lips part to respond—probably with something sharp and devastating, maybe with something real.

“Zo! Chase! Your turn in the photo booth, let’s go!”

Charlie waves from across the room, standing next to the tiny, enclosed booth in the corner. Brooks is next to her, awaiting our response like he’s daring us to deny his pregnant wife-to-be anything she desires.

Zoe takes the out immediately, setting her drink down and clapping her hands together. “Yes, excellent! Time for chaos.”

She brushes past me, a little unsteady, but I don’t move right away. I just let my eyes trail after her. Because I was right. For a second, she let her mask slip.

Her hair swishes as she turns back over her shoulder, her smile pure mischief now. “You comin’, Walton?”

And God fucking help me, just like that, I’m hooked deep, sliding off my stool and yanked forward again.

Chapter three

Zoe Carlson is staring at my mouth

Chase

Zoe stumbles into the photo booth first, giggling as she nearly topples onto the tiny bench, the several martinis in her system clearly doing their job. “This is already the worst idea of the night.”

I duck in after her, yanking the heavy curtain shut behind me. “Correction:bestidea of the night.”

She hums. “Debatable.”

The booth is too small, which is a problem when Zoe talks with her hands, and I take up more space than necessary just to annoy her. Our knees bump, and her perfume clings to the air, so warm and sweet and dangerously familiar.

She’s still grinning, flushed from the gin in her martinis and the tension that’s been fueling her all night, and fuck it, I can’t stop looking at her.

The screen in front of us blinks: Ready? First photo in 3… 2… 1…

Zoe gasps. “Shit—”

Flash.

She looks unhinged. I look like a gaping idiot. Perfect.

The next countdown starts, and she recovers fast, throwing up peace signs while I point dramatically at her like she’s the star of the show.

Flash.

“We should do something chaotic,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows.

“I thought that was your default setting.”

Zoe smacks my arm. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” I chuckle.

The next countdown starts.

I don’t think, I just grab her, hoisting her by the hips up onto my lap. Her arms flail wide and eyes grow wide.

“What—”

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