Page 27 of Dealing Dirty
I shrug an apology as Ethan flashes me his pearly whites. “Here. Give it another try.”
Tucking his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, he takes a step back and directs me from the side as I take a couple of shots. The first one, I totally whiff. But the ball bounces off the rim on the second shot.
His eyes light up when I turn to see if he saw the shot.
A familiar figure catches my attention. “Oh, I didn’t realize your friend was with you,” I say.
Ethan pops his knuckles, glancing toward the spot where his buddy shifts back and forth. He’s huddled to the side of an adjacent booth, talking quietly with an older man.
“Yeah, he’s kind of a pain in my ass.”
Ethan’s friend finishes the conversation with a hand shake and swerves his way in and out of people to get back to where we’re playing.
Maybe they’re more like brothers? That could explain Ethan’s annoyance.
I hold another ball between my palms and focus on the goal. My tongue snakes out as I distribute my body weight and take a deep breath. I put as much force as I can muster behind the shot, watching it sail through the air toward the target.
It smacks the wall with an echoingthudbefore rolling down the ramp toward the worker.
A low whistle sounds from beside me. “Should have stopped while you were ahead.”
I stumble before catching myself on the ledge of the booth. “Oh! You scared me.”
Derrick’s chest absorbs the stinging slap from my hand. He shadows me with his height, and the pitter-patter of my heart escalates when I find his eyes fixed on the men beside me. There’s a threat lurking in their depths, like an animal lying in wait.
“E—” I start to introduce them, but Ethan’s name dies on my lips. They’re caught in a stare down, and he’s glaring at Derrick with a wickedness that causes the hairs on my arms to prickle.
Glancing between the two of us curiously, Ethan raises a mocking two-finger salute. “You kids have fun.”
He doesn’t say goodbye or even acknowledge me again before stepping back with his shadow in toe and slipping into the crowd.
My head swivels back to Derrick. Placing one hand under the ball I’m holding in a death grip, he coaxes it away from me and tosses it behind his back to the man at the booth.
All too proud of his little show, he winks.
I blink, folding my arms across my chest. “What the hell was that?”
“What was what?” The rumble in his voice makes my insides warm.
“Don’t play dumb.” The game long forgotten, I step aside to let a family have a turn. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
He pauses to examine me. “I could ask you the same thing.”
Electricity pulses in my veins at the mere sight of him. His shaggy blond hair wisps playfully over his ears, and his brown-sugar eyes travel over my face. Strings of bright red tickets cascade out of my pockets, and when he takes note, his smooth lips twitch.
Like an unwelcome guest, our last conversation wedges its way between us.
I’m not sure which is worse, knowing we had drunk sex and not remembering it or knowing that wedidn’thave drunk sex at all. It was a lot easier to resist Derrick’s charm when I thought we had, because if I’d made a fool of myself, it was fine—at least he got off and our one-time deal was over.
Now, our one-time deal has yet to be fulfilled.
I grab my bag of popcorn from the ledge I’d left it on earlier, cram a handful into my mouth, and chew nervously. How am I just now realizing this?
He couldn’t possibly want another shot at sex, not after I’d told him it was a mistake. Then again, the filthy memories he’d dredged up that night in front of the precinct tell me otherwise.
Stretching up on my tippy-toes, I peer around him. “That guy I was talking to… do you know him?”
He scans the crowd of people milling about between the games. “He told us about the slashed tires at The Pound, but no, I don’t know him personally.”
