Page 82 of His Last Shot
Arms snaking around my waist bring me back. My shoulders relax at the familiar contact. Her comforting scent, which is literally summertime, envelopes me.
Calming.
Soothing.
Loving.
Her.
The gentle weight of her fingers on my abdomen triggers a primal response; my hands shoot out, gripping her wrists as I whip around to face her.She. Is. Gorgeous.“Hey, handsome. Are you new here? I don’t think I have ever seen you before,” she says with a playful look in her eye. She’s being cheeky. More than likely trying to put me at ease.
It’s working.
How does she know exactly what I need when I need it?
And, my God, she’s a vision. Her long, silky chestnut hair is cascading over her shoulders, smooth and sleek. She’s wearing her usual work attire. Ripped jeans, a Dexter’s tank top; this one is green, my favorite color. Her long eyelashes flutter over her brown eyes, and the pink lip gloss on her lips is an invitation for a kiss.
So I oblige.
Softly, my mouth floats over hers, and she returns the affection, letting me know she is with me. Present. As she always is.
I pull back, a sticky, sweet smear of pink lip gloss now all over my mouth. “Is this the greeting you give all new customers because, if so, this is my new favorite bar?” She grinsat my teasing.
She runs her hand down the buttons of my maroon untucked shirt. Pressed to perfection, as always. “Are you here with anyone?” she purrs, still playing make-believe.
“I am now.” I flash my dimples as she wraps her hand around my neck and draws me in for another kiss. Any and all nerves I had are now gone. Swept away by Rachel and her presence.
We break apart. “How are you feeling today?” I ask, my concern for her health trumping anything else.
“The usual. Achy all over, my elbows are on fire, and my hips are locking up. But nothing four Tylenol can’t handle.”
I run my hand over the side of her neck, empathy and sadness filling my chest and squeezing. “I’m sorry, love.” If I could, I would take this burden from her and transfer it to me. In a second. No questions asked.
She shrugs as if her pain is no big deal. “It’s fine, and I’m used to it. Besides, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”
I pull her in for another kiss, the taste of her lipstick still lingering. A thank you for always being there for me, cheering me on. As our lips stay locked, a presence looms near us. Watching.
“Johnny,” the voice starts, “nice of you to show.”
With a jolt, Rachel and I separate, our gazes instantly drawn to the source of the interruption.
It’s Drew Who.
My opponent for this final match, my girlfriend’s ex and all-around nemesis.
I loathe the man.
His eyes narrow into slits, the muscles around them tightening with irritation. He’s more than likely drunk on jealousy; you can practically smell the fumes of resentment rolling off him. Good. I hope he vomits, passes out, and wakes up with a hangover.
He tries to continue the conversation I didn’t ask for. “Are you ready to—”
My finger shoots up, a quick, sharp motion, to cut him off. “One second.” Turning to Rachel, I run my thumb across her mouth, the slightly sticky, sweet residue of the gloss coming away. A wicked grin stretches across her lips.
“You have a little right here,” she says, her fingers brushing lightly against my lips, wiping away the glossy shine. “I’ll make sure to add more later,” she whispers with a knowing smirk.
Oh, she better.
We know what we are doing. And we don’t care.
