Page 23 of The Pucking Date
I slowly chuckle. “There’s always talk. Offers come in. But nothing’s signed.” Pause. “Yet.”
Jessica doesn’t look back. But I can feel the heat rolling off her. The reporter, wisely, moves on. And I stay smiling. Because that? That was for her.
Two minutes later, just like I knew she would, Jessica’shand closes around my arm—cool fingers, firm grip, thinking she’s in control.
Let her think it a little longer.
Without saying a word, she grabs my arm and steers me down the hallway, heels slicing the tile. The hum of the lights fades. So does the media-day chaos.
All that’s left is her heat. And mine.
And the echo of every damn thing I shouldn’t have said.
“I swear to God, O’Reilly,” she hisses, low and sharp, “if you hijack one more interview with that smirk, I’m going to staple your media sheet to your forehead.”
“I thought I was charming.” I grin.
“Charming gets us canceled.”
“And yet...” I lean just a little. “You’re still watching me.”
She folds her arms. “Because it’s my job.”
“Right.” I take a slow step forward. “Sure it’s not jealousy?”
She blinks—only once.
Bullseye.
But she masks it with a sharp glare. My mind drifts anyway.
I could’ve been gone by now. Two Southern teams are circling with contracts that would set me up for life. But Raleigh’s too close to the ghost of my father’s legacy, and I’ve spent too many years outrunning that shadow to skate back into it now.
And after visiting him this summer, seeing what’s left of the man who once broke everything in me, I know I’m not skating backward into that shadow.
And then there’sher. The way she looks at me, like I’m her last nerve and the one man she keeps circling back to, even when it infuriates her.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she snaps, brushing past. I pivotwith her. We stop, toe to toe in the narrow hallway. She hesitates for a beat. Her eyes flick to my mouth before she lifts her chin.
Yeah, darlin’. I’ve been thinking about tasting you too.
She tries to slide past me. I shift, blocking her. Just enough.
“Problem?” she asks, voice tight.
Instead of responding, I reach out, fingers lightly brushing the bare skin of her arm. And when I trail my hand down to her elbow, her entire body stills. She doesn’t pull back or protest, my touch leaving goosebumps in its wake.
Jesus.
It undoes me.
“You sure you’re not jealous, Red?” I murmur, voice dropping, rough and intimate.
Her gaze snaps to mine, sharp and defiant. “You’d know if I was.” She steps back. But it’s not escape. It’s retreat with teeth.
And just when I think she’s done, she flicks me a look over her shoulder. There’s a crack in her mask.
“And for the record,” she says, “I heard about the offers.” I smile. Of course she did. “You planning to run off to Raleigh or Dallas without telling anyone, O’Reilly?” she adds. “Or are you just holding out for the drama?”
