Page 84 of Slap Shot Scandal
“What? You did?” Shock rolls through me, my stomach doing a slow barrel roll. “Why?”
“Privacy, Harbor.” He levels his gaze on me and suddenly I can’t breathe, my pulse fluttering in my neck. “We need to talk.”
I twirl the gold bangles on my wrist. “About the charity rollout? It’s kind of hush-hush, but not a huge secret, Weston.”
“That’s not what we need to talk about.”
“Yes, it is.” I drop my voice to a whisper, leaning in closer to him. “What happened before, it can’t happen again.”
Even if you want it to.
I silence that voice and forge ahead. “We have too much to lose, Weston.”
“You know how I got here, Harbor?”
I shake my head, blood whooshing loudly in my ears. “I mean, yeah. Hard work, dedication, sacrifice.”
“All of that, sure. But also by taking risks.” His hand inches across the table toward mine, our fingertips almost touching. “I want to take a risk with you, Harbor.”
My pulse goes into overdrive, a hot flush creeping up my neck. “Weston…”
“I get that you’re out here trying to prove something. To management, the team. Your father. Hell, maybe yourself. And I get it, believe me, I do. But I haven’t clicked with anyone like this before. Ever.” He licks his lips, and I try very hard not to stare at his mouth. “What happened the other day—I can’t stop thinking about you.” His fingertips brush mine and a heat blooms low in my belly.
I take a shaky breath.
“Me neither.” I whisper the admission, face flaming. “But I don’t want to be a distraction.”
He trails his thumb over mine. “Too late for that.”
The rough, calloused pad of his thumb on my skin sends sparks skittering up my arm and I’m hyperaware of everything. The way the humid air has my dress clinging to me, the soft glow of the twinkling lights reflecting in his eyes, the distant sound of waves in perfect sync with my heartbeat.
Even the warm metal of the chair beneath me feels charged with possibility.
Dammit.
How do I say no to him—to us—when every inch of my body’s screaming ‘yes’?
“Can I get y’all something to drink?” A waiter appearsout of nowhere, startling me. I pull my hand away from Weston’s so fast I almost knock my water over.
“Uh, yeah. Sure. Thanks. I’ll have a glass of pinot grigio.” I stutter the order, pretending to scour the menu when really my mind’s stuck on Weston.
Too late for that.
Is it possible he’s as affected as I am?
“I’ll take a draft beer. Thanks.” Weston orders and the waiter disappears back into the bar.
“Do you think he saw anything?” I whisper.
“No. And I’ll leave him a big tip to encourage discretion.”
“Oh. Okay.” I let out a tiny exhale of relief, my mind whirring.
Can we really do this? Am I going to give into temptation, risk everything for Weston?
His foot taps against mine beneath the table and I raise my eyes to his.
“What are you thinking, Harbor?”
