Page 25 of Twisted Shot
Mila’s standing near the main office doors, wearing a fitted skirt that hugs her hips and a silky blouse. Her hair’s swept up into one of those elegant buns she wears when she’s in work mode, with a few blonde strands escaping to frame her face.
But it’s the glasses that stop him cold.
Big tortoiseshell frames sliding a little down her nose. He didn’t know she wore glasses. Now he can’t imagine her without them. They make her look sharper, more dangerous. And sexy. She’s impossibly sexy.
And she’s right there.
She hasn’t seen him yet. She’s checking something on her phone, thumb gliding across the screen, glasses sliding further down her nose. Theo knows he should move—say something, do something—but his feet aren’t cooperating. His brain isn’t either.
She looks up.
“Hey!” she says, her whole face lighting up when she spots him. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
Theo’s heart slams against his ribs. Her voice does something to him—warms him and ties him in knots at the same time.
He clears his throat. “You’re in Hartford.”
Wow. Brilliant opener.
She grins, stepping closer. “Guilty. We had a pitch meeting with Jim this morning. I’m heading out now.”
He tries to nod casually, but it’s not casual. His face is flushed. Sweat drips down his forehead. He’s hyper-aware of how disgusting he must smell in his post-practice gear—sweaty pads, damp hair, jersey clinging to him. He wants to apologize for existing.
He blurts out, “You look really good.”
Mila’s eyebrows lift, surprised. But she doesn’t pull away. If anything, she smiles a little deeper.
“Thank you,” she says, with a playful glint in her eye. “So do you. Well—” her gaze drifts over his sweat-soaked gear, “—for someone who looks like he just climbed out of a sauna in full gear.”
Theo laughs, a rough, awkward sound. “Yeah, it’s my best look.”
They fall silent for a beat. Theo wants to say something else—something easy, maybe even clever—but his mind is nothing but static.
He’s not bold. Not usually. But before he can second-guess it, he steps forward and draws a breath.
“Want to grab a?—”
Before he can finish, another voice cuts in behind her, sharp and oily.
“Well, this is adorable. Didn’t realize they let players punch above their weight.”
Theo’s eyes snap to the man as he steps into view.
Richard.
He knows it’s him before Mila even opens her mouth. Everythingabout him screams smug: the manicured stubble, the tailored navy suit, the loafers polished within an inch of their life. He wears the slight smirk of a man who thinks everyone else in the room works for him.
Theo hates him immediately.
Beside him, Mila stiffens. She doesn’t look at Richard, instead letting out a slow, controlled breath through her nose, like she’s biting down on something hard.
“Don’t start,” she murmurs, voice tight.
But Theo’s already moving, stepping forward before logic can catch up with fury.
“You have a problem?”
Richard turns, sizing him up. His eyes are cold and flat, like glass over ice.
