Page 5 of Twisted Shot
The place erupts.
Natalie cups her hands around her mouth and whoops. “That’s my baby brother!”
A group of girls a few rows ahead nearly combust, one of themshrieking, “WE LOVE YOU, JESSE!” while jumping up and down like she’s spotted a boy band member in the wild.
Jesse skates out with that signature grin Mila’s known since he had braces and a Pokémon backpack—except now, the braces are gone and the kid looks like he could model for an energy drink ad.
“Damn,” Mila mutters under her breath.
Natalie glances over, smirking. “Right? He’s filled out.”
“Filled out?” she scoffs. “He looks like he could bench-press a small car.”
Mila watches as Jesse runs a hand through his messy, sandy brown curls, flashing an easy grin at the jumbotron like he knows exactly how good he looks. His caramel-brown eyes practically twinkle. Show-off.
Her honorary little brother is…hot?
A tiny thrill zips up her spine, followed immediately by a full-body cringe.
Absolutely not.
This is the same kid she used to babysit. The one who once cried over a peanut-butter and jelly cut the wrong way. The one she made mac and cheese for because he wasn’t allowed near the stove.
Mila shakes her head. “I feel old.”
Natalie sighs. “Same.”
The announcer barrels on, voice rising with theatrical flair.
“On defense…number fourteen…Theo Tillllllbury!”
He holds the l in Tilbury like the name itself is impressive.
Mila leans forward as Theo glides out of the tunnel.
He’s tall—well over six feet—with the kind of lean, muscular build that says quiet strength rather than showy bravado. His thick, chocolate brown hair is tousled, curling slightly at the ends. There’s a dusting of dark stubble along his sharp jaw, and his hazel eyes are watchful as they flick toward the boards.
Unlike the others, he doesn’t flash a grin or ham it up for the crowd. He stares straight ahead, shifting his weight from skate to skate, the faintest pink flush creeping up his cheeks.
Mila bitesthe inside of her cheek, acutely aware that she’s staring. He’s the kind of handsome that sneaks up on you. Classic and understated. Like an old photograph you can’t stop staring at.
Last season, before Richard entered the picture, Mila had tested the waters with Theo a couple times. The first time was at Christmas dinner at Jesse’s, when she’d offered to get him a drink, letting her hand linger on his forearm in what she considered the universal signal forI’m into you.
Then there was that night at Huckleberry’s, when she’d teased him, asking if he was always so mysterious or just allergic to small talk. She'd watched his face, hoping for something—a laugh, a comeback, a hint of flirtation. Instead, she got the ghost of a smile and him blushing into his beer, like he was buying time or maybe just didn't know what to do with her question.
And that was it. No banter. No DMs. Not even a passing wink. Then she got involved with Richard, and her nascent flirtation with Theo took a back seat.
At first, she figured he wasn’t interested. But then she started to notice the blush. The way he tucked his chin when people looked at him too long. The way he seemed more comfortable listening than speaking.
“Poor Theo looks like he wants to melt into the ice,” she says, nudging Natalie with her elbow.
“He’s such a sweetheart, though,” Natalie replies. “He helped Jake rebuild our fence when we moved here.”
Mila raises a brow. “Shirtless?”
Natalie smirks. “Of course.”
“I love a man who is good with his hands.”
