Page 45 of Twisted Shot
Mila doesn’t deny it.
“You have no idea who he was?”
“He knew Natalie’s name,” she murmurs. “He said it like he knows her. And he—God, he made me feel more wanted in ten minutes than Richard did in months.”
Naomi’s expression sharpens. “Ugh. Richard. I’m still in denial that you were with that walking bundle of red flags.”
“Richard made everything feel like a transaction. Like our being together was a calculated decision,” Mila says. “But this...this was different. There was heat, and power, but there was also restraint. Like he was holding back...barely.”
“So you’re going to find him, right?”
“I did try,” Mila shrugs. “Part of me wants to find out who he was. The other part...maybe I don’t want to know.”
“Why not?”
“Because what if I find out and it ruins it? What if he’s married? What if he’s eighteen? What if he’s someone like Tristan ‘the Flea’ Fleischer?”
Naomi nearly chokes. “That guy? No. You would’ve smelled the ketchup fumes.”
Mila laughs, but it fades quickly. “What if it was Theo?”
Naomi tilts her head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Mila sighs. “It’s not. IlikeTheo. But he’s...quiet. Nervous. He can barely get through a conversation with me. And this man—whoever he was—he didn’t hesitate.”
“Enough talk,” Naomi says, pulling out her phone with purpose. “We’re solving this.”
Mila blinks. “Solving what?”
Naomi’s already got the Whalers’ website open, scrolling with the intensity of someone tracking a package.
“You’ve got access to the roster. You’ve seen the guy’s build. We can eliminate the wrong heights, body types, vibes, accents, nasty teeth. We’re gonna CSI this shit.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
Naomi grins. “I’m being efficient."
She turns the screen toward Mila. “Okay. Describe your masked mystery man. Go.”
Mila exhales, but she can’t help the slight smile that tugs at her lips.
“Tall. Like easily over six feet. Muscular. Black mask. Broad shoulders. Deep voice. Confident. Knew Natalie’s name. Flirted like a pro.”
“Not Jesse, obviously. Not Trayvon Carter. Not Pavel Pekar.” Naomi mutters, scanning the photos.
She scrolls and stops at Garrett Tall, the goalie. “This guy?”
Mila shakes her head. “Too tall.”
She scrolls again, stopping at JP Belanger. “Him?”
Mila squints at the photo of the young rookie. “His hair is too long. And JP has a chin dimple I didn’t feel under the mask.”
“I mean, impressive that you were doing facial topography while getting felt up in a gazebo.”
Mila kicks at her shin.
Naomi holds up her phone. “That narrows it down to maybe three guys, and one of them is Theo. So, obviously?—”
