Page 64 of Twisted Shot
When his voice finally returns, it’s soft. Melancholy. Not the growl of the man who whispered filth to her a few minutes ago.
“I can’t, Daisy. It’s better this way.”
Her hope cracks—not fully, but enough to sting. The afterglow still lingers on her skin, but it’s fading, cooling, replaced by hollowness.
“Not for me,” she says quietly. “I want you. Please let me in.”
She watches him breathe. His eyes are shadowed beneath the sculpted mask, but she can see the conflict in his body. The tightness in his jaw. The tension in his shoulders.
“I can’t be who you want me to be.”
Mila’s heart twists, like something inside her has been pulled too tight and finally snapped. The words ring in herears, heavy with finality. He doesn’t say the one thing she’s dreading most—not directly. But she hears it anyway.
He doesn’t want me.
She sits up, the sheet slipping down her bare stomach, fingers clenched tight around her phone like she could hold the connection together by force.
“How can you say that?” she whispers, the words spilling out raw and a little broken. “You don’t even know what I want.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just breathes. Looks away from the screen.
“I know what you deserve,” he says finally, quiet and certain. “Sweet dreams, Daisy.”
The screen goes dark.
Mila blinks, her reflection staring back at her now, flushed and still half-naked in the city's glow. Her heart beats in the quiet. Too loud. Too fast.
She doesn’t cry.
But she feels it. The absence.
It settles on her skin like cold air after heat. That familiar ache of almost. Almost being enough for someone.
She sets the phone down, and folds into the pillows, curling into herself.
She doesn’t know who he is.
But she knows this much. He wants her.
And he’s afraid.
And if he thinks this is over—he doesn’t know her at all.
CHAPTER 22
THEO
Theo’s grip on the passenger-side door handle tightens as Jesse takes another corner like they’re late for a playoff game. Which they are not. Not even close.
They’re headed to the rink for a promo shoot, which means there’s no gear, no adrenaline, no game-day tunnel vision to hide behind.
Just cameras. And Mila.
Heat twists in his gut, winding tighter with every breath.
The ride to the rink with Jesse hasn’t helped. Jesse’s energy is on full tilt, singing along to the radio while double-fisting an energy drink and a banana muffin.
“Today’s gonna be sick,” Jesse says between bites. “Promo shoot means early release. We film, we bounce, maybe hit Moe’s for tacos. Easy.”
