Page 66 of Twisted Shot
God, those fucking glasses.
Theo’s heart lurches, stupid and loud in his chest.
It’s not just that she’s beautiful. She makes him feel like maybe—just maybe—he’s not invisible. Like there’s something about him she sees, even if she hasn’t figured out what it is yet.
“Hey, guys!” she calls. “Thanks for coming early. Go ahead and change into your home jerseys. No skates yet.”
Jesse salutes with two fingers and breezes past her like this is nothing, like she didn’t completely rearrange Theo’s nervous system by existing.
He passes Tall and Naomi, who are gesturing angrily over camera equipment before Naomi storms inside muttering curses under herbreath, but Theo barely registers it.
He’s watching Mila, and Mila’s watching him.
She shifts her weight against the railing, tilts her head, and the corners of her mouth curl like she knowsexactlywhat she’s doing.
“Hey, superstar.”
He swallows and tries to act like a normal human being. A normal, non-horny, non-secret-identity-having human being.
“You were incredible last night,” she says, and for a split second, Theo forgets how to breathe.
She’s fucking with him. Has to be. Her tone’s too casual, her smile too pointed, and all he can think about is the way she whimpered when he told her to come.
She knows.
Then she adds, smiling, “Overtime game-winner? Half those kids want Tilbury jerseys now.”
Oh. Right. The game.
His mouth twitches. “Thanks.”
She tilts her head, eyes sparkling. “What did you get up to last night after the game?”
Theo’s pulse kicks.
He should play it off. Say he crashed early. That he needed rest.
But something reckless stirs within him.
He meets her gaze, lets the silence stretch a second too long. Her eyes narrow, not missing it.
“I kept to myself,” he says slowly, voice low. “Didn’t trust myself not to do something…ill-advised.”
Mila’s breath hitches—a flicker—but he sees it. Watches her guard slide half a notch higher.
“Like what?” she asks, smile easy, but there’s a sharp edge tucked beneath it now.
Theo shrugs, gaze dropping to her mouth, then back up.
“Let’s just say I didn’t feel like sleeping.”
The air crackles between them—hot, taut.
Her lips part, barely. She’s studying him now. Her eyes travel down his face to his neck, skimming over his arms and hands.
Before she can press, Naomi sweeps in like a perfectly timed hurricane, holding a clipboard in one hand and a coffee in the other.
“There you are,” she says, flashing Mila a grin before turning it on Theo—slow, sharp, and much too knowing. “You ready for your close up? I’ve got your lines right here.”
