Block Shot (Hoops 2)

“I’m seeing that. Bent confirming that you weren’t in on . . .” she looks up at me, her eyes guarded but showing more than she probably wants to “. . . that you weren’t in on what Prescott did has made me see things differently. Clearly.”

“Good.” My hands venture subtle inches from the dip of her waist to the rounded curve of her hips. “I’ve wanted to sort that out for years, but I guess we both had other things going on.”

“Yes, living in different cities.”

“Working at different firms,” I add.

“Separate paths,” she whispers, eyes locked with mine.

I twirl us in a half circle, sliding my thigh between hers, and the only thing separating us is the linen of my pants and the cotton of her dress. Her warmth seeps through the thin layers, and I want nothing more than to push under her dress and squeeze that lush ass.

Thong? Bikini? Shit. What if Banner isn’t wearing any panties at all?

I insert a small space between us so she won’t feel how hard I am imagining her bare pussy under that red dress.

“But now our paths seem to keep crossing,” I tell her. “So it feels like time to repair things. To pick up where we left off.”

“You’re right.” She smiles, the dimple denting her smooth cheek. Her makeup conceals my seven freckles, but I could tell you exactly where each of them rests on her nose. “I think reviving our friendship is a good thing.”

Friendship? That’s a start.

“I love this song,” she says, tilting her head to pick the song out from the noise of the crowd.

“Kiss Me” by Sixpence None The Richer.

“So do I.” I twirl her again and gather our joined hands against my chest.

“Oh, we finally agree on something,” she says with a laugh.

“Don’t get used to it,” I tease back.

When the song ends, Banner pulls her phone out and grimaces.

“I should get going,” she says.

“Zo’s waiting at home for you?” I force myself to ask.

It sounds so domestic and permanent and settled. I glue my smile in place, though the thought of her still sleeping with Zo Vidale makes me want to vomit my champagne lemonade on his head.

“Uh, no.” She licks her lips and slides her glance to the side. “He’s traveling. He’s actually in Argentina for a few weeks working with an orphanage down there.”

Because he’s a saint.

“But I have an early morning workout,” she says. “I’m tired and we’ve done what we came to do.”

Speak for yourself, Banner. I came to chip away at that wall around you, and I’m not sure how much progress I’ve made. We say our goodbyes to Kip and Karen, thanking them for a great evening, and zip back down the drive.

“Top down?” I ask, glancing at the carefully coiffed hair she wanted to preserve on the ride here.

“Top down,” she confirms, tugging at the pins until her hair tumbles around her shoulders and whips behind her in the wind. She glances over at me, her wide smile bright in the moonlight. “This feels fantastic.”

Me and Banner finally alone.

“Yup,” I agree. “Fantastic.”

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