Block Shot (Hoops 2)

Alexa rewards me with her abrupt, obedient silence, but Quinn’s app immediately follows, charging in with reinforcements.

“Girl, you better rise and grind,” shouts from the living room.

“Is this every morning?” Jared asks, folding muscle-corded arms over his bare chest.

“Pretty much.” I walk toward the living room to catch the app before it digs out a follow-up phrase to make sure I’m out of bed.

I’m inputting the pizza from last night, trying not to think about my points overage, when Jared comes behind me, rests his chin on my shoulder, and hugs me from behind. At first I hold myself stiffly in the circle of warm muscle, but he runs his nose along the line of my neck, smells my hair like he’s absorbing me. I sink back into him and drop my head against him.

“That’s it,” he whispers in my ear. “That’s all I want.”

His erection twitches against my ass, and I turn to look at him with one lifted brow.

“Okay, not all,” he admits, laughing and rocking me from side to side in his arms. “Is this the app your lashes were working overtime to get Kyle’s help with?”

“He actually did help Quinn a lot.” I chuckle and tuck my head deeper into him behind me. “And, yes. This is the Girl, You Better app.”

“Lemme see.” He plucks the phone from my hand and walks away to explore the app’s functions. After a few seconds, I realize my whole life is logged in there. What I eat, how much I exercise, when I—

“You log sex?” he asks, his voice deceptively mild.

“Uh, yeah.” I reach for the phone, but he holds it above his head where I can’t reach. “Jared, give it to me.”

“Wait.” He walks a few feet away, still sliding his finger over the screen. He leans against the mantelpiece over my fireplace. “I’m not in here.”

?

??What?”

“We had sex two days ago. I see your activity from yesterday, but I’m not in here.”

Stunned silence drifts into discomfort as we stare at one another across the gulf of my living room.

“I . . . well, I didn’t have time.” I bite my lip and know that isn’t entirely true.

“Ahhh.” Jared nods and holds the phone up to read. “Seven a.m. Yoga. Morning salutation.”

I close my eyes and swallow any protest. I know where he’s going, and he’ll see right through any denial I make.

“Nine o’clock. Three boiled egg whites. Zero points.” He glances up at me. “Well, that’s good, huh? Who knew egg whites are free foods? Three slices of turkey bacon, three points.”

“Okay, Jared. I—”

“Lunch,” he continues. “Three points. Not bad.”

“You can stop now. I know—”

“Wow, when I look back, I can even see you had a four-point salad after fucking me,” he says, looking confused. “But somehow there’s no record in here of us actually fucking.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” I brush a hand over my eyes.

“Let’s see about good ol’ Zo.” He scrolls, eyebrows lifting. “Oh, look. Excellent records here. Fucked. Fucked. Fucked. Fucked.”

He offers me a wry false grin.

“He’s had a good summer.”

I walk out. This is an exercise in futility in which I won’t participate. In my spacious closet, I jerk open a drawer, blindly sifting through all the items I have from Quinn’s line. I need to do something with my hands that does not involve throttling the nearly naked man in my living room. I grab a sports bra, capri workout pants, and a tank. I turn, only to slam into Jared’s chest.