by Mignon Mykel
I turn to leave, but Wes grabs my arm, his calloused fingers circling my wrist.
“Don’t you get it?” My resolve falters at his pleading tone and for a second, I want to forget the whole thing. Apparently I’m selfish like that. “I don’t give a fuck what the people in Beaumont think.”
Which is exactly why I have to do this—for both of us.
“You may not care, but I do.” I have to because Wes, with his big heart and roll-with-the-punches attitude, will stand by my side even as I drag him down into the muck with me. I admire his loyalty, but I can’t let him do that. I can’t let him throw away everything he’s worked for. Not for me. I care about him too much to let that happen. “I can handle it when people take shots at me, but I can’t handle being the reason people are gossiping about you, Wes. You need to be focused on training, not online scandals and small-town trolling.”
Wes releases my wrist and throws his hands up in frustration, raking them through his hair so it sticks up at odd angles. “The world is so much bigger than this town and its small-minded gossip. Nothing they say matters, because I know the truth,” he says, passion flaring in his dark eyes. “I know I’m busting my ass training. I know I’m going to go to Tokyo and win that gold medal. No bullshit story is going to change those facts.”
“Wes, I—”
He presses a finger to my lips, silencing my protests. And because I’m weak as hell and I want to hear what he has to say, I let him.
“I don’t know what the future holds for us,” he says, eyes locked on mine with a solemnity I’ve never seen before, “but I want to find out. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, Sky. You’re the first one I think about when I wake up and the last one I think about when I fall asleep.” Tears sting my eyes and I blink them away. I have to stay strong. For Wes. “I know it’s only been a week and I’m probably not supposed to say this, but I’m crazy about you and I need you in my life,” he says, cupping my cheek gently.
His touch is warm and comforting and damn if I don’t want to lose myself in it.
But a bunch of pretty words, no matter how much I want them to be true, won’t change the fact that Wes’s reputation is at risk purely because of his association with me and my family.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Wes.”
And it’s true. The last thing I want to do is jeopardize his reputation or his future. He may not see it now, but I’m doing him a favor.
“Bullshit,” he says, body vibrating with energy. “You know what I think? I think you’re using the article as an excuse to break things off before they get too serious because you’re scared.”
I lift my chin and cross my arms over my chest. “And what exactly do you think I’m afraid of?” I challenge.
This ought to be good.
Because whatever he thinks is going on here, he’s way off the mark. I am not scared.
Wes takes a step toward me, but I stand my ground. We’re toe to toe and I can feel the heat radiating off him in waves. Hell, if I take a deep enough breath, my breasts will probably brush against his chest.
“I think you’re afraid of being left behind like your father.” The words are spoken softly, without a hint of anger, but it doesn’t matter. The accusation hits me like a sucker punch and I stumble back. “But I’m not your mom. I would never do that to you and if you’d just give me a chance, I’ll prove it.” Wes’s eyes soften and he flexes his fingers at his sides, like he always does when he’s bored or nervous. “I’m falling in love with you, Sky.”
My breath catches and I’m sure I’ve misheard because there’s no way Wes just used the L-word.
“Let me love you.”
Oh, wow. He totally used the L-word. My heart swells at the admission and with Wes staring at me like I’m the most beautiful sunrise he’s ever seen, it’s hard to remember why I thought breaking things off was a good idea.
Is he right? Am I letting fear cloud my judgment? It would be naive to think my mother’s betrayal and my father’s heartbreak haven’t left scars. Hell, it’s the whole reason I’ve always chosen safe guys. Guys I’d never fall too hard for. Guys who couldn’t hurt me.
Until now.
Because Wes? He could decimate me if I let him in. The idea of being that vulnerable is terrifying, but if I’m going to take the leap, I want it to be with Wes. Wes, who’s never judged me and who’s taken the time to look past the whispers and rumors and, hell, even my prickly exterior. Wes, who sees the real me and loves me not in spite of it, but because of it.
“I—I think I’m falling in love with you too,” I stammer. And wouldn’t you know it? Those damn tears spring from my eyes and roll down my cheeks. Wes swipes them away with the pads of his thumbs and grins down at me with a teasing smile.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he says, voice thick with emotion.
And then I’m laughing and crying because what I feel for Wes is too big, too messy, too real to be contained. In what world did I ever think I could walk away from him?
He slips an arm around my back and pulls me in close, his outdoorsy scent welcoming me home, right where I belong. “But what about the comments on The Daily Caller article? You can’t just ignore it,” I insist, though he seems hell-bent on doing just that.
“I’m glad you asked.” Wes pulls back to look me in the eye, the corner of his mouth hooking up on the left side. “It just so happens I know a brilliant marketer. It won’t be easy to change people’s minds around here, but I figure if she’s smart enough to knock the whole Indie Week thing out of the park solo, we’ll be unstoppable if we put our heads together.”
“Together,” I repeat slowly, testing the unfamiliar word. “I like the sound of that.”
“So do I,” Wes says, caressing my cheek. “Be my girl, Sky.”
“Always.” I stretch up on my toes and throw my arms around his neck, crushing my lips to his. The kiss is messy and passionate—just like us—and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Wes is right, I can’t throw everything away out of fear. That’s no way to live. If I have to risk heartbreak to get the happily ever after, I’ll do it, because with Wes, I want it all. And if we’re brave enough to fight for it, together, we can have it all.
If you enjoyed LONG SHOT, visit Jennifer Bonds’ website to sign up for her newsletter and be the first to know about new releases, giveaways, and exclusive content!
About Jennifer Bonds
Jennifer Bonds writes sizzling contemporary romance with sassy heroines, sexy heroes, and a whole lot of mischief. She’s a sucker for enemies-to-lovers stories, laugh out loud banter, over the top grand gestures and counts herself lucky to spend her days writing swoonworthy romance thanks to the support of amazing readers like you!
Jen lives in Pennsylvania, where her overactive imagination and weakness for reality TV keep life interesting. She’s lucky enough to live with her own real life hero, two adorable (and sometimes crazy) children, and one rambunctious K9. Loves Buffy, Mexican food, a solid Netflix binge, the Winchester brothers, and all things zombie. Sings off-key.
To connect with Jen online, visit her at www.jenniferbonds.com or find her on Facebook and Instagram @jbondswrites.
Also by Jennifer Bonds
Once Upon a Dare
Once Upon a Power Play
Seducing the Fireman
Royal Pain (Fall 2020)
Claiming Carter (Fall 2020)
Personal Foul
Brooke O’Brien
1
Rush
“Get out of my lane, motherfucker!”
Those words, combined with the sound of screeching tires, force my eyes wide open, sending my heartrate from zero to sixty in two seconds flat.
A car swerves in front of us before veering off into another lane as my driver, Jairo, starts shouting expletives in Spanish.
“Sorry ‘bout that, boss,” he says before continuing to curse under his breath. The tone of his voice mixed with the slight curl in his lip would send ch
ills down anyone’s spine. “These drivers are out to test my patience today.”
“S’all good,” I grunt.
Tugging my hat down low, I slip on a pair of sunglasses. I like to keep a low profile. I wasn’t even supposed to be home yet, but with the Summer Olympics postponed until next summer, my schedule now had free time to catch up with my mom and brother in Denver.
Miami is now my home, so it’s time to get my life situated here and get back to work.
Up until a few months ago, I had spent my entire career in Chicago. The Broncos organization had built a team we thought would take us all the way to the championship. Things changed after we were eliminated in the second round of the playoffs; our season effectively over, changes began to unfold, forcing our coach out of a job.
I can’t deny I was disappointed when I heard the news I was being traded. I had begun putting down roots in Chicago, eventually planning on raising a family there and spending the rest of my career playing for the Broncos.
If there was any team I’d hoped to be traded to though, it was the Miami Blaze.
With my original plans to be away in Tokyo for the summer, the Blaze organization set me up with a company to help oversee my move, which took a tremendous weight off my back. Although, now here I am, arriving in town with no idea what I could be walking into.
My only reassurance came from my new assistant’s text letting me know everything went smoothly and according to plan.
There’s something to be said about the blue skies and warm Florida sun, taking in the skyscrapers and clear water in the distance. The temperature is warm but nothing like the stifling humidity I’m used to back in Chicago.
“We should be there in about fifteen minutes,” Jairo says, through the cloud of exhaustion settling over me.
I sigh in response, tilting my head back against the headrest, shutting my eyes. The breeze filters through the window, and I enjoy a moment of peace as the city streets pass us by.
A few minutes later, the GPS signals our destination is on the right. When I finally break my eyes open, I’m met with the city streets of downtown Miami. Palm trees line the sidewalks surrounding the building, which boasts impressive floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s what drew me to the apartment in the first place, and the stunning view overlooking the ocean. A few people walk along the sidewalk, shopping bags in their hands from the shops lining the strip.
Hitting the unlock button, I slip out and round the back of the SUV to collect my luggage when a shriek pierces my ears.
“Get off me,” a woman grunts. “Help me! Please, help! He’s trying to steal my purse.”
Commotion breaks out; women around her start to scream as a man yells at her to let go of her bag and he won’t hurt her, but she refuses to give in. Every time he pulls on the handle, she tugs back even harder.
He may have her on a size aspect, but she’s feisty, holding her own. There’s a fire inside her, matching the red hair on her head, and she refuses to give in.
My heart beats wildly in my chest, sending my adrenaline pumping through my body. Where I come from, you don’t put your hands on a woman. I imagine her as my mom growing up, struggling to provide for us, and someone trying to steal from her.
All I can see at that moment is red.
“Get the fuck off her, man!” I roar, rushing toward him, pushing him back. “What the fuck you thinkin’ putting your hands on a woman?”
He raises his fist at me, still not letting go of the bag. I move my arm, attempting to shield my face when he clocks me in the jaw.
“Motherfucker,” I grunt, spitting out blood on the ground. “You wanna come at me?”
I charge toward him, pressing his back against the brick wall, pulling her along with us. Shoving my forearm under his chin, I hook a right fist landing a direct hit to his eye. Blood gushes from his brow, dripping down his face.
I don’t slow down; my fist scores a hit to his gut. I shove my forearm against his chest and warn him to drop the purse. His hold loosens, sending the woman falling to the ground, tripping over her heels.
Her shrill, pain-stricken cry rings from behind me, but I don’t take my eyes off him. There’s no telling what he’ll do now. Pain thrums through my hand, and a small voice pushes through my mind, realizing how bad it could be if I managed to injure my hand. I don’t allow myself a chance to think about it, not right now.
“Alright,” he sighs, holding his hands up in surrender. “Alright, man.”
My defenses are still up, waiting for the second he tries to make a move. He takes a step to the side, adding distance between the woman and me. A quick glance out of the corner of my eye shows she’s seated on the ground, blood dripping from her knee and down her shin, tears streaming down her face.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” She nods. Her chest trembles with the force of her cries, trying to catch her breath.
“Fuck this!” the would-be thief shouts, taking off running down the street, weaving in and out of people. He crashes into one man, nearly forcing him to knock over an older woman passing by him.
“Goddammit,” I say through gritted teeth.
“It’s okay,” a bystander says, holding up her phone. “I called the police and gave them his description.”
“Ms. C, are you okay? I saw what happened and called 9-1-1. Police and an ambulance are on their way.”
A middle-aged man stands over her, clutching a phone in his hand. His eyes are wide, worried. He’s dressed in a button-down shirt, black slacks, and a tie. Judging by his attire and nametag reading “Antonio,” I assume he must work in my new apartment building.
“Thank you, Antonio,” she exhales heavily. “Would you mind?”
Her green eyes stare up at me as she holds out her hand in a non-verbal request to help her stand. My heart stutters while I struggle to catch a breath when I get the chance to look at her.
Her soft, red hair matches the light dusting of freckles that cross over her nose and cover the apples of her cheeks. Her eyes are green, so vibrant they almost would look blue if it wasn’t for the sunlight overhead. I slip her hand in mine, helping her to stand. Pain radiates through my knuckle and up my forearm when I pull her to stand, causing me to wince.
“Oh, God, your hand. It’s all bloody.”
She grimaces from the pain in her knee, reaching for my hand. The worry cloaking her big doe eyes wraps around my heart, gripping tightly.
How is it just her stare alone has me feeling more off-kilter than the altercation a moment ago?
Sirens blaring in the background grow louder as the cops pull up along with an ambulance right behind them.
I realize then we have a crowd forming around us. Bystanders with cell phones aimed at us mumble to themselves as they point at me in recognition.
It all happened so quickly. I spot Jairo doing his best to keep the crowd of people back, not letting them get too close. He glances over his shoulder, his eyes penetrating me as if saying, “What the hell, man?”
The sunglasses I had been wearing earlier were knocked off my face when everything went down, leaving me feeling more exposed.
“Is everything okay here?” the cop asks, approaching us, looking from me to the red-headed beauty now leaning against the side of the building. “We got a call about an assault.”
The redhaired beauty briefly runs down what happened while I clench my hand into a fist, checking out my injury. My head is going to be sore from the jab he got in toward the end, but otherwise, I’ll be fine.
“I’m okay,” she murmurs, adjusting her position to stand. “A few bumps and bruises, but it’s nothing a few bandages won’t fix.”
The cop looks from her, back to my tattered knuckle. “You okay?”
I nod.
“Alright, we’ll have the paramedics check you out, and we’ll need to get your statements.”
He glances from her, over to me, then to the crowd of people forming a few feet away, before asking, “We can do this so
mewhere more private if you prefer?”
“Please,” I sigh, ducking my head back down.
“You got it.”
He turns away from us to the other officers, asking the people to step back and give us some privacy. Antonio offers the woman a wheelchair to sit in while the paramedics look her over and the police take her statement.
She shakes her head, assuring him she’s okay before she peeks over at me. She puts on a brave smile as I offer her my arm, helping her into the building. We separate while I take a minute to talk with the cops, giving the EMTs time to check her over.
“Do you happen to know the man who did this?” the officer asks.
“No, I don’t know anyone here, honestly.”
“You just getting into town?”
“Yeah.” I nod.
“I figured,” he says, jotting notes on a pad of paper.
We run through all his questions, everything from a description of the man to my recollection of what happened. It all went down so quickly, piecing it together again takes me a few minutes.
After we wrap up, the officer shakes my hand and says, “Thank you for stepping in to help her. It could’ve gone much worse if you hadn’t. I’m glad you’re here in Miami, and I’m looking forward to watching you play this season.”
I thank him for his service before he slips in that he’s a season ticket holder and how he’s hoping we’ll make it to the finals this year.
The paramedics do a quick once-over on my head to check for a concussion. In the end, they confirm everything is fine, and I will just want to take it easy over the next couple of days.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, seeing her now bandaged knee.
“I’m okay.” She smiles. “Thank you so much for your help. I can’t imagine what would’ve happened had you not been there.”
“It’s no problem,” I assure her.
She peers up at me over her long eyelashes and winces. If I had to guess, it’s from the nice shiner I was told I’d be sporting for a few days, but I’m confident it looks far worse than it actually is.
