Page 75 of One Last Shot

He raised an eyebrow. “You keep telling yourself that and you might miss something happening right in front of your eyes.”

Aw,this she couldn’t leave alone. “Moose. Listen. I... I’ve been there, and this doesn’t end well. Not with me.”

“What doesn’t end well?”

She looked over, and of course there was Oaken, disheveled, his pants ripped, a bandage over his calf where they’d stitched up his wound. He wore such a fierceness in his eyes that probably Oaken already knew the answer to the question.

“I’ll leave you two,” Moose said. “See you Monday.” He turned, pointed at Oaken. “Good job not dying tonight, but next time, wait for the team.” He lifted his hand, then headed out the front door.

Oaken limped over to her. “What doesn’t endwell?” he asked again.

She glanced around the waiting room. Just one other person, but she’d seen Huxley and Beto around earlier, so she gestured with her head down the hallway, then turned and headed away from the lobby.

She found a small unoccupied alcove and rounded on him, keeping her voice low. “I think you know.”

He stood there, probably a half-foot taller than her, no jacket, his shirt mostly dry, no ketchup remaining, smelling of the river and antiseptic and bravery, and she just... “I can’t do this again.”

“Do what again?”

“Fall for . . . for a Blake.”

He flinched, and she hated herself for it, but—“It’s the truth, Oaken. You’re... famous. And handsome. And crowds of women love you. And the minute someone like Misty Buchannan shows up?—”

“Stop.” His deep timbre found her bones. “I’m not Blake.”

She swallowed. “But you could be.”

He frowned.

“I could fall for you. Hard. And even . . . even . . .” She looked away.

“Oh, Boo, what happened?”

She closed her eyes. Shook her head. Opened them. Sighed. “I made a choice, back with Blake, that night. We... were together. Which I almost immediately regretted.”

His mouth tightened.

And now she just wanted to run. Her eyes burned.

“That jerk.”

She looked at him. “It wasn’t just Blake?—”

“Oh, yes it was. Maybe not all Blake, but... I’m a guy. Trust me on this. Blake is a jerk.”

She looked away.

“Boo,” he said softly and nudged her attention back to him. “I understand. And it doesn’t matter to me—notwhat happened between you and Blake. What matters is that he hurt you. And because of him, you can’t trust... well, what might be going on between us.”

She swallowed, her chest hollow. “What is going on... between us?”

“I think you know,” he said, his gaze on hers.

Her heart thundered hard in her chest. A beat. And then his gaze lowered to her mouth.

Oh.

Run.