Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“Sorry.” His fingertips touched her elbow, stroking slowly upward where he massaged her wrist with magical circles of his thumb. “Is that better?”
“Friends, Beat,” she whispered, trying to keep herself from slipping into a stupor. “Friends.”
With a swallow, he relinquished her wrist. “Believe me, Mel, I know.” Once again, he put some distance between them, but not much. He couldn’t, really, if they wanted to continue communicating against the backdrop of noise. “Okay, what’s your feeling here? What shot were you thinking of playing?”
“Before you arrived half naked?”
One end of his mouth jumped. “Noticed that, did you?”
“Ham. I was thinking there is no way I’m going to get my ball as close to the pallino as my opponent’s ball, so I better try and knock his out. ‘Try’ being the operative word.”
Beat stroked his chin. “I think you’re right. Just knock it out.”
“Just? I’ve got maybe a ten percent chance.”
“That’s a higher percentage chance than we had trying to reunite Steel Birds and you jumped feetfirst into that enterprise.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Mel. At the risk of adding even more pressure, you have millions of people believing you can do anything. And I don’t think that many people can be wrong.”
“What about you? Do you believe I can do anything?”
He huffed a laugh. “Do you even have to ask me that?”
She shook her head. “No.”
After a prolonged moment of not-so-friendly staring, he dipped his chin and stepped away. “Knock it out.”
Mel nodded and turned on a heel to face the bocce pit once again. Had her surroundings even been in color before? They were now. The neon flamingo mounted on the wall buzzed, pink and vibrant. The ball in her hands was a verdant green. The one she aimed to knock out was red. No, she would knock it out. She allowed herself to feel the energy of the people standing at her back. Their belief in her. Beat’s. And she bowled her shot.
Halfway down the lane, she knew it was going to hit.
She heard Beat’s hissing intake of breath, followed by the crack of the balls connecting and she watched in disbelief as her opponent’s ball went rolling toward the back wall, a good two feet from the pallino. Hers remained in place, nearly kissing it.
An unbeatable shot.
The crowd erupted, along with her heart.
“Oh my God,” she said breathlessly, turning and leaping into Beat’s arms. He held her tight, spinning her in a circle as she clung, his heart pumping like an engine against hers.
“I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you.”
She didn’t realize her legs had naturally wrapped around his hips until they pulled away slightly, their mouths close enough to kiss. So. Close. His breath was warm and tasted like peppermint, throwing her senses into a tailspin. Dear Lord, how was she going to restrain herself from kissing him? Maybe she could keep it friendly?
A platonic, little kiss with minimal tongue never hurt anybody.
“Mel,” Beat groaned, his chest shuddering. “That skirt you’re wearing. With black tights?” He zeroed in on her mouth. “God help me, I’m not having friendly thoughts.”
“Oh. Hmm.” Her toes flexed with traitorous anticipation in her ankle boots. “They’re not tights, though. They’re stockings.”
He squinted. “What’s the difference?”
“These ones stop. At the tops of my thighs.”
Beat let out a strangled cough.
“I should probably unwind m-my legs from your person.”
“Hard, isn’t it? When they feel like that’s exactly where they belong?” With a curse, he made a visible effort to get himself under control, tilting his hips away as he slid her down the front of his body to her feet. Not quite enough for her to avoid his stiffness, though, the bulk of it dragging up the hemline of her skirt as she descended. “Maybe tonight isn’t the best time to talk.” He shook his head. “I don’t trust myself.”
Speaking openly about their attraction made that fiery funnel of need inside her spin faster, but Melody kept her features schooled. “M-maybe you’re right. We should wait until—”
“Are you two ready to hear the idea of the century?” Vance stepped in between them while posing that question. “Besides me and Mel getting engaged and languishing in bed while naming our future babies, I mean.”
“I don’t want to have to kill you, man,” Beat said with mock cheerfulness. “But I will.”
Vance chuckled. “Relax. Anyone witnessing the last ten minutes of Belody knows I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell. But. Speaking of snow.” Vance elbowed each of them in the ribs, in turn. “While you two were mooning at each other over here like star-crossed lovers, we made friends with Melody’s coworker nerds and decided that we weren’t done quite yet with friendly, low-stakes competition for the evening.” He paused for dramatic effect. “That’s right, my friends. We’re having a snowball fight in Prospect Park. Right now. It’s on. Because we’re drunk adults and that’s the only excuse we need.”