“I want to see you shoot, Hollywood.”
I grin at her nickname for me and crowd her against the wall of the booth of our shooting lane. The rest of the room is empty because I bought out the entire range for a couple of hours so we could have some privacy.
“Hollywood, huh?” I lean down, teasing both of us with the promise of my lips on hers.
Greer’s palms skim up my chest and she clasps her hands behind my neck. “Seems appropriate,” she whispers, her voice turning husky.
“I’ll let you call me whatever you want right now, baby. But when I’m inside you tonight, I want you moaning my name.”
“I guess we’ll have to see if you can make that happen.”
“It’s a guarantee, not a possibility.”
“So you say.”
“So I know.”
“Are you going to tease me or kiss me?” she asks.
“Whatever I want—that’s what I’m always gonna do.”
And right now I want her smile, not just her mouth. I want that warmth and energy radiating from her. Shit, I just want her. Everything she is, and I want her more than I’ve wanted anything in my life. I will not waste this second chance I’ve been given. But if I fuck it up, I will steal a third chance. And a fourth. Whatever it takes, and regardless of whether I deserve it.
But Greer is sick of waiting for me to make my move, and yanks my head down to her level and takes the kiss I’m teasing her with.
I take control, cupping her jaw and tilting her head to the side. My knee slides between her legs and she presses against it. A quick fuck in the gun range sounds like a hell of a plan—until my phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it, but it starts again.
Pulling away, I glance at the screen. BLOCKED CALL. The list of people with this number is short, which leaves me with few possibilities, some of them better than others.
“I gotta take this, baby,” I say, stepping back. “It’ll only take a few minutes.” She’s eying the gun as I swipe the screen. “And don’t shoot anything until I’m back.”
Rolling her eyes, Greer turns around and begins pulling in the target.
I step out of the room before I speak. “You got me. What do you want?”
The voice on the other end is all too familiar. “You know what I want, Cav.”
As soon as Cav leaves my sight, I pull out my phone. My notifications are blowing up.
Bad sign.
Two missed calls from Creighton and two texts. A text from Holly. Two from Banner.
I type in my passcode and read through the messages.
CREIGHTON: This is NOT laying low.
CREIGHTON: Answer your fucking phone.
CREIGHTON: I’m sending Cannon.
HOLLY: Cav Westman is totally hot, but your brother is losing his shit. You might want to answer.
BANNER: You’re my hero. Top post on CelebSightingsNYC. Oh, and according to the gossip sites, you’re officially a couple.
BANNER: You look hot in that pic, BTW.
Do I want to see what they’re all talking about? Of course. Who wouldn’t?
I tap on my browser and google CelebSightingsNYC and Cav’s name. Sure enough, the first pic that pops up is us getting out of a cab in front of the shooting range. That fucking cabbie. It’s the only explanation that makes sense with the angle of the picture.
I need to get Cav so we can get the hell out of here before the vultures descend. I mean, I’m not saying we’re the most interesting news story in the city tonight, but we’re probably toward the top of the list. And everyone knows where we are.
I leave the gun on the counter and slip around the corner to where I hear his deep voice. I’m not trying to eavesdrop, but I do wonder if it’s his agent or manager, or someone else calling to give him the heads-up that we’ve been spotted.
“No, I’m done. Not going back there.” Cav’s tone is harsh. “Fine. I’m out.” He hangs up and strides toward the door, his head jerking up when he sees me standing in the doorway.
I lift my phone and point to the screen. “Cover’s blown, Hollywood. We’re being celeb-watched. My phone is blowing up. Is that what your call was about?”
Cav shakes his head. “No. What happened?” He takes my phone and reads the screen before it starts vibrating in his hand.
“Your brother,” he says, handing it back.
“Shit, he’s called three times. He told me to lay low and let all this stuff blow over, so he’s not happy with me right now . . .” The phone keeps vibrating as I explain.
“Are you going to answer it?”
“Mmm . . . I don’t want to.” I consider it again, knowing I’ve only got a few more seconds to decide. “I guess I better.”
I swipe the screen and answer with, “Don’t yell at me.”
“Greer,” Creighton’s deep voice rumbles with frustration. “I thought we had an understanding.”
“You told me to lay low and I’m laying low,” I counter.