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Pippa Hartley is standing in my living room, playing with the dog, and I can’t breathe. When I opened the door, I thought I was hallucinating. Her hair is longer. Same shy smile, same sparkling blue-gray eyes that make me forget my own name. Same soft, musical voice that I’d strain to hear back in high school while she was talking and laughing with the other band kids.
I can’t fucking think around Pippa Hartley. It’s always been like this.
There’s no way I can tell her the truth—that she’s the girl I was obsessed with for two years in high school.
Alarm shoots through me, and my protective instincts flare. In a shot, I’m inside, in front of her.
Every protective instinct in my body surges with the need to make things better for her.
“Andrew.” He says the word like it tastes bad. I meet his piercing gaze, blinking in confusion. “Yeah. He’s young. Probably my age. He’s a personal trainer.” Jamie’s gaze turns cold before he prowls to the door. “I’m coming with you.”
You’re tough as nails, deep down. I know it. That’s what Jamie said.
He also called me songbird.
“That guy was never good enough for you. Not in high school and not now. I hope you fucking see that.”
“I thought you were gorgeous, too,” he murmurs, looking at me in a way that makes me feel like I can’t breathe. “Even back then.”
Footsteps make my eyes open. Jamie stalks toward me with a furious look on his face. “Wha—” I start. His eyes flash with heat. “That was fucking amazing.” His hand comes to the back of my neck and he drags my mouth to his.
“I’m your goalie,” he says. “I’ll block all your shots tonight.”
I’m your goalie tonight. I’ll block all your shots.
Jamie leans down. “You’re mine,” he murmurs
