A Shot at Love

Flirting with Temptation

"Kingston! Over here!" A familiar voice shouts as a muscular bouncer reaches out, guiding me through the velvet ropes and into the VIP section of Rain nightclub.

I look up to find Russ, dressed in cream pants and a sleek blazer. "Hi! I'm amazed I even found you—this place is a madhouse!" I shout over the thumping music, gesturing at the sea of people in the club.

"It's a celebration, baby! Let's get you a drink!" Russ leads me through the VIP area, which is buzzing with famous athletes and celebrities. "Tight fit, by the way," he says, his gaze lingering appreciatively on my gold mini dress. This was one of the outfits Noah had left for me in my hotel room when we first arrived in San Francisco.

"Thank you! You killed it today. Are you excited for the announcement tomorrow?" I ask.

"I was stoked from the get-go, but after today's shoot, I'm ecstatic! You totally nailed it. That vibe was exactly what I was going for. So, what are we drinking tonight?" Russ questions.

"I'll go for tequila and club soda," I reply, taking in the glamorous crowd around us as Russ orders our drinks.

"Cheers to us!" He says, raising his glass with a grin. "And I got us a shot because we're getting lit tonight!" Russ hands me a shot glass with a playful wink.

"Some of us have to work tomorrow!" I giggle, tossing back the shot with a mischievous smile.

"I want to introduce you to some people—follow me," Russ says, leading us toward the bottle service tables with an air of casual authority.

"So, are there any girlies you've got your eye on tonight?" I ask with a grin.

"Actually, there's this dime in an orange fit that caught my attention. You up for being my wingwoman, Kingston?" he replies with a spirited sparkle in his eye.

I give him a teasing look, "I thought you'd never ask!" I genuinely like Russ; he feels like an old friend and gives off those dependable older brother vibes.

"Speaking of keeping an eye on things—I've gotta ask." Russ starts, leaning in as the music pulses around us.

"What's up?" I inquire, taking a sip of my drink.

"You and Noah. Are you two dating?" Russ asks, raising his voice to be heard over the beat.

I nearly choke on my tequila, a small, surprised smile tugging at my lips. "My boss? What would make you think that?" I ask, a touch of disbelief in my voice.

"Kingston, I've got a skill for reading people. You think I pull the baddies by accident? I can spot chemistry from a mile away. There's definitely something going on with you two. Why do you think I've never hit on you? I've got mad respect for Noah and wouldn't cross that line," he explains, his tone serious but warm.

We've been caught. What do I say? "Well, Russ, I'm afraid you're mistaken. Mr. Westbrook and I are just friends," I reply, my face turning an uncontrollable shade of pink. Crap. Is it the tequila or just the thought of Noah?

"Your blush says otherwise," Russ teases, winking at me. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me." He leads us to a table surrounded by Warrior players and a bevy of glamorous women, where shots are being poured. A tattooed hand extends a drink toward me.

"Here you go," a husky voice offers. I look up to find it's Breaker Ford—the famous London heartthrob and quintessential bad boy of the silver screen. He exudes an irresistible charisma, his spicy, woody scent adding to his magnetic presence. Tousled brown hair frames his strikingly vivid green eyes, while a sleeve of tattoos coils down his arm. He's dressed in a form-fitting black T-shirt and rugged black jeans.