Page 15 of My Pucking Crush

After hauling all my shit into the bedroom, I meet Max in the massive kitchen.

His head is down and for a moment, I think he’s in pain. It guts me, even though he’s being an asshole.

I get it. A stranger has moved into his sanctuary, and I’m going to be up his ass for the foreseeable future.

God, I wish. Him on his back, me fucking him while I kiss the shit out of him.

I clear my throat as well as that useless fantasy from my mind. Nothing good will come from these thoughts messing with my balance.

Max looks up, wearing a T-shirt from a top pub in Norwalk. Looking closer, I see he’s making a list, and not hanging his head from pain.

“You’ve been to O’Malley’s?” I ask, rounding the high counter that divides the working kitchen from theopen dining and massive living room areas.

“Sure, all the time.” He glances down at his T-shirt like he didn’t even realize what he threw on. “A few guys from the team go.”

I’m guessing O’Malley’s is where he picks up women and brings them back here to fuck in that bed.

Jealousy fires through me.

But I can’t take my eyes off him. His hair is wet and slicked back. Massive sculpted biceps challenge the T-shirt sleeves. I can’t stop looking at his veins and golden skin. That O’Malley’s Pub merch barely covers his waist, and the low-riding gray sweatpants cling to his hips.

Not seeing a waistband for briefs or boxers, I assume he’s going commando.

All I have to do is reach inside...

“Why are you asking about O’Malley’s?” Max comes close to catching me checking him out.

“I live in Norwalk. At the docks. Houseboat.”

Max blinks a few times. “Those old, ragged things bouncing around in the water?”

“I’m sure the worst one you’ve seen is mine.” Part of my cover.

“I doubt it’s the worst one.” He sounds friendlier for some reason. “Hey, what do you drink? I’ll put it on my shopping list.”

I get closer, glancing at the list. “I don’t drink.”

He clears his throat. “Problem?”

“That’s an awfully personal question.”

“I’d like to know if my bodyguard is an alcoholic.”

“I’ve never had a problem,” I scoff. “My job is to protect a multi-million-dollar franchise, it’s best I stay sober during the season.”

He blushes again. “Sorry. Just checking. You’re living with me, and I don’t know anything about you.”

“I know everything about you. That’s all thatmatters.”

He tenses, the vein in his neck throbbing. “Everything?”

“Enough,” I say to relieve him.

Clearly, Max Ryan has some secrets.

NINE

Luca

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