Page 30 of My Pucking Crush

“In your professional experience, is this threat against me long-term?” I ask to refocus on my safety.

“I can’t say. Are you thinking of retiring?”

I stiffen, shocked at how well he can see right through me. I’m not bouncing back from injuries like I used to. “How old do you think I am?” I snap.

Luca spits out my birthday with a teasing grin. He knowsexactlyhow old I am.

“How old are you?” I ask, because it’s not a crime punishable by death to ask a dude his age.

“I was twenty-seven when I married Lia, that was ten years ago.” Odd how he calculates his age based on that one event. But he’d said he didn’t want to marry her.

Yet, they were married five years and had a son.

“As far as Richmond goes, if the new owner thinks hurting me creates a path for his team to win the finals, he’s in for a battle. No one is chasing me from the only team I ever played for.”

It’s been a personal goal to stick with this one team. See my name and number on a jersey high up in the rafters. It’s part of the criteria. I can only have ever been a Crusher.

Luca smiles. “I definitely prefer to guard a fighter. Just not a reckless one.”

“No problem there.” I smile back, and we’re caught in a moment. Clearing my throat, I ask, “But if you leave at the end of the season, what happens to me and my protection after you’re gone?”

“The security division will reassess the threat and decide if you need protection during the off season and next year.”

That sets me back. I’m only letting them put a guard on my ass 24/7 now because the playoffs are in a couple of weeks. I refuse to live like this forever.

I won’t have a bodyguard for the rest of my career. Especially if it won’t be Luca, or whatever his real name is. The idea of another side of Luca, under a different name, living in the shadows amongst killers in Manhattan leads to a rock-hard boner.

Great.

My killer bodyguard stands in my kitchen figuring out the ice machine on my fridge. I’m not even the least bit afraid of him. In fact, all I’m focused on is how hot hisass looks in those trousers. Is he faking the confusion so he can stand there and let me drink in his amazing body?

“I got it.” I cross the room and take the glass from him, our fingers brushing.

The spark of electricity and the sudden shock of lust has me lurching back. The glass heads for the floor, ready to shatter.

Luca intercepts it with his foot, kicks it upward, and snags it midair.

“Whoa.” I breathe in relief, not wanting to clean up glass at one in the morning.

“Cat-like reflexes,” Luca boasts. “You develop them by sneaking into someone’s house to kill them in the middle of the night.”

Okay, now I’m alittleafraid.

“Shit.”

“Don’t worry.” He hands me the glass.

“Cubes or crushed?” I ask.

“Crushed, always crushed,” he says with a smile.

I laugh. “Because you work for the Crushers?”

“Sure, that’s the reason.” He takes the ice water from me. “Get some sleep, Max Ryan. I’ll lock the doors and arm the security system.”

My bodyguard struts past me, and his shadow dances on the far wall before it cuts out when he turns for the control room.

Crush.

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