Page 44 of My Pucking Crush

Samara: Miss you.

Me: Same here. Talk soon.

Samara: (kiss emoji)

“Hey, there’s your smile,” Max purrs to me. “It’s nice, you should do it more often.”

I glance up at him. Was I smiling? “I’m pretty sure I was smiling last night.”

Max’s thunderous gaze of lust sends waves of submissive desire through me.

Fuck, he’d top me really good. “But we can’t mess around again.”

“Right.” His breathy concurrence throws me off.

I lift my head and set my shoulders back. “The bus is loading, Max.”

Nodding, he turns from me. Our moment crashed when he remembered how I recoiled after I kissed him and made him come. God, I’m losing my mind over this man.

Heck, I’m already there.

THE CRUSHERS WIN AGAINSTKansas City, but Albany won, too. Now Richmond has to beatusto get into the playoffs.

In the hotel room that night, Max and I go back to being distant. All our tension blew up last night because we were forced into one bed. ButItapped the brakes after because I’m his bodyguard.

It was just a jerk-off session, I’ve had them before.

It didn’t mean anything.

I don’t mean anything.

That dread sticks with me on the entire flight back to Stamford, where as soon as we get into the penthouse, Max goes right into his bedroom and closes the door.

TWENTY-FOUR

Max

The following Saturday I slog off to the annual fundraiser for Stamford Children’s Hospital. It brings out the full team every year. You’d think we would enjoy hanging out together. After nine months and eighty games, I can use a little time to myself.

Yet, a wicked craving hits me that I don’t want to be away from Luca. Even though he’s been distant since Kansas City. Maybe he’s still worried about his sister.

I dress in my tux—all the players wear one. Just like when we’re in our jerseys, I don’t think I stand out or look special until Luca’s jaw nearly hits the porcelain tiles when I step into the kitchen for a glass of water.

I almost mimic his response. He wears a suit to every game and sexy black trousers to practices. His suits are much nicer than mine, cut better, tailored better, and look more expensive. But this thing he’s wearing tonight fits him differently. It’s more severe, more dramatic.

It’s double-breasted, and the charcoal color matches his gray eyes. He’s dark and dangerous with a black tie and jet-black shirt. He doesn’t look like a bodyguard. He looks like a freaking model.

A model I kissed and came all over. Like a fucking amateur. God, what he must think of me. No wonder he pulled back.

But the way he looks in that suit, I can’t help but gush at him. “That’s...” I say, twisting the lid off the hydration tracker bottle. “Is that new?”

“No.” He struts my way. “Nice tux... I took you for a rental guy.”

“Nope. We do this gala every year. Made sense to buy one. Plus, I go to a few other charity events in the summer.”

“Really?” He sounds surprised. “Where?”

“East Hampton. I have a house there. I live there in the off season. I grew up in Marine Harbor.” My throat goes tight.

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