Page 52 of My Pucking Crush

“If you’re staying, can you please remove that tux. In here. We can’t contaminate any other room.”

Max looks down with a pained expression. “I like this tux. I don’t see any blood. Can’t I just send it to the dry cleaners?”

“No. I’ll buy you a new one.”

“That’s not...” He stops and biting his lower lip, he shucks off the jacket.

“Leave the clothes in a pile on the floor.”

“Who’s going to—”

“Max... I’m kind of crazy about you, but shut the fuck up.” I scroll through my phone until I get to the fingerprint app.

I take the unconscious guy’s hand and press his thumb, his forefinger, and his side palm into the screen. The app photographs the prints and then runs them through databases I subscribe to. The double beep stops my heart. I seriously didn’t think I would get a hit, but I had a shred of hope.

“Who is it?” Max asks.

It makes sense he wants to know who tried to hurt him. He doesn’t realize I see this as my problem. One hundred percent. All of this came from my backyard.

“He’s a ghost.”

“Looks real to me.”

“Someone whose prints aren’t registered. He had an accent. Could be a fresh recruit from Siberia.”

“Belova.”

“Most likely. Like 99.9 percent.”

“What do we do now?” Max looks around. “He came intomy home.”

“He’s going to die for that.” I soak in Max’s stare, my visceral instinct to protect him growing deeper every second.

But we have a clean-up task to deal with right now. “The blood splatter should be isolated to this room. That’s why you can’t leave until you’re clean.” My eyes run across his body. “Take off your clothes and get into my shower.”

His fingers stop unbuttoning his shirt and his hands drop. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

I glance down at the body on the carpet. “It’s happening.”

“You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?” It’s just hitting him.

“He tried to hurt you. He was sent by a criminal organization that can’t be negotiated with.”

“Butwhy?” Max argues, tearing off his dress shirt, the buttons flying in different directions. Crucial evidence if they contain a spec of blood.

Fuck.

“They want you out of the game,” I keep talking in the language I know Max will understand. Sport. “Would you give them that? Sit out?”

“No. I mean. I don’t know. If my fucking life upended on it, maybe I would.” He keeps undressing but turns away from me, teasing me with an ass I’m going to need to fuck soon. “I’m not insane.”

It shouldn’t be a time for lust, but it’s coursing through me. I see it in his eyes, too. Maybe he’s beyond curious.

What the fuck is he?

Confused?

At thirty-six?

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