Page 56 of Defensive Zone

Max: Too much?

Gabi: You think?

Max: Guess you bring it out in me. Or bring it up.

Gabi: You are seriously a perverted little boy.

Max: And you enjoy it more than you want to admit.

How could he read her so well? It was beyond frustrating, and also secretly amazing.

No. Definitely frustrating.

But there was no denying that she wanted him so badly she ached for it. She easily visualized everything he’d done to her the other night; the look in his eyes right before he’d swiped his tongue over her and when he’d sucked on her clit, his fingers plunging into her heat.

She needed a freezing cold shower. Or she needed to end this conversation, finish herself off with her vibrator, and then go to sleep.

Max: Oh, Gabi. Where’d you go? More specifically, where are your fingers right now?

She bit back her moan. He was making her crazy.

Gabi: Please. My fingers are typing out messages to you, you perv.

Max: Sure. Sure.

Gabi: Shouldn’t you be sleeping? It’s like one in the morning in Florida. You should be exhausted from that amazing game.

Max: So you did watch?

Dammit.

Gabi: Of course. Ava always watches your games and I was snuggling with Elise on the couch.

Yes. Think about the kids and that super sweet baby, and not about how Max’s beard felt between her thighs.

Max: Please. I’m not buying this aloofness. You love watching us play.

Gabi: I’m a supportive friend.

Then her phone buzzed with a video chat. From Max.

Because she was a glutton for punishment, she tapped the screen and his bushy-bearded face popped on. His hair was slicked back, probably from a recent shower, and he was propped up in bed without a shirt on. She wondered where that Potter tattoo was. She’d been too distracted on the dryer to remember to look for it the other night.

She never should’ve answered the video call.

“Hello, Gabi. Like what you see?” he asked, his voice warming her right up. Like her body wasn’t already on fire.

“Shh. Everyone is asleep,” she whispered.

He chuckled. “I’m not shouting. They can’t hear us.”

“You didn’t need to call.”

“That shirt looks familiar,” he said.

She’d let the phone slip down enough for him to see the top of the Strikers’ logo.

“I have a Strikers shirt. Ava sent me one ages ago.”

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