Page 135 of Endgame

I need to remember to text Callaway and thank him, hopefully in more ways than one tonight. I should have an extra spoon here somewhere.

Digging through my drawers, I’m greeted with pure joy when I spot a spoon.

I can’t get the wrapper off fast enough, rushing to open the air-tight seal of the cookie butter and meet my mouth with a spoonful of mouthwatering creamy goodness.

Mhm. Almost as good as a —

“Starting without me?”

I’m caught red-handed, dead in my tracks, moaning with a clump of cookie butter stuffed in my mouth.

“Huh?” I doubt that was even audible.

I’m not willing to spit out the goods to sound like I have it all together; it’s evident I don’t.

Looking up, Callaway stands with the door to my office kicked open, arms crossed at his chest, and a stupidly handsome smirk on his face. He confirms what I already know. I was so busy indulging in a delicacy that I missed the sound of him entering.

No regrets.

I swallow what’s left of the cookie butter in my mouth, the roughness of the cookie pieces coating my tongue, as I fiddle with the spoon to distract myself from the embarrassment of being caught.

“I thought you left.”

I did think that. Callaway followed the rest of the team to shower and head out. I assumed he was leaving the field too. I thought I’d hear from him later.

Evidently not.

He walks closer, heading towards the side of my desk where I have placed the arrangement and slides it over a smidge to make room for him to sit on. One thing I love the most about Cal is he can feel at home anywhere. That’s a trait that I, unfortunately, lack, so it makes me happy to know he finds comfort in being around me. Kind of how he’s comfortable enough now to place his thick ass and wide thighs on my work desk.

Sir, please lie down if you must.

“I wanted to check on you. I didn’t see you leave after the game.” That’s because I ran straight here, not to flee for any reason. Instead, I’ve been dying to preview these photos, and I know if I don’t have the scrapbook finished soon, Mack will have my head.

For a man who barely says anything, he knows how to intimidate you with only a grunt.

“Yeah, I left at the top of the eighth. I captured enough photos for the day and figured I’d work here for a while. Well, until your delivery showed up. Thank you, by the way. That was so sweet of you.”

He nods his head, personifying humility in his kind gesture.

“Of course. I see you’re enjoying yourself.”

His light chuckle calms my racing heart. He’s so close I can smell him, citrus and cedar, a scent I am accustomed to now, but one that still sends heat to my body.

It feels like a sauna in here.

He looks so sexy right now.

Gray sweatpants cover his bottom half, hugging his tight ass that I now can say I’ve had the pleasure of confirming its perfection. Accompanied with Under Armour white socks matching perfectly with his all-white Air Max sneakers, a freshly washed white Strikers t-shirt, and his dark hair is damp and tousled from his recent shower.

He couldn’t look more attractive if he tried.

I’d like to whore myself out for another night in the sheets, Mr. Hayes.

Please and thank you.

He doesn’t even have to try to catch my attention, and I’m all over him—under, through, inside, outside, wherever he’ll let me.

His tattooed arms are crossed over his chest, causing his gigantic muscles to bulge in temptation, begging me to lick them.

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