Page 29 of Pucking Dirty

"Maybe," he murmurs.

"Damn." I don't press for more. It's not like I need to do it anyway. Whatever is going on has nothing to do with a girl…and everything to do with his sister. Half of these idiots may think he's just like they are, fucking anyone willing, but they haven't paid nearly enough attention. They see what he wants them to see and never look beyond it. He's smart as hell, and he uses it to his advantage to protect what matters.

Maybe I need to take a few lessons from him if Montaque is sniffing around for a story. I don't want it to be Emilia in his crosshairs.

And as much as I hate to admit it, she was right last week. I acted rash and put a target on her back. I wanted her in my jersey and nothing else mattered. That shit could have sent everything up in smoke. That's the last thing I want. She isn't fodder for some fucking article for a prick like Montaque.

She's…Christ, at this point, she's quickly becoming the center of my world. In the week since I made her come all over me in the penalty box, things between us have only gotten better. She's at my place damn near every night. Or I've got her bent over every flat surface with a modicum of privacy in the arena.

But she's still determined to hide us. Which means I'm more determined than ever to change her mind. She isn't a secret or something I'm ashamed about. I don't want someone like Montaque learning about her and turning us into some fucking story. That isn't what we are.

The simple fact is, I'm fucking wild about her. I'd have my ring on her finger tomorrow if I thought she'd let me. I don't give a shit if it's fast. My instincts have never been wrong, and they've been screaming since day one that she's it for me.

I just need to get her on the same page.

I'm fucking trying.

But Emilia is full of fire and flame and fierce independence. She's bold and wild and hysterically funny. Intelligent and so goddamn sweet it's unreal. And underneath that, she's nervous as hell. I don't think she's ever had anything to lose before now. It's always been her and her dad against the world. And she does not want to disappoint the man she's hero worshipped her entire life.

More than that, she doesn't want me to disappoint him. And she's convinced that this will seriously fuck up the team's dynamics. I'm working on proving otherwise, but it's taking baby steps. I push as far as I can without pushing her right out of my life.

My phone buzzes with an incoming message.

I pull it out of my pocket, biting back a groan as soon as I pull up her message and see her gorgeous face filling the screen.

Future Wife: Did you know there's an entire closet of nacho cheese back here?

Me: Yes. It's called a supply closet. Why are you raiding it for cheese?

Future Wife: First of all, you suck for failing to disclose the existence of the cheese closet, Whatley. Second of all, who says I'm raiding it? Maybe I'm waiting for a certain hockey player to come fuck, I mean FIND me…

"Fuck," I groan, my dick immediately raging to life.

Me: You better be wet when I get there, princess.

Future Wife: Worry about yourself, Whatley. I've got myself well in hand. As a matter of fact…

Another picture comes through, and I damn near drop the phone. She's got her skirt hiked up around her waist so every inch of her thick thighs is on display. Her hand is in her panties, touching my pussy.

Fucking hell. She's in the supply closet, playing with my pussy.

Me: Hell no. Do not touch it, Emilia. I will spank it.

Future Wife: That, oddly, did not make me want to touch it less. Must unpack this later…you know, when I'm not otherwise occupied.

I jerk to my feet, shoving my phone in my pocket.

"I'll be back," I growl to Archer. "Got something to take care of."

"Mmhmm," he says.

"I just bet you do, motherfucker," Jordan says, shaking his head. "Tell her we said hi."

"Fuck no. I'm not telling her shit for any of you."

Archer and Jordan laugh as I storm toward the door.

"Where the fuck is he going?" Joaquin asks. "I thought we had practice."

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