Page 82 of Play Maker

I kiss up her body slowly. “Your taste is my favorite flavor in the world.”

“Yeah?” she pants.

“Yeah,” I say, kissing her neck.

“Show me,” she whispers.

I brush my lips across hers like I’m painting her. Her tongue slowly strokes across mine then between them.

“Mmm.”

* * *

She leaves the office first and gives me the time I need to let things calm down. I hit the bathroom to wash my face, and I do it regretfully.

As I’m walking out, my phone sounds off, I pull it out of my pocket and see it’s a security alert number.

Legacy Security:In a combined effort with the local police and Buffalo City Police, we have four suspects being questioned about The Stables incident. We’re sticking to the precautions already set in place but assume that will change as more information comes in. We’re in the homestretch, Knights. We will update you again as soon as we can.

Not only is that good news, but it’s a great distraction.

I walk out of the hall and join a group of some of the guys.

“Buffalo never messed with us. Why now?” Hunt asks.

“Don’t give a damn. It’s another night ofMortal Kombatat Casa Hart.” Salazar holds up his fist for Skinner to tap.

Skinner shakes his head. “I’m out. Three nights before the game, and I need some sleep.” He looks at me. “Lo’s place still open?”

I glance over at the bar. “I don’t know. I’ll ask.”

“Don’t ask, man—make it happen.” He scowls and pouts at the same damn time.

I walk over and see my seat’s still open, so I take it.

Lo spots me from where she’s talking to Mickey and smiles. She re-braided her hair.

Mickey glances over and steps back, nodding to me. “Go. This can wait.”

“Need something?” she asks.

“Skinner wants to know if we can stay at yours until we get cleared to go back.”

“Um … let me think about that.” She taps a finger on her lips as she looks up. “Okay, yeah, I’ll take one for the team.”

* * *

I close the washing machine and hit thestartbutton, fully aware I should question my sanity because of the fact I love the idea of her clothes and mine tumbling around in there together, but I’m not going to. I then head out of her utility room and to the fridge.

She’s got exactly what I expected: cold brew, leftover soup in a mason jar, a half-eaten bag of shredded cheese, and a sticky note on a takeout container that reads, “Don’t touch unless you’re brave or dumb.”

“We need to grab some food. We should make a list.”

“I’m making one as we speak,” he says smugly.

I shut the door, turn around, and see Skinner, who’s already making himself at home on the couch with what appears to be a poster board and a box of arts and crafts.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

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