Page 59 of Face Off
“I didn’t mean to imply anything. Sorry if it sounded that way,” Dallas says.
“It’s fine.” I pull him into a hug. “I don’t want her to feel left out, no matter how badly she wants to throw things at me.”
“You probably deserve it, Mav.”
“Yeah.” I grin and think about the six text messages I sent her earlier this afternoon. The ones that were delivered and read but went unanswered. It’s a wonder she hasn’t blocked me yet. “I probably do.”
“Why are you two hugging?” Reid asks. He barely looks up from his phone as he walks into the kitchen and swipes a cracker off the cheese tray. His glasses slide down his nose and a lock of red hair falls into his eyes, but he ignores the distractions for his screen. “And why am I not included?”
“Because you’re using your phone even though it’s against the rules. No devices at team dinner. Put it away, Duncan.”
He grumbles under his breath and shoves the phone in a drawer. “There. Happy?”
“Ecstatic. Do you want a hug?”
“No. I’m too stressed for a hug. I need the girl who manages the Thunderhawks account to stop getting on my last nerve. Do you know what she did today? She changed their handle from @ThunderhawksFootball to @footballindc. They play in fuckingBaltimore,” he groans.
“Okay. And why is this bad?” I ask, missing the point.
“Because now I’m getting notifications for them. Our handle, the one I set upyearsago, is @dcfootball, and people are confused.” Reid glares at the oven like it’s the woman he’s talking about. “I swear she’s doing it to get a rise out of me.”
Dallas and I exchange a look, both knowing his feud with the other social media manager is bound to reach a breaking point soon.
“I would too. Your mad-face is cute, Duncan,” I say, and I move the charcuterie boards to the buffet table with the rest of the food my teammates brought. “Come and get it, kids!”
There’s a stampede to the kitchen. Connor gets shoved into a wall and a stack of napkins goes flying. Hands grab for plates and silverware and the Swedish meatballs Riley brought.
“I’m first.” Grant elbows his way to the front. “Youngest ones start the lines. You fuckers are too old to enjoy the finer things in life.”
“Absolutely not.” Hudson nudges Grant out of the way. “I’ve given more time to this team, and my knees suck the most. I’m going first.”
“I think we can agree that Liam’s knees suck the most,” Seymour says, and Liam scowls.
I laugh and stand off to the side, watching them all act like idiots. There’s more than enough food to go around, but it’s fun to see them riled up and competitive over who gets first dibs on the chicken piccata Dallas grabbed from an Italian restaurant on his way over.
Over the loud noise and name-calling, I hear the soft click of a door.
I jerk my head toward the foyer and it feels like all the air is sucked out of the room.
Emerson Hartwell is standing in my apartment, looking like a goddamn knockout.
SEVENTEEN
MAVERICK
I’m still not usedto seeing her in normal clothes, and it throws me out of whack.
Thank god she doesn’t walk around like this all the time. I’d be distracted as hell.
Even right now, someone is trying to get my attention, but I’m not listening.
I’m too busy staring at the leather boots that make her legs look a mile long. The black skirt that hits the tops of her knees and the crop top that shows off her stomach.
“Hey,” I say, walking toward her.
“Hey.” Emerson tilts her head to the side, and her gaze locks on mine. “What’s a girl have to do to get a plate of food instead of getting eye-fucked around here?”
I give her a guilty grin. “I wasn’t very smooth, was I?”
