Page 19 of Enticing the Enforcer
“How?” Reese demands the second he spots them. Before anyone can answer, his mouth is already dropping to kiss Twyler like he’s been starving for it.
Axel doesn’t bother with questions. Adorned in piercings and with tatt covered hands, he sweeps Nadia up, spinning her off her feet while she shrieks and laughs, legs wrapping around his waist.
Reid? He’s impossible to miss in a moss green suit and vintage boots. On anyone else it would look ridiculous, but he owns it, the same way he takes one step toward Shelby and goes in for a kiss so deep they might never come back up. It’s consuming. Public. Unapologetic. The kind of passion you can’t mistake for anything else. The kind that doesn’t care who’s watching. Everyone in the radius knows exactly what these men are saying without words. With their hands gripping theirwomen’s hips, their mouths branding them, their last names stitched across the backs of jerseys.
Possession, pure and simple, and it goes both ways.
It’s foreign to me. I’m used to the opposite: ducking out separate doors, slipping into different cars, lowering my head so the cameras don’t catch me–catchus.
What I’ve known never looked like this. It looked like hiding. Drifting.
Jefferson hangs back from the chaos, giving each girl a hug, laughing at something Twyler whispers as she tugs at his shoulder like she’s inspecting damage. He’s casual. Cool. A contrast to all that heat happening just feet away, although the slate gray of his suit, the same color as his eyes, the way it hangs on his broad shoulders…
I’m feeling my own kind of warmth.
“What are you doing here?” Reese finally asks, his voice breaking through, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Not that I mind, but you weren’t going to come until the finals.”
“We made some new friends,” Shelby says, tipping her chin toward me, mischief curling her lips as she gestures like she’s dropping a bomb. “One who happens to have a private jet and access to box seats.”
And just like that, all of them are looking between me and Madison. Recognition flares immediately. Of course it does. My poster has been taped to their bedroom walls, my voice the vehicle for their emotions, and well, for one of them, the soundtrack for losing his virginity.
I still can’t figure out what song it is and it’s pissing me off.
Axel is the first one to speak, blurting out, “Holy shit, you’re Ingrid Flockton.”
“Shhh,” Nadia hushes him. “Inside voice, babe.”
He shrugs, but his expression is friendly. Twyler introduces me to Reese and Reid offers a wide eyed wave. The fourthin their crew, I catch watching out of the corner of his eye. Jefferson plays it so smooth, approaching me last. “Hi. Big fan.”
“Same,” I answer, schooling my expression. “Of all of you. That was an incredible win.”
The circle of them tightens, warmth and noise pressing in as introductions fly–names I already know, but I let them say them anyway. Their energy is contagious, so bright and buoyant after the win, that for a moment, it almost feels like I belong in it. Almost.
Before the reunion can spin too far, a shout cuts through the night. One of the staff, waving toward the bus.
“Coach’s rule. We have to ride back together,” Reese announces, not even pretending to not be disappointed, Twyler still glued to his side like he’d never let her go again. “Where are you staying?”
The girls glance at me, hesitating, like they need permission. It’s sweet–protective. But I cut in before the pause grows heavy.
“I have an apartment here,” I explain, sliding my hands into my coat pockets. “I invited them to stay with me.”
“Sweet,” Axel’s grin turns wolfish. “Slumber party.”
Nadia rolls her eyes at him. “Ignore him.”
“If you want…” The words stumble out before I can edit them, softer than I intend. My eyes betray me, darting everywhere but where I really want to look. Anywhere but Jefferson. “You guys are welcome to come over and hang out for a while.”
“Really?” Reid asks, his grin easy and wide. “That would be awesome.”
Even Reese seems into the idea, and from what I’ve heard he’s all business all the time. My kind of guy, except maybe he’s not. Because Jefferson, well, he doesn’t answer right away. Just stands there, a half-step back, studying me through the shadows of the arena lights, unreadable. It’s obvious he hasn’t said a wordto his friends about our night together, and I can’t decide how that makes me feel.
After the hotel pickup,they pile into my SUV, Marv steady at the wheel. The boys have shed their suits and ties upstairs for more causal clothes. The laughter rolls easy as they stretch out like they own the space. Reese drapes an arm around Twyler, Reid sprawls across half the bench, Axel props his long legs on the console. Jefferson claims the window seat, quiet, the blond of his hair haloed by the passing lights.
By the time we reach my building, Madison’s already arranged delivery from one of the best deep-dish spots in Chicago. No champagne. No beer. Just pizza stacked high, sodas clinking in glass bottles, and water–because they’re disciplined. The next round of the Frozen Four is only days away.
“Is this Sarah Homes?” Reid asks, studying a large painting of bright flowers just inside the living room.
“You know her?” I ask, impressed.
