Page 52 of Pucked Up and Married (Las Vegas Angels 4)

“When you’re safe.”

Then, she started moving around, but her foot got caught on my shirt.

“Oh, shit, stop,” I warned her and then tried to unhook her toes from my shirt.

This left only one hand on her hip—that she quickly pushed away.

No hands on her hips.

One foot caught in my shirt.

One foot unsteadily balanced on the bottom of a slippery bathtub.

Equals.

Disaster.

“Shitballs!” she yelled, falling forward in painful, slow motion.

And there was nothing I could do about it.

My hands gripped her thighs as her perfect ass pressed up against my face.

And I wasn’t sad about that.

Not at all.

“Oh, my God. What did you do?” she said from somewhere on the other side of the tub.

Her hands seemed to have saved her from doom by catching her fall. But now, she was in a downward dog position, arching over the side of the tub.

Hands on the outside.

Ass in the air.

Feet inside the tub.

I already loved whenever Lexi did a downward dog. Now, I'd developed an even deeper affinity for this particular yoga position.

“I saved your life. You should thank me.” I felt my pants get even tighter.

“You did this on purpose.”

I let out a loud laugh because I couldn’t have planned this to go any better. “You got your foot tangled in my shirt. That is not my fault.”

“Trey, this is not funny.”

I laughed louder. “It’s pretty fuckin’ funny.”

“It’s not,” she said, but then I saw her body start to shake with laughter.

That made me let loose even more.

“What are you guys—” Jillian said from the doorway, “oh, my gosh, at least close the door first, good grief.” Then she swiftly spun around and slammed the door shut on us.

There was dead silence in the bathroom.

Exactly five seconds later—we both burst back out into a fit of laughter.

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