Page 44 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

Maddox would be proud to see the outcome of his deliverance.

One look at me and everyone will know I had the best sex of my existence.

“Yup. Shower.”

I couldn’t fathom the idea of going downstairs like this. I may be comfortable in my own house, but there are limits when you live with your father. The poor man would have a heart attack. No, he’d have a heart attack after kicking Maddox’s ass. I was keeping my fingers crossed they hadn’t crossed paths, or my poor Maddox would be a goner.

With another stretch, I check my top two drawers, noticing all I have left is one set of clean underwear.

“I need to do laundry,” I mutter.

I’ve been dreading it, using every damn piece of clothing I owned aside from the sweaters in the bottom drawer because it wasn’t freezing yet. I did have some jerseys down there, but no way was I going to wear those like an eager Canadian who couldn’t wait for the hockey season.

Did I admire the sport?

Yes.

Would I spend ten thousand dollars on front-row tickets?

Puck no.

My father would beg to differ.

Shaking my head, I claim my last piece of underwear and head to the bathroom.

It was a good thing I hadn’t worn this pair of panties last night to go out, or I’d be completely out. With my period finally gone back to its cave of misery, I wasn’t worried about my lack of undies.

Thank goodness for birth control because my periods lasted three days now instead of seven. I know some would give me the lecture of how it’s not good for you, all that jazz, but frankly, I was a happy camper so long as that expensive but government-covered rod in my arm stayed where it was.

Pregnancy-free, short periods, hormone crazy for three days, and all the sex I can handle for another three weeks.

Can’t pucking complain.

Stopping at the doorway, I pause and tilt my head to one side while I observe the very clean bathroom. With a few sniffs, I know for sure this place has been cleaned by the damn gods with how freshly lemon-scented it is.

“I didn’t clean the bathroom before we went out,” I mutter to myself.

Not like I didn’t want to.

My OCD had nagged me to clean it while my anxiety had encouraged the act or else I’d regret it with a hangover, but Mack wouldn’t let me spend the rest of our night cleaning my ‘fancy’ bathroom after getting so much good news in one night.

Which means…

“Maddox.”

It had to be him, which makes my heart swells when I notice the bundle of folded clothes on the sink counter next to a white tray of chocolate goodies.

Quietly squealing as I shuffle over there to see the handwritten note, I want to melt into a puddle at the kind and romantic gesture.

A man who gives her girl the princess treatment. Girly Squeal x10.

Picking up the note, I scan it quickly.

Good Afternoon, Mkaykay.

Wanted you to sleep in, which is why I’m not in your bed, cuddling you until your heart is content. To make up for it, I decided to clean your bathroom and put all your clothes in the laundry (including the ones from last night).

Not sure if it’s the lovely time of the month—cough, don’t kill me if it is—but you enjoy chocolate goodness with peanut butter, so here’s an array of Reese’s Pieces, Oh Henry Bars, Caramilk, and some heat pads if you need them.

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