Teasing: Chapter 19

The right man might be your greatest weakness, but maybe, just maybe, he can be your greatest source of strength too.

—Emmie’s Secret Thoughts

I roll over and look at the clock on my phone as my stomach growls. It’s six a.m. I’ve got at least two hours before Rosie wakes up, and judging by the weight of the arm draped over me, Mav isn’t waking up anytime soon either. But this girl needs sustenance.

And coffee.

Not necessarily in that order.

Very carefully, I slide out of bed, careful not to wake Maverick, and throw on his discarded shirt from last night. My body melts. It smells like him. The soft, dark-gray cotton with West End stitched across the front in navy-blue thread falls to just above my knees, and I wonder if I can get away with spending the day in this shirt.

He’s so not getting this back.

I look around for my panties, then remember Cujo actually shredded them.

For a hot second, I consider stealing a pair of his, then laugh that off and tug the tee down. Looks like I’m going commando. Wonder how he’s going to feel about that . . .

Ten minutes later, I’ve got the coffee brewing while I stuff a blueberry muffin in my mouth and wait impatiently for my first hit of caffeine. My limbs are heavy, and my body is deliciously sore from overuse. And oh my . . . how it was used.

I smile to myself at the thought of the way we kept reaching for each other. At some point today, I’m going to crash hard from lack of sleep, but that crash will be so worth it. If I’m lucky, my dreams will be full of dark-blue eyes and beautiful black-inked skin.

The hair on the back of my neck stands at attention a moment later. My back may be to the doorway, but I don’t need to see him to know Maverick just walked into the room. The energy changes before strong arms wrap around my waist and his stubbled chin rests on my shoulder. Hot breath fans my face as lips I desperately want to taste graze my ear. “I woke up alone. I thought you left.”

I rest my head back against his chest and smile. “Just needed food.”

The coffee maker chimes, and I can feel his grin. “And coffee . . . I know the real way to your heart, and it’s paved with caffeine.”

His lips press against my neck, and I tilt to the side, giving him full access. “I love your mouth on my skin.”

“I like my mouth on your sweet cunt.” I can’t help the chill that runs down my spine with those filthy words. Yes, please. “Breakfast of champions.”

“Dude,” Jamie moans as he walks into the room, and I spin around and hide my face in Maverick’s chest as embarrassment floods me. “I’m jealous of Ryker’s ability to turn his hearing aids down right now.” He moves to the fridge and grabs the orange juice. “I’m never going to be able to unhear that shit.”

“Oh my God,” I whisper, mortified.

But Maverick laughs. Maybe at me. Maybe at Jamie. I’m not really sure. I’m just sure I want to die.

“You don’t need to live here, Murphy.” Mav wraps an arm around me, and Jamie gags.

“Hot Nan⁠—”

“Don’t say it, Murph. Whatever fucked up thing you’re thinking—just don’t. Not if you want to live to see tomorrow.” Hot damn, I love when this man growls. My man.

Jamie opens the orange juice and drinks right from the bottle.

Eww. Remind me to never drink the juice here again.

“Morning.” Ryker stops as he walks into the kitchen and looks at all of us. “Nice shirt, Em.”

My face flames, but a smile creeps in too. It is a nice shirt. One I plan to keep.

Ryker’s smile is devilish when he flashes it at Mav.

I love the relationship these three have.

The way they go at each other.

Okay . . . I can do this.

“Thanks. Anybody want breakfast?” I ask and look around to see what ingredients I’ve got left this week. Hmmm. It’s not looking good. Door Dash it is.

“Pretty sure Mav’s already had his breakfast,” Jamie laughs, and Mav punches his shoulder.

“More like dessert,” I murmur, then realize how loud that actually was. Even Ryker is smiling. Guess he read my lips.

Maverick wraps his arm back around my waist and lifts me from my feet as he pulls me into him with a smirk I want to kiss right off his lips. “Oh, I had dessert all right. What . . . three—no, four times.”

“We get it,” Ryker tells him and pops both hearing aids out. “Nobody needs to know that shit.”

“You sure you’re ready for this, Em? Because we’re a package deal,” Jamie warns me, and I’m shocked by his wording.

“You are not part of the package,” Maverick grumbles.

“We are,” Ryker agrees, and I couldn’t stop my laugh if you paid me a million dollars to shut up.

“The only package she’s handling will be yours. Don’t worry, man,” Jamie taunts, and I wrap my arms around Mav, holding him back as I laugh.

Once he seems to have calmed down, I drop my arms. “I guess it’s a good thing I don’t scare easily.”

“About that.” Jamie reaches for the mug until Maverick growls. See? Cujo.

“We’re gonna need you not to scare easily tomorrow night,” he tells me as he gets his own mug and sits it next to the coffee pot.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Mav asks as he waits for me to fill Jamie’s mug, then takes it for himself. Jamie looks like he’s about to say something, then decides he’s better off just getting another mug. I guess the third time’s a charm.

This time, he fills it himself and steps back. “We’re having a party tomorrow night.”

“No. We’re. Not.” Mav’s voice leaves little room for argument. “No parties at my house, dickhead.”

“It’s just the usual crew. Lilah and Killian. Noah. Maddox. Rome. Dillan. And now Emmie and Camden,” Jamie pushes back.

Ryker slides in next to me. “They’re going to argue. Maverick’s going to give in because they’re his best friends, and Jamie’s going to gloat that he got to throw a party because he’s an asshole who likes to win. Better get used to it. This is their norm.”

I look between the three of them, then smile back at Ryker. “Sounds like fun.”

Ryker looks down at my bare legs. “You might need pants.”

Maverick

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today, son.” Dad closes his laptop and leans back in his office chair.

“Working hard or hardly working?” I ask as I let myself in.

“Just reading scans. They can wait.” Not many NFL players would have gone back to school for an MD after they retired, but what very few people know is that was Dad’s real dream. His medical license hangs on the wall right below his degree. The old man is impressive. He also gives the best advice. I should probably tell him that more than I do.

I drop down into the leather chair, opposite him, and rest my elbows on my knees.

“Spit it out, Mav. You’ve got that face . . .”

“Pretty sure I’ve had the same face my whole life. The ladies like it.” Deflection. Real mature.

“I hear one lady in particular likes it,” he taunts like the cocky bastards he raised Ryker and me to be. “I also hear your mother likes her. That’s half the battle.”

“Oh yeah?” I relax and cringe all at once, thinking about the conversation I had with Mom after she, Amelia, and Belles grilled Emmie. “What’s the other half?” Curiosity gets the better of me.

“Finding a worthy partner. One who loves you for you. Someone you can talk to. Someone you can lean on when you need to. Because no matter how strong you are, nobody can bear it all alone forever, Maverick. You’ll need to lean. You need someone as strong as you. Someone who will fight for you and with you.”

I stare at him, stunned silent.

Dad’s not much of a talker. That’s more Mom. Dad’s the observer. The quiet observer.

“Great sex helps too. Hell . . . your mother⁠—”

“Stop. Please. Fuck. Don’t go there,” I beg, laughing.

He wouldn’t, but he likes to act like he would.

Mom actually would and has.

I shake my head, shocked I’m even considering this conversation. “I think I found her.”

My words are quiet, but damn, they’re said with conviction.

Dad tilts his head and waits while I find the words. The right ones. “You know this isn’t why I came today.”

“Why did you come?”

His bulldog, Kelce, trots in, snorting as he goes until he makes his way to the dog bed next to Dad’s desk. He circles it once, then flops down and starts snoring before his head hits the fuzzy pillow. Kelce is Butters’s dad. The little hornball has lots of babies running around Kroydon Hills. He makes cute puppies. Farting, snoring little assholes. But they’re cute.

“I came because your wife has my daughter at a stable, meeting a pony she’s trying to convince me she hasn’t already bought . . .”

Dad’s chest shakes as he laughs. “Is that what she’s saying?”

“I don’t want to know,” I stop him. “Rein in your wife, man. I said no pony,” I joke and watch as Dad shakes his head.

“I’ve been married to your mother for nearly three decades, and I’ve never once been able to rein her crazy in, kid. Not a chance I’m going to start now. Especially when it comes to that little girl.”

The way he still smiles when he talks about Mom never gets old. There’s something to be said about growing up with parents who are disgustingly in love. Even when things got tough, or scary as hell like they did after Ryker’s accident, it was them against the world.

“I really didn’t come to get relationship advice,” I groan.

“Well, why the hell not?” He furrows his brow like he seriously doesn’t understand. “I give great advice.”

“Yeah, you’re humble too.”

The old man straightens his desk and pushes back. “Come on. I just got a new bottle of bourbon I’ve wanted to try.”

“It’s four o’clock in the afternoon,” I balk but follow him.

“Your mother and I have been on a bourbon journey. It’s not bad.”

A bourbon journey . . . okay. “Whatever floats your boat.”

“You like wine, and I don’t bust your balls.”

I follow him into the living room and watch as he cracks the wax on a fifty-year-old bottle of bourbon. Damn . . . He pours two glasses, then hands me one and holds his up in front of me, admiring it. “To the women who drive us crazy.”

I tap my glass to his and picture Emmie.

Her and those sundresses.

The glitter all over my house.

The key under her porch swing.

The white fucking yoga shorts.

The way she smiles at my daughter.

The camera that’s always in her hands.

The way she sounds when she comes.

“Damn, kid. You’ve got it bad.” He puts his empty glass back on the bar and takes mine out of my hand. “It’s a good look on you.” He swallows my bourbon and adds the glass to the bar. “So, you want to tell me why you’re here, if it’s not to talk about the woman who put that look on your face?”

“I’m thinking about letting Rosie come to a game.” I can’t fucking believe I’m thinking about it, but I am.

“Took you long enough.”

I look at the pictures lining the shelves and know he’s right.

Years of family photos that involve my team. Memories revolving around football.

She’s already a King.

I guess it’s time I show her what it means.