Risky Play (Red Card #1)(61)

He let out a growl and rubbed his fur against her bare legs like he was trying to remind her how soft he was.

“Don’t be territorial, Alfie, she still loves you,” I said in a sleep-filled voice as I wrapped my arms around her from behind. “You look sexy in my shirt.”

“I’ll be even sexier once it smells like bacon.”

“My exact thoughts.” I chuckled against her neck. Her skin smelled like a mixture of my Opium cologne and soap. I grinned as I placed another kiss below her ear, then reached toward the skillet.

She smacked my hand with the spatula. “Not yet.”

“Ouch!” I jerked away. “But it’s done.”

“It barely has any crispy!” she argued, eyes wide.

I held up my hands. “Did you just say it barely has any crispy? What the hell is crispy?”

“You know.” She turned to the other skillet with eggs and stirred. “The crispy parts, the crunchy ones that snap in half and almost taste burnt.”

“Woman, if you burn this bacon—”

“Call me woman and I’m burning more than the bacon.” She allowed her gaze to drift below my waist, and I suppressed a cringe.

“Mack . . .” I braced her with both hands. “Please don’t burn the bacon—or my penis.”

She tilted her head. “What made you think it was your penis?”

“You looked down, you pointed, you smelled like rage and testosterone.”

She burst out laughing. I decided that was how I wanted to wake up from here on out, with the sound of her laugh and the smell of bacon. “Yeah, okay, go sit down.”

“Mack, you don’t have to serve me, let me—”

“I like taking care of you,” she said softly, and then her cheeks flushed as she looked away.

I sighed. God, I’d been such a dick. “I like it when you take care of me too . . . because I’m well aware I don’t deserve it, not one bit.”

Mack cupped my cheeks between her palms and pressed a hot, open-mouth kiss against my lips. “Bacon will solve everything, including the fact that you have that look in your eyes.”

“What look?” I shrugged. “I’m just tired because I was in bed with an insatiable woman who takes direction too well and screams until her voice goes hoarse. Thought poor Alfie was going to break down the door at one point. You sounded like you were either getting murdered or having the best night of your life.”

Mack threw a napkin at me. “Very funny. And the look that says you’re thinking about skipping practice. You only have a few minutes before you need to show up, and you guys have your first game soon.”

“Memorized my practice schedule?” I grinned.

She scowled. “I see that sex doesn’t change your winning personality or inability to tamp down that ego.”

“If anything, it makes it worse,” I teased, smiling more in those few brief minutes than I had in weeks. “Are you going to paint your face and wear my jersey? Because I have to admit, I’d love that—would love it even more if you flashed me.”

She grabbed a plate, piled it high, and shoved it into my hands. “No face painting because I’ll stand out, and I hate . . .” She frowned. “I don’t really like attention after the whole . . .”

With a curse I was pulling her into my arms. “Women like you should never have to hide—don’t let that dick take your strength. Don’t let him win.”

Tears filled her eyes. “I’ll . . . try, it’s just . . . hard.”

“He’s a dumb jackass with one testicle—you really think he should have the upper hand in any situation? I doubt he can even walk in a straight line without stumbling on account of his uneven balls, bet the guy even wears special shoes so he looks taller.”

“You finished?” She grinned.

“For now.” I let out the breath I’d been holding. “He deserves to get punched in the face every day for leaving you at the altar.” I shrugged, thankful the bastard had no brain cells and didn’t go through with it, his loss, my gain. “Now I’m done.”

“You volunteering as tribute?”

“I’d probably do it at a different time every day so he could never mentally prepare for the punch—I imagine he would eventually just go insane and die alone.” I nodded encouragingly.

She patted me on the shoulder. “Eat your bacon and go to practice.”

“Come with me.”

“I have Alfie.”

“Bring Alfie.”

She rolled her eyes. “I need to finish dishes, and I noticed that the laundry needed—”

“Excuses.” I grabbed her hand. “Come with me to practice. You can watch with Alfie—then during break we can grab lunch. Please.”

She made a face and then slumped. “Lunch, no practice, and somewhere nobody would expect us to be, the last thing I need is to be on every magazine in the world . . .” She made a face. “Again.”

“If the worst happens, we’ll just run Jagger over with your car, problem solved. He’ll be all over the news, and we’ll be old news, and really, I don’t mind driving . . .” I winked.

“Shocked.” She grabbed a piece of bacon and tugged it between her teeth. Waves of jealousy mentally attacked that bacon as she let out a moan. One that wasn’t for me, but for a dead pig.