“Are you sure?” I ask, warily.
Before Max can reply, Coach walks in. “Layla! How’s your head?”
“Oh, it’s okay. The extra sleep helped,” I stammer, reflexively touching my temple. “I didn’t mean to sleep so late, though. Does anyone need anything from me? What time are we going over to the field?”
“No one needs anything. And we’ll be heading over around noon. I’d planned on you staying here again, but since Morales is currently in orchiopexy surgery, you’re safe to be at the field.”
Confused, I stare at him. “What’s an orchiopexy surgery?”
Coach fails to hide his grin. “A surgery to correct a testicular torsion.”
Horrified, my eyes dance from Coach to Max. “But he still played last night!”
“Yeah, because he’s a dumbass,” Max snorts. “He pulled his hamstring, and when he went to the doctor for that, they found the torsion. Serves him right.”
Coach clears his throat. “And we are very sad that Morales has been coincidentally injured in back-to-back games, and we wish him well in his recovery.”
Max rolls his eyes. “We all know the spiel. No, I didn’t aim. No, Dante didn’t trip him. Yes, it’s just a series of bad luck experiences. No, we don’t wish he’d die a miserable death. Blah, blah, blah.”
I can’t help the giggle that bubbles up. “I’d avoid that last part if I were you.”
Max gives me a grin and a wink. “Coach decided it’s best if I continue not being interviewed for another week or two. He figures I’m bound to say something that incriminates me.”
“Because Iknowyou’ll say something to incriminate yourself, and probably the whole team,” Coach mutters. Turning to me, he asks, “Do you need any help getting things packed up?”
I look around, noting that most of the things we brought from Denver are already organized well. “I should be fine. I need to pack my personal belongings, though.”
“Me too,” Max announces. “I’ll walk up with you.”
I hear Coach “hmm” under his breath as he watches us leave the room. Once in the elevator, I turn to Max. “Does he know?”
“About what?” Max asks.
“About last night.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You know I’m not going to go aroundbragging about sleeping with you, right? And if I did, Coach would absolutely be the last person I told.”
Intrigued, I ask, “Who would be the first person you’d tell?”
“No one on this team,” he says with a snort. “But if I had to, probably Holloway. He’s like a little puppy. He’d be way too excited about it.”
I laugh, nodding. “He totally would. But, like a puppy, he wouldn’t be able to keep a secret. So, probably not a good idea to start with him.”
The doors open on our floor, and Max gestures for me to step out of the elevator before him. As I walk down the hallway toward our rooms, I’m acutely aware of Max meandering behind me, and I just know he’s staring at my ass.
In all honesty, if the roles were reversed, I’d be doing the same thing. Baseball players have great asses, much like hockey players. Their workout regimens are remarkable, especially considering a good chunk of every game, they’re standing around.
“Do you need any help?” Max asks when I reach my door, his voice huskier than normal.
“No, I’m fine,” I answer. Turning to him, I give him a professional smile. “Good luck today.”
“Thanks.” We unlock our doors simultaneously, entering our respective rooms. As soon as both doors latch closed, Max strides in through our adjoining door, scooping me up. His lips cover mine before my back hits the closest wall. Hands on my ass, he flexes his fingers, encouraging my legs to wrap around his waist. The kiss is passionate, deep, and oh so hot as our tongues tangle together.
Breaking the kiss off, Max peppers kisses down my neck and onto my shoulder. “Come home with me tonight.”
“That’s not a good idea,” I say weakly. “Someone might see.”
“No one on the team will care,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue up to my earlobe. “I need to have you in my bed, Peaches. I want to know how you sound when you come while wrapped up in my sheets.”
