She looks over her shoulder at me as I pull the blanket up. “Remember, husband. Hands to yourself.”
Oh, I remember all right. Or more accurately all night. But hours later as Olivia curls her body against mine, her back to my chest and her perfect fucking ass cradled in my hips, I wish I didn’t.
LOGAN
Did I see blondie sneaking out of
the ranch this morning?
She and Olivia had coffee and
breakfast with Pops.
Not sure I’d call that sneaking.
Dude. If she spent the
night in your bed, where
the hell did you sleep?
Worry about your
own shit, brother.
But your shit is so much
more fun at the moment.
Fuck off, dumbass.
Have fun at dinner with
the new in-laws tonight.
Can’t wait to hear how
Cade “The Saint” St. James
handles you “handling”
his baby girl.
I’m not handling anyone.
Maybe you should give it a try.
Might make you nicer
to be around.
—Text from Rafe to Logan
“And whatever you do, don’t mention anything sexual,” Olivia warns after giving me the code to key into the wrought-iron gate blocking the tree-lined driveway leading to her parents’ house on the outskirts of Kroydon Hills.
“Really, Olive? Do I look that dumb?” I mock, taking in the sun setting behind the secluded estate. I knowofOlivia’s family. I’m familiar with their name. If you’re an athlete in this country, you’re at least aware of the Kingston sports dynasty. And even though I grew up around wealth, basically adjacent to it until my first pro contract, it was never this kind of wealth.
The Kingstons aren’t millionaires.
