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“I think we’re going to have to order pizza for naked dinner now,” I whispered into his ear. “No doubt our Chinese food is cold.”
“You know, there’s this thing called a microwave…”
“Shut up, smartass,” I retorted. “And since most of our food is now on the floor, I’m in the mood for pizza instead.”
“Are you in the mood to clean this mess up, too?”
“Hell. No,” I scoffed. “Rule number 235, Thatcher. You make the mess. You clean it up.”
“I thought that rule only applied to cum shots on your stomach.”
I leaned back and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, please, tell me the last time you actually pulled out.”
His fingers trailed across my slightly rounded lower abdomen and a soft, easy grin consumed his mouth. “It’s been awhile.”
“Yeah. Awhile.” I laughed and tapped him on the nose with my index finger. “You clean. I’ll order pizza.”
“Okay. Fine.” He chuckled. “Wanna take a shower first?”
I nodded and slid out of his lap. “Netflix and pizza in bed?”
“Brilliant plan, honey. Especially if there’s another silent ‘chill’ in there.”
He followed me into our bedroom, and I winked over my shoulder. His answering smile made my knees feel weak.
While Thatch greeted a sleepy Phil, who refused to get up from his bed, I flipped on the shower and set out some towels. “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” I called out from the bathroom. “I had to reschedule the shoot in Seattle.”
“When is it now?”
“Saturday.”
“Next Saturday? I thought that was the Mavericks shoot in Phoenix?” he asked and met my gaze in the bathroom mirror. A few weeks ago, Georgia had asked that I join the team on an away game and shoot a pictorial for their new marketing materials. Of course, I’d said yes, even though I knew it was going to add an additional level of traveling hell to my schedule. But I’d be with Georgia and Winnie, flying into Phoenix on the team jet and earning some downtime with the girls when I wasn’t shooting. Silver lining for sure.
“No.” I shook my head and proceeded to brush out the knots in my hair. “This Saturday is Seattle now, next Saturday will be Phoenix.”
His brow furrowed. “You’re leaving again in less than forty-eight hours?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” I set my brush on the counter and turned to face him. “It was the only way to fit the shoot in.”
I sensed his frustration and moved toward him, wrapping my arms around his waist and placing a soft kiss on his chest. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll make sure you have plenty of time to fuck my brains out before I leave again.”
I glanced up at him, and he quirked a brow. “Better you than me,” he murmured, almost to himself. “These days, I’m not sure I have all that many brain cells left to waste.”
Head down with my chin to my chest to protect against the chilly October wind, I moved swiftly from the hired town car to my plane and jogged up the stairs. Tonight, I was headed out to Phoenix for Sunday’s away game.
My personal flight attendant, Janine, stood waiting to greet me as I ducked through the door. “You’re the last one, Mr. Lancaster,” she told me with a smile.
“Well, nothing new there, huh?” I replied easily because it was true.
I knew it wasn’t fair to the people waiting for me, but I’d made quite the name for myself in the being-late department. There always seemed to be just one more person waiting to talk to me about some issue or some phone call to answer. A last-minute email asking for staff approval or a change to the menu at BAD. A fight between chef and sous-chef and what I wanted to do about it, and if I liked the blue or the red lights for the bar makeover.
There was always something that needed attention, and most of the time, I loved it. I loved to be busy and needed, and it made me feel good to put so much time and input into everything I did. But there really weren’t enough waking hours in the day, and because of that, I was always fifteen minutes late. Always.
Three sets of blue eyes hit me like a wave of water as I turned to the cabin and took a step forward.
All three women looked at me in their own way, but they all managed to say the same terrifying thing without actually speaking the words aloud: I’ve been designed to bring a man to his knees.
“Christ. I definitely didn’t think this through,” I muttered with a cheeky grin. “I should have flown commercial.”
Georgia was the first to move, jumping up to greet me with a friendly hug. She laughed through it and then pulled back to look me in the eyes. “Aw, come on, Wesley. Three big, bad girls scare you enough to brave the wilds of commercial air travel?”
