Page 92 of Double Puck

Definitely not thinking about Beck Morrison's tongue.

I knock twice, and the door swings open, but instantly, I'm shielding my eyes like I just looked right at the sun.

"Oh my God! Colin! Put some pants on!"

Colin is bent over, wrestling a pair of obnoxiously floral boardshorts that are clearly one size too small for him. His pale, flat ass is on full display, glistening faintly with what I can only hope is sunscreen.

“Colin!” I yelp, slapping a hand over my eyes. “What in the fresh hell—are those pineapples?”

“They're festive!" His voice is muffled as he hops on one leg, nearly face-planting. "It’s theme day at Goldie’s!”

“Oh God, I’m going to sue for workplace trauma,” I groan.

Finally yanking the shorts up, he throws on a faded “Surf’s Up!” tee, like that helps, before straightening himself up and looking across his office at me.

"Sorry, Darcy. I was about to catch a break." He looks through his office window. It's overcast today, and I'm pretty sure the radio announcer said something about a storm this afternoon. "Um, now. Why are you here?"

"Because you told me to be here, Colin."

He blinks at me like I'm speaking Mandarin, then glances at his phone.

"Right. Right, yes. The meeting." He grabs a towel off his desk chair, and stuffs it into a duffel bag. "Listen, can we do this later? The swell report's looking incredible before that storm rolls in, and if I don't get out there by noon, I'll lose the whole—"

"Colin."

He stops mid-zip.

"Just give me five minutes," I say, dropping into the chair across from his desk, slightly wincing when my ass connects with the chair. "I have plans tonight, and I'd rather not spend the rest of my afternoon chasing you down the coastline in my heels."

Something about the way I say plans must register, because Colin squints at me for a second too long. I cross my legs and stare back with the kind of composure that took twenty-eight years of Madden breeding to perfect.

Reluctantly, he sits. The duffel bag stays on his lap like a security blanket.

"Fine. I'll just give you the quick version." He shuffles through a stack of papers that looks like it hasn't been organized since the franchise launched. "Vegas. The Bears play there next week. And I need you on that trip."

"You need me in Vegas?"

"Yes, you will travel with the team. Observing Beck." He waves a hand vaguely, and all I can think is… I observed Beck enough last night. "Urgency is of the essence."

I tilt my head. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"Well. The Morrison trade is gathering momentum." He finds whatever paper he's looking for and flattens it against his desk with both palms. "Urgency is becoming an issue. I need you close to the team, watching everything. Practice. Game day. Travel. How he handles himself after the loss. Whether last night was an isolated mistake, or Beck being Beck. We need answers. You're getting answers, right?"

My brain supplies an extremely unprofessional image from last night that makes my thighs clench under the table.

Beck stretched out across my bed, those bright blue eyes locked on mine, his lean, muscular body on full display, the deep V at his hips pointing down to where his hand wrapped around his cock.

God. His cock.

"Oh, I'm getting answers, all right."

Colin nods, satisfied, completely missing the layers of sexual catastrophe packed into that sentence.

"Good. Good." He leans back. The office chair squeaks in protest. "And mind if I ask… Which way are we leaning? You know, are you still advising we keep up negotiations?"

My stomach gives an uncomfortable twist.

Because that's what I said. Isn't it?