Page 60 of Serving Bunt

“Much better. Turns out, when you let the control freak control things, everybody wins.”

“And if Matty is the control freak, what does that make you?”

“The moral support and eye candy,” I told her, turning on my most lethal smile. “Obviously.”

I shifted in my seat, wincing when every muscle below the waist protested. It had been a long time since I’d danced my ass off like that, and I was feeling every second of it this morning.

When production had asked us to wear our most festive holiday looks for today’s interview, I’d known right away which shirt to bring. It was a maroon button-down my sister, Marianna, had thrifted last year, one embroidered with tiny, delicate reindeer in various sexual positions.

She called it my Comet Sutra shirt, as in “On Comet, on Cupid, on Donner and Blitzen.” It was a crowd pleaser at every team holiday function, and after spending most of the day doing interviews, it was safe to say the Sleigh the Bake production team were fans, too.

Leah had also asked me to keep the top two buttons undone for “audience appeal,” though I was pretty sure that was just producer code for looking freshly fucked on camera.

To be fair, it was true.

I was freshly fucked.

I didn’t even have to try to turn on the charm today. Not when I was still riding the high of spending yet more time in Matty’s bed.

After sucking him off last night, the two of us had climbed into the cabin shower, one barely big enough to hold the two of us. That hadn’t deterred him from jerking me off until I’d come against his stomach. Embarrassingly quickly, I might add.

And after that . . . we’d just talked.

Like we used to, but better.

He’d told me about the renovation projects he still had planned for his farmhouse, and I’d bragged about the trip to Disneyworld I had planned for the offseason with my nieces and nephew. He’d also helped me brainstorm what gift to buy for Clarke and Soren’s baby shower. Stupid Pink had already bought out all the bath toys on the registry, even though I had clearly called dibs months ago.

Asshole.

When Matty had finally drifted off, he’d done so with one arm resting beneath my head and the other possessively on my thigh tangled with mine. So what if I’d spent a little time just looking at him after that?

Fucking sue me.

It wasn’t every day that I got to share my bed with a freckle-faced, bisexual baseball star.

And yes, Matty Miller had freckles everywhere.

There was one patch right where his shoulder met his neck that I was weirdly invested in, a cluster of freckles that curved upward in a crooked little line that reminded me of one of those dot puzzles I’d done when I’d been a kid. The kind that came on the back of a diner menu.

Falling asleep playing connect the freckles on my teammate’s naked body certainly hadn’t been on my bucket list. Waking up to his palm wrapped around my cock had just been an added bonus.

“I, uh, woke up hungry,” he’d murmured, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Oh yeah? Lolly’s cinnamon rolls?”

“Something . . . heartier.” He’d licked his lips, eyes dropping to where his hand was working me in slow, lazy strokes. “Thought I’d have some breakfast in bed.”

I’d let out a low, surprised laugh.

I’ve created a monster.

I’d threaded my fingers through his messy strawberry-blond hair and held him still for my kiss, morning breath be damned. When we’d finally come up for air, I’d gently guided his head lower.

“Then by all means, tesoro . . . dig in.”

There’d been no more talking after that.

Needless to say, the only thing on the menu this morning had been my cock. And despite it being Matty’s first ever blow job, he’d swallowed every drop like it was his morning protein shake.