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“Do you know any of the women up here?” It slips before I can stop myself, and I regret asking instantly when he flinches, his hand stilling where it lies on my thigh.
Did that sound as jealous as I think it did?
“Not really,” he replies, too casually.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I don’t really know them. They’re just women the guys have picked from the club to sit up here with us.”
I fight to keep my lip from curling. “That sounds . . .”
“Skeevy? Yeah, I guess it does. But that’s just how it goes. They’re happy to be here regardless. It sounds worse than it actually is. Nobody forces them to join us.”
Relief races through me when his thumb starts to stroke my leg again. I flit my gaze to the women in the VIP section and, for the first time since being here, take in the genuine enjoyment on their faces. Can I really judge them for that? It seems like a no-brainer to want to be chosen to join a bunch of sexy, successful men for a night of free drinks and good company. It sounds like a college Braxton’s dream.
Hell, with Maddox here, it sounds like an adult Braxton’s dream too.
“Everyone looks like they’re having a good time. I didn’t mean to sound judgmental,” I admit sheepishly.
He draws a line of fire across my thigh with his index fingernail and mutters, “This is new to you. Even after so many years in the league, I still find most things hard to grasp. It’s just . . . different.”
I roll my lips. “Well, you look like you have it all figured out.”
“That’s the point.” He laughs softly, and I’m left confused.
“What are you two whispering about?” Bentley asks, leaning over the two players between him and Maddox, sparkling eyes fixed on us.
I stiffen my spine and drop my hand over Maddox’s, subtly trying to push his off my leg. He only tightens his grip.
“They’re probably talkin’ about all your turnovers tonight,” Colt Warner slurs.
“My turnovers? What about your dive in the third, Cowboy? Two minutes for embellishment,” Bentley returns with a roll of his eyes.
Maddox ignores them both, that damn thumb of his stroking my thigh again. Back and forth, back and forth, but never attempting to drift any higher. Even as I shiver, slipping further into his hold, he keeps his touch respectful.
“What’s embellishment?” one of the women asks from the lap of that bushy-faced player with the near-purple eyes. She has a beautiful heart-shaped face framed with wavy, dirty-blonde hair.
“It’s what Liam here did when he told you how good he is in bed,” Maddox says.
Burly man—Liam—sends him a withering glare and tightens the arm he has wrapped around the woman in his lap. “If you’re not getting any, Hutton, just say so. Your girl couldn’t be farther away from you if she tried.”
“I don’t need to have my girl humping my leg to know she’s mine,” Maddox tosses back confidently.
“Is that it? Or is she just not that into you?”
I tense slightly, but it’s enough for Maddox to notice. He dips his head, and a soft pair of lips brush the tip of my ear. A zap of electricity shoots down my side.
“Liam is a shithead. Ignore him,” he murmurs.
Some of my unease slips away, but not all of it. “He isn’t really wrong, though.”
His breath hits my ear in a huff. “About what?”
I gulp. “We look a little . . .”
“Tense?”
“Yes,” I breathe. We couldn’t look further from a cozy couple if we tried.
