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At thenakedman standing at the back door.
All I see is a muscular back and a very firm ass.
“I’ve definitely had way too much dick.” I wave this off, thinking I’m seeing things. “Every man I see now is naked.”
“That’s not a mirage, sugar. That is most definitely a naked man.” Ford takes out his phone. “I’m calling 911.”
I’m not exactly sure what’s happening, only that I doubt whoever Mr. Naked is, he’s not here to hurt me—unless it’s to give me a heart attack with a body made for sin.
Without a stitch of clothes on to hide a weapon, Iassume we’re not in any danger.
“Hang on.” I snatch Ford’s phone. “Let’s hear him out. I bet it’s a good story.”
The man turns around and whoa!
Full frontal!
“Hey!” Emery yells sharply, piercing my ears.
“Guys, if this is my surprise bachelorette party, you are the best!” I continue to gawk as the naked man taps on the glass, imploring us to let him inside.
“It’s not, baby.” Ash hugs me from behind, but then stands up to open the door. “Max?”
“Ashton Ives?” The naked man peers at Ash.
I shake my head. Of course, Ash would know him. All perfect tens know each other.
Then my bloodshot, tired eyes sharpen and my jaw drops.
“Max Ryan? The hockey god, I mean, player?” I clear my throat, not believing the team captain for the Stamford Crushers is standing in front of me. Naked!
“Don’t mind her, we’ve been giving her too many orgasms.” Ash kisses the side of my head. “She gets feral now and then. I went to college with Max.”
I stare, agog, reminding myself,I’m engaged. I’m engaged. To the hottest men on the planet.
But what I did get a glimpse at, I fan myself. Whoever the hell is lucky enough to be pucked, I mean fucked by this guy...
I’ve read way too many romance novels.
Even if I am living in one right now, and the next one just crashed into my living room. Naked!
But why is he naked on our back deck?
Ford whips a leopard faux-fur blanket from the sofa across the room at Max Ryan with enough force that suggests he really doesn’t want me to see anothercock that isn’t theirs ever again.
“Cover up, Gretzky,” he barks.
Seeing this is not one of Michael’s loser friends coming to hurt me, and Maverick seems to have turned smitten with our naked guest, Ash leaves my side.
“Max, what are you doing here?” he asks, folding his arms.
“Yeah, what are you doing on my deck naked?” Emery’s question lands the hardest. “Mydaughterstays here from time to time.”
Ah! Serious point.
“Yeah,” I join in because we’re a team.
But I secretly hope this guy drops the blanket and gets in that defensive stance the way he drops his gloves on the ice to pummel the hell out of someone who dares to hip-check him.
