Her lips are painted pink and glossy, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol, her light blue eyes sparkling, wearing a small tiara on the top of her head that says Birthday Girl. It’s a little lopsided, but hell…
She’s breathtaking.
But that’s not what has my fingers tightening around the phone so hard that it might break into pieces.
It’s the fabric, or what little of it there is, covering her body.
“Maisie…” I mutter, hating how rough the word comes out.
She blinks rapidly, and her smile spreads as she runs a hand up the front of her dress. “What,Coach?”
It’s somewhere between yellow and golden, and it makes her sun-kissed skin nearly glow. Shimmery, likely a material that would feel like silk beneath my hands, clinging to her curves like it was painted on her. It falls far too fucking short on her upper thighs, and one shoulder is bare.
So much skin showing.
So much that I want to punch something and kiss her at the same goddamn time.
Jesus, what is happening to me?
My fingers flex, my heart racing in my chest as I blow out a breath and let my eyes flutter shut as I try not to sound like a complete and utter asshole.
She looks beautiful, the dress perfectly complementing her hair and skin.
“Happy birthday, Maisie,” I murmur, watching her fair eyebrows arch as she leans forward. She’s not holding the phone, so I’m assuming she’s got it propped up on something, probably the sink, judging by the porcelain I see.
She’s in the bathroom.Alone. Thank fuck.
The smallest sliver of relief moves through me.
“Glad you got my email.” She giggles, then pulls her plump lip between her teeth before releasing it. “I just wanted you to see exactly what you were missing out on.”
I swallow roughly, my eyes tracing her as she spins for me, the tight globes of her ass coming into view, and I almost groan out loud.
It narrowly escapes from a spot deep in my chest.
“Wanna know a seeeeecret?”
I hum in response, not trusting myself to say a goddamn word.
Maisie leans close to the camera, those blue eyes shining with mischief. “I’m not wearinganypanties.”
I’m moving, my legs carrying me toward the door before she even finishes the sentence. I swipe my keys off the counter and fling the front door open, looking straight at Maisie through the screen.
“You done?”
“With what?”
My chuckle is low, and there’s not a single funny thing about it. “This little fucking game. I’m on my way to pick you up. When I get there, I suggest you come outside, or I’m going to walk into that fucking club and carry you out of it, all of myplayersbe damned.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
MAISIE
Oh shit.
Oh god. Oh god.
