Whatever had almost happened on that couch could wait.
For tonight, I was locking it—and myself—safely inside.
Bennett
Nine Weeks to Opening Day
Iwas still figuring out where everything lived.
That was the thing no one warned you about when you moved in somewhere new. Not the boxes or the logistics or the inevitable missing mug, but the way your brain kept reaching for things that weren’t where they used to be. So much for muscle memory.
I savored the quiet of my new bedroom, shoving the last stack of T-shirts into a drawer.
It’d been about a week since I’d moved into Pink and Nessa’s spare room, and overall, it was going surprisingly well. Loud, obviously, but that was to be expected. Pink had an opinion about every fucking thing under the sun. Just yesterday, we had gotten into it about whether or not chili was a type of soup.
Obviously not, it’s a fucking stew.
Nessa was the real bonus. She had a way of turning the house into a home, with fresh coffee brewing in the mornings and playlists that kept the vibe light, all of which had made the transition from Diaz’s place a lot easier to stomach.
Of course, there were . . . adjustments.
Like the other night. I had stumbled downstairs half-asleep and desperate for a midnight snack. What I hadn’t expected to find was Nessa splayed out on the counter while Pink snacked on her pussy. I’d frozen just long enough to register the scene inunfortunate detail before racing back up the stairs like the house was on fire.
That was one way to kick my late-night snack habits.
The truth was, this setup with Pink and Nessa was perfect, at least until I bought my own place. Hopefully something with lots of room, inside and out—and maybe a killer home gym.
And a pool. I had always wanted a pool.
The rest of the team had balked when Matty had first purchased his farmhouse of horrors—that was what we had called it at least. Four months, seventy-five grand, and a few gallons of paint later and the guy had basically rebuilt half his place himself, pool included.
Hopefully, if everything went according to plan, I could close on a place by the end of the All-Star break. Something big enough for family visits, late-night swims after games, and plenty of room to breathe without having to worry about walking in on surprise kitchen sex.
Unless I was the one having the kitchen sex.
I shook my head, smirking at my own reflection in the window. That was when I saw her. Out in the shared yard between our houses, tending to her bees.
Damned if my room didn’t have the perfect view of her beehives. Not that I had spentthatmuch time thinking about that.
She was bent over one of the hives, her dark hair catching the faint light as it spilled from the back of her bee veil. Her body moved with an effortless grace—my pole-dancinggoddess—with curves that begged to be appreciated. Full hips swayed slightly as she shifted weight, the kind of round ass that would bounce perfectly against my thighs, soft and plush and made for my hands to spread wide.
She was all dangerous softness, the kind of body that could ruin a man, and damn if I wouldn’t let her.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I hurried out of my room and down the stairs. The back door creaked as I stepped out, the grass damp under my sneakers from last night’s rain.
I cleared my throat as I approached, stopping a safe distance away. “Hey.”
She lifted her head but kept the veil on. “Hey. How goes the unpacking?”
“I just finished.” I nodded toward the hives. “That’s one hell of an operation you’ve got going on there.”
She laughed, a light sound that carried over the hum of the insects. “Thanks. It took a year, but I think we’ve finally found our routine.”
“We?”
“Yeah, me and the ladies. You should stay back. They can be super protective if you’re not properly suited up.”
“Smart gals,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets. “Do you mind if I ask how you ever got into this?”
