Offside (The Barker Triplets 1)

She traced his tattoo and sighed.

“You can’t be ready for another round.” His voice rumbled against her cheek and she giggled, resting her chin on his chest so that she could look up into his eyes.

“Why? You’re not?”

A slow grin spread across his mouth as his hands twirled a piece of her hair. “Woman, I’ve got the stamina of a race horse but even I can’t make miracles happen.” He shifted a bit and encircled her with his arms. “So,” he said casually. “What’s your news?”

Her brows furrowed. “Hmm?”

“Your news. The text?”

“Oh!” She squealed. “I made a life altering decision while you were gone.”

“You did?” he murmured against her hair.

Billie paused, bending her head to the side as he massaged her scalp. His fingers were full of magic. There could be no other explanation.

“I did. I made a decision about my future.”

“I see,” his fingers were at the base of head now, his voice low and husky. “Are you planning on being my sex slave for life?”

She smiled as his fingers moved down to her shoulder, where he continued to work his magic. Shit, if he kept this up she’d fall asleep before she could share her good news. “Well, that is pretty high on my list of things to do, but, no.”

“Damn,” he retorted. “Guess I’ll have to take out another ad on Craig’s List.”

She nipped his pectoral. “Bastard.”

“Seriously,” he murmured. “What’s up?”

She’d kept this news close to her chest all week, only sharing it with Bobbi and Herschel. Would he be as excited for her? Was it even that big of a deal?

Suddenly shy, she bit her lip and looked away from him.

“Don’t do that,” Logan said.

Her eyebrow shot up. “What?”

“Bite your lip.”

“I didn’t bite my lip.”

“Yes you did and every time you do, it makes me want to kiss you. And that will lead to expectations.”

She smiled. “Expectations?”

“Yes,” his fingers slide along her jaw. “Sexual expectations and my batteries are running low at the moment. So don’t be expecting anything for at least”—he glanced at the clock on the table beside his bed—”another twenty-two minutes.”

“Twenty-two minutes,” she repeated softly.

“I could maybe get started at the twenty minute mark, but I can’t promi

se anything spectacular until I at least hit twenty-two.”

She laughed softly. “Okay,” she said. “Got it. Twenty-two is your number.”

“Twenty-one might work.”

She punched his arm.