Maxim (Carolina Reapers 10)

“Okay.” Fabric shuffled in the background again.

“Are you in bed?”

“Maybe.” There was a teasing tone in her voice.

I groaned. “Mine or yours?”

“Mine,” she answered.

“I like you in mine better.” Fuck, I could picture her there now, wrapped in my sheets, leaving her scent on my pillows.

“Do you now?” There was another shuffle, and then the sound of doors opening and closing. “I’m in yours now.”

“Right where I like you.” Fuck, my cock was getting hard just thinking about her there. “I miss your body.”

“That better not be all you miss, Maxim Zolotov,” she teased.

“I have your mind with me every time I’m on the phone with you,” I reminded her. “But I do miss seeing you straight out of bed, all soft and sleepy.”

“I miss you, too,” she said quietly. “This house is huge when it’s just me.”

“Want to pretend I’m there?” I palmed my dick.

“You did not just call me at midnight for a booty call when I have to be up at six a.m. for class!” She laughed, but I could hear the exhaustion in her voice. Evie was a lot of things, but a night owl wasn’t one of them.

“I just called to hear your voice,” I answered honestly. “I’m getting way too used to hearing your voice.” Not that I was opposed to a little phone sex, but I didn’t want her thinking that was the only reason I’d call.

She took a breath, then another, and silence stretched between us. It was the closest we’d come to talking about whatever this was between us in weeks.

“I’m getting way too used to smiling when I hear the garage door open,” she finally said, her voice quiet.

“Yeah, I get that.” There was another long pause, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Nothing about Evie was. “Since you already watched my day on television, tell me how yours went.”

She sighed, and it wasn’t a happy one. “I got slammed during critique today.”

“Do I need to kill someone?” I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, facing the window.

“No, Maxim.” I could practically hear her eyes rolling. “I just turned in a piece that wasn’t my best work, and kind of had my ass handed to me by my professor.” She groaned. “In front of the entire class.”

“Ouch.” I stood and moved to the window, staring out over the city. A few months ago I would have been asleep already, and yet here I was, fighting to keep my eyes open so I could hear talk just a little longer, so I could feel like she was here with me. “What did he say?” I pulled the cord and shut the blackout drapes, then got back into bed.

“Um. He asked if I had a kindergarten-aged sister and if so, did she happen to take that shot of the crayon art?”

I cringed, climbing under the covers. “Damn, that’s harsh.”

“That’s art school.” Another sigh. “He was right. It’s a color and texture class and I brought the color, but didn’t pay any attention to the texture or shading. And at least I wasn’t Chuck. He was asked how the hell he got into the program. Talk about awkward. And if I deserved my little comment, then he deserved all the comments. His picture was…awful.”

I laughed. Not that I knew Chuck, or if he deserved to be dressed down, but that twinge of jealousy was soothed knowing Evie probably didn’t look at him with that same doting gaze she turned on me.

The same doting gaze she’d probably turned toward the television when I’d been hammered against the boards.

“Next time, I’ll call,” I said gently.

“What?” She yawned.

“The next time I get hit hard, or I think something might have worried you, I’ll call from the locker room or the bus, I promise.” I didn’t know shit about relationships, but that felt like the right move.

“That would be…really nice,” she said, her words slurring.

“Or you could just start traveling with the team, you know,” I suggested, turning onto my side. “Some of the wives come. Girlfriends, too.” I let that word hang between us. I knew she wasn’t keeping me a secret. Evie wasn’t like that. Our friends knew what was going on, and according to the request for a signed jersey that she’d cringed through asking for on behalf of one of her classmates, her friends at school knew, too. She’d just always liked her quiet, her privacy, and I was a giant fucking threat to that.

“And see my picture on a bunch of tabloid sites and fan accounts? No thank you. I’ll just wait right here for you to come home to me,” she said, each word slower than the last. “Snuggled up and warm in your bed. I might even wait naked if you’re a good—” Another yawn, “—boy.”

I grinned. “I like naked.”