Maxim (Carolina Reapers 10)

Mila whistled. “Goddamn,” she said. “I’ve never loved anyone the way you do my brother.” She shook her head. “So you’re going to keep giving him what he needs while you get nothing in return?”

“I don’t see it like that,” I said. “I see it as taking whatever pieces he’ll give me, while he’ll give them to me. Because under any other circumstances, I’d never be able to have this side of him.”

“As long as you’re making sure you’re getting everything you need, then you know I support it. I’ll always support whatever brings you the most joy.”

I smiled at her. “I love you.”

“And I love you too. I miss you like crazy. But only four more months and I’ll be home and we’ll be on our way to opening our gallery!”

I joined in her little celebration dance, laughing with her until we finally realized we needed to get off the phone. We hung up, and I shut down my work. I couldn’t focus properly after telling Mila everything that I had. All I could think about was her saying there was no way Maxim would do something if he didn’t enjoy it, and if that were the case, then kissing me wasn’t just a chore. Wasn’t just a way to win a game.

But either way, I didn’t care.

I’d gotten a taste of him. Gotten to feel what it was like to be in the arms of a brilliant man that I loved with my whole heart. And regardless if he didn’t reciprocate in that way, I sure as hell wasn’t going to deny myself the feeling.

Even if it meant crushing myself in the process.

7

MAXIM

Maxim: Are you watering the plants?

I fired off the text message to Evie. Was it lame? Absolutely, but it was also the only reason I could think of to text her and as much as it freaked me out, I missed her. Never would have thought that living with someone for six weeks would be so…addictive, but here I was, texting about plants. Plants that I didn’t even have. I put my phone back in my lap.

“That goal at the end of the second though,” McKittrick said from across the table, his Boston accent stronger after two beers, “straight up fire! The way you slid it right in over his shoulder was glorious!”

My phone dinged with a text alert, and I looked down as the guys pounded their fists in approval down the long table where our team took up half the restaurant at the hotel in Seattle.

Evie: You don’t have any plants.

“Gentry didn’t make it easy,” I said with a smile. The Sharks’ goalie was a beast, and I’d had to earn every single point. Not going to lie, I felt like a million bucks, and it wasn’t just this game. It was almost the middle of February, and I’d played seven games without a hiccup.

Had I scored in every single one of them? Absolutely.

Had I kissed Evie before every home game? Well…yeah.

I mean, when you had a streak going, you didn’t fuck it all up by not keeping your routine the same. And really, they were just little ones. Pecks. Brushes. Fine, maybe a little tongue.

“Man, that guy is a grade A asshole,” Asher said, draping the jacket of his three-piece suit over the chair and taking the empty seat at my side. Had to admit, I liked that the team’s owner traveled with us when he could. I loved that he sat right in the middle of our table, too, instead of lording over us from the head of it. I respected him for taking an active interest in us and not just seeing us as another star in his investment portfolio. Then again, the guy was in his early thirties, so it wasn’t like he was a typical franchise owner.

“Who?” Coach McPherson asked from down the table, sipping on his beer.

“Lewis Paulson,” Asher answered. “I just got off the phone with him, and let’s just say I’m glad you took me up on the offer to coach the Reapers.”

If rumors were true, and in our industry, they usually were, the owner of the Seattle team was a giant dick.

“Ward doing okay?” Coach asked, his brow furrowing. Logan Ward had been a Reaper for a couple of years, and from what I knew, was still friends with a bunch of the guys from the team, even though he was now a Shark.

“Oh yeah, he’s just out for a few weeks for something going on with his knee,” Asher replied. “But he actually just asked me if he could get in on the poker game.”

Coach’s eyebrows hit the ceiling. “Bold. What did you say?”

“I told him it’s invite only.” He shook his head and threw back another drink of his beer.

“Poker game?” I asked Axel, who sat on my other side.