“What can I say? You look good wearing my jersey.”
Her eyebrow wings up. “Let me guess, I’d look even better out of it?”
“Hey.” I release her just long enough to throw my hands up in a show of self-defense. “You said it, not me. But now that you mention it…”
I grip her ass tight and pull her in for another kiss, this one slow and seductive.
I’d like nothing more than to fuck her in that jersey—in my jersey—but my ribs were too sore last night and my dumbass got so carried away Friday that I forgot to even give Ava her birthday gift.
She found the bag by her bedroom door on Saturday morning. To say she was touched is an understatement. She teared up, but in truth, I was the one left speechless.
The sight of the woman I love wearing my numbers, my name stitched across her back?
Nothing in the world can compare to that feeling.
Just the memory of it has my throat closing up now.
“Knock it off, lovebirds.”
Ava slips from my arms and wheels around to face Lexie, a shit-eating grin plastered to her face. “You sound a little hoarse. Too much screaming at the game last night?”
Lexie pulls a face as she slides onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar, looking like she could use a few more hours of sleep.
I offer them coffee, and while they chat about coaching techniques, I frost the cinnamon rolls.
Kayla joins us and begs to eat outside. “You’re so lucky it’s still warm here. It’s freezing up north. I probably won’t get this opportunity again until spring.”
Ava laughs, careful not to spill her coffee. “I wouldn’t call it warm.”
“Warm-ish,” Kayla amends, making prayer hands.
I plate the cinnamon rolls, and then Ava leads us out to the deck. She’s added a few chairs and a small table that doubles as a footrest. I let the ladies take the chairs and lean against the railing, ankles crossed.
The smell of cinnamon and sugar stuffs itself up my nose, and I dig in.
I’m always starving after a game, and today is no exception. I’m halfway through my second roll when my back door swings open and McGinnis swaggers out looking like the cat that ate the canary.
My stomach drops.
Oh, shit.
He smiles at the ladies, but his gaze settles on me.
“Hey, Cap. How’s it hanging?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Oh, are those cinnamon rolls?” His face lights up, and he climbs onto the railing, making the leap to Ava’s deck with ease. “Hook me up.”
Ava shoots me a horrified glance, and I can’t blame her. The situation is…not ideal.
I set my plate on the railing and cross my arms over my chest. “What are you doing up so early? Shouldn’t you be sleeping off your latest conquest?”
McGinnis never gets out of bed before noon on a Sunday—ever.
“Funny thing,” he says, nodding at Kayla like he’s trying to pick her up in a club. She ignores him, and I’m not gonna lie, it gives me the tiniest bit of satisfaction. “I couldn’t catch a wink last night. There was all this banging and moaning. Did you guys hear it over here?”
McGinnis looks around the group as if seeking confirmation.
He’s full of shit. Ava and I didn’t even have sex last night. She took one look at the mottled bruising on my ribs and insisted I take it easy.
I throw my balled-up napkin at him. He must not be fully awake because it bounces off his forehead and lands on the deck.