101. Hannah

ONE HUNDRED ONE

All three of the men at the table are staring at us as we approach.

After we… finished, Maddox stayed in the little bathroom while I cleaned myself up. I tried to straighten myself quickly, but we've been gone for… a bit.

I left my purse at the table, so I didn't have anything to fix my smudged eyeliner. But I used the corner of the thick paper towel to dab at my eyes, then ran cold water over the towel and held it over my mouth for a moment.

Thankfully, both of us were worked up so much that neither of us lasted long. But my lips were definitely a bit red from being stretched around Maddox's cock.

The restroom in a nice restaurant may not be the best location for such activities. But even with the embarrassment creeping up my neck, I don't regret it.

And now I can finally say I gave Mad Dog Maddox a blow job.

I squeeze his fingers.

The man in question looks over his shoulder at me. And smiles.

I blush.

Keeping my eyes down, I take my seat, and Maddox pushes my chair in. But just as he promised, none of them say anything suggestive or act weird about our absence.

The conversation picks back up, the guys talking about football and coaches and other things while I finish what's on my plate.

Maddox pours me another glass of wine, and I savor every sip. Thinking of him thinking of me as I absorb the flavors.

Max is really nice, definitely a Lovelace, and I feel a little bad for not talking to any of them more, but they all seem so comfortable together, so I decide just to enjoy the atmosphere.

"You still got that old-ass car?" Max asks, setting his fork down and leaning back in his chair.

Tony scoffs. "You mispronounced classic. And you're just jealous."

Max rolls his eyes. "Sorry, but the car of my dreams gets more than four miles to the gallon."

Tony tips his head toward Maddox. "Maybe I should invest in some solar energy to offset my footprint."

"If you want to give me money, just say so." Maddox smirks at Tony, then turns to Max. "As soon as you're drafted, I'm setting you up with my financial adviser. Mrs. Hunt knows her way around a sports contract, and if you listen to her, you won't blow through your cash like so many guys do."

Waller nods. "So true. And then you can move back home and buy a business like us."

"Yeah, please, let me be one of the three musketeers," Max deadpans.

Not wanting to remain completely silent, I focus on Waller. "You own a company here too?"

"I do." His grin catches me off guard. "It's not far from your offices, actually. Maybe you've heard of it. Catch Tech."

My mouth opens, because that does sound familiar, but then my mouth snaps shut because I remember why.

I applied for a job there.

Recently.

But he wouldn't know that, would he? He's the owner, so it's not like he'd look at new résumés… Right?

Then Waller winks at me.

My face flushes, and Maddox exhales— loudly.

Wait, does Maddox know?!

The server appears to save us all, cutting in so I don't have to ask or answer any Catch Tech–related questions.

"Would anyone like to see the dessert menu?" The server addresses the table.

The question reminds me, and I answer for everyone. "No, thank you."

The server nods and clears a stack of empty plates off the table, then leaves.

Tony chuckles. "You sick of us already, Hannah?"

"No, sorry." I apologize while reaching for my purse under my chair. "I should've let you guys answer, but it's just… I brought something."

I set the Tupperware on the table where my plate had been.

Then I think about what I'm doing and press my hands down on the lid. "Maybe I should've asked if they allow outside food."

Maddox pulls the container out from under my hands. "No one is gonna tell us no. What did you—" He pulls the lid off and stops talking.

"Mom and Chelsea made them," I say quietly.

Maddox stares at the pile of jerseys. The red and yellow frosting is bright, even in the dimly lit restaurant.

"Babe." His voice sounds scratchier than it did a moment ago.

I lift a shoulder. "They made them while wearing their new jerseys."

A big arm slings around my shoulders and pulls me toward him.

My chair starts to tip, and someone— Max— on the other side of me, presses it back down.

"Christ, man, you almost knocked her over," Max snaps.

But Maddox is busy pressing his lips against the top of my head.

Bent over, I reach into the container and take out the cookie with the number nineteen piped on it. Max's number.

I pass it over to Max as Maddox finally lets me go.

"What's this?" Max stares down at the cookie.

"My niece made it for you. She googled your number and said you'd probably play for the Biters soon anyway."

Max looks up at me, then back to the cookie, then over to Maddox. "Kiss her again."