Grace sighed, the goofiest grin on her face.
Aliya said, “Yeah, Kelcie was describing how big your dick was and how many times she orgasmed last night.”
He stopped in his tracks, unfazed by Aliya’s attempt to shock him. He hit her right back. “She didn’t tell you about this morning, too?” Not missing a beat, his brow furrowed. “I thought I did some of my best work in the shower. Remember that shower scene you were telling me about in Addison’s book?” Then he walked out of the kitchen to the gasp of all of us.
Addison was another member of the group who was a best-selling romance novelist. She always sent Grace, Aliya, and I advanced copies of her latest release. My cheeks burned as both my friends’ mouths dropped open. Aliya whispered, “The shower scene?”
Grace’s voice hitched before she cleared her throat. “I think this is too much information for me.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Great, Shaw, you ruined that book for me now.”
His laugh from the other room was infectious, and I was floating on a cloud of pure bliss. Having never done drugs before, I had nothing to compare it to, but this time with him seemed perfect. The intimacy, the mind-blowing sex, the friendship, the laughter, being with our friends, and Aaron having another man to guide him in his life—I didn’t think life could get much better.
Later that evening, Shaw held my hand, stroking it with his thumb, as we rode down the elevator to the restaurant on the floor below his penthouse. We were meeting a few of his friends for a quiet, private dinner. “It’s easier than going out, plus the owner will give us a room to ourselves,” Shaw explained, holding the door for me as I exited the elevator.
“Well, that’s convenient,” I said, taking in the skin that showed beneath the open neck of his shirt and the broadness of his sports jacket. He wasn’t just gorgeous; he was breathtaking…and more than a little addictive. Even though I’d memorized his features over the years, our physical relationship just made everything that much…more. “Must be nice to just pop down here for dinner in a private room.”
He shrugged, held the door for the restaurant, and ushered me in with a hand to the small of my back. “It’s difficult sometimes for me to go out for dinner downtown without being recognized.” He nodded at the maître d’. “And it’s damn near impossible for a group of us to sneak into any establishment together, because someone is always identified. Then word gets out, and we are inundated with well-meaning fans.”
We walked through the dimly lit restaurant, passing the open kitchen to one side and the scattering of tables to the other. An entire wall of ceiling-to-floor windows overlooked what appeared to be a large rooftop patio that spanned the entire restaurant and undoubtedly had an amazing view.
“Who exactly do you hang out with around here?”
He smirked as we walked to the doorway toward the back of the room. “What do you know about stock car racing?”
“Not much, I’m afraid.”
He lowered his head to whisper in my ear, his breath warm against my neck, “Good. They’ll love you.” He winked and pushed the door open. Two couples sat at the rectangular table inside a room that was meant for a much larger group. Davy Johnson’s build would always be the first to catch someone’s eye. Shaw’s teammate was kicked back, his leg crossed over his knee with his arm resting on the chair of a stylish, curvy woman with thick, jet-black hair cascading down her back, dressed in a form-fitting brick-red dress and heels I could only dream of remaining upright in if I’d been wearing them.
She sat forward, talking animatedly to a woman with a brilliant smile and gorgeous, tawny-colored, thick corkscrew curls. The man beside her absently played with her hair while listening to their conversation. His attention shifted when he spotted us walking in the room, and he nodded in our direction. “There he is. The wayward son found his way home.”
His woman added, “We weren’t sure if you were ever going to come back.”
Both couples rose and walked over to greet us.
Shaw’s hand reassuringly moved from the small of my back to my shoulder, where he possessively drew me into his front. “Well, I won’t lie. The thought had crossed my mind.” He squeezed my shoulders.
“Yeah, but all those zeros on your paycheck, not to mention the endorsement deals, are worth it, right?” Davy said with a smirk.
Millions. Shaw was worth millions. I worked on a body that was worth millions of dollars. He was worth more money than I’d probably see in my lifetime.
“She’s worth it,” he said, wrapping his arms around me and settling his chin on top of my head.
“Well, then, introduce us,” the beauty with the black hair said, gesturing to me. “I want—no, I need—to hear this monumental love story.”
I laughed. Finally finding my voice around these strangers, I said, “I’m Kelcie Byron.” Then I held out my hand.
Davy took it first. I knew of Davy already—both from Shaw’s stories and from following the team. I was surprised to find his hand was as large as Shaw’s, but his grip was firm but gentle. “I’m Davy Johnson. I live across the building from this guy.”
I nodded. “Yes, he told me yesterday. It’s a pleasure to meet you. My son is a big fan of yours.”
“Cool,” he said, rubbing his hands together and lowering his voice. “More mine than Shaw’s?”
I shook my head. “No one is cooler than Shaw.”
Davy’s grin widened. “Good answer.”
The black-haired beauty jumped in. “Since Davy and Shaw are caught up in their bromance, I figure I should introduce myself. I’m Shyla Stern.”
As if he’d been poked with a taser, Davy jumped in, “Oh, sorry. Yes, this is Shyla, my girlfriend.”
