Tacos and enchiladas at Cancun’s had turned into watching Game of Thrones and eating takeout from Styrofoam containers at Martinez’s house.
All occurring on Quinn’s suggestion and insistence.
When it came to the famous quarterback of the Mavericks, he stayed true to his leadership role, on and off the field. Even if that meant keeping his boys out of a Mexican restaurant where pitchers of margaritas and tequila shots might have been too damn tempting to avoid.
At first, I’d been disappointed by the turn of events. The idea of watching Sean surreptitiously seemed easier in a public place than during a quiet night at one of the players’ houses. There were distractions, both alcoholic and otherwise, at a restaurant, and if I got really creepy, I could blame it on bad beef and make a getaway through the bathroom.
As it was, I figured people would notice if I jettisoned in a hurry.
But it’d been better than expected, and I had a feeling it was all of the laid-back, sexy-times vibes in the air.
Those vibes were probably more related to me—more like, my obsession with Jason Momoa—than the guys, but I sure as fuck didn’t care.
I was late to the Game of Thrones’ party, but holy moly, after watching Khal Drogo and Khaleesi together for one episode, I’d officially added a new series to my must binge-watch list. It was hot. It was tender. I was willing to let Jason Momoa defile me in all fifty states and the District of Columbia.
Hopped up on what I would forever refer to as Momoa-itis, I pulled out my phone to send a quick text message to my long-distance besties, Sam and Everly.
Normally, I would’ve logged in to my private YouCam account and sent them a long diatribe revolving around the one million reasons why they needed to watch Game of Thrones. But considering I was currently sitting inside a house full of football players, one of whom’s penis I feared I might talk about specifically, I figured it’d be safest to keep my conversation to text.
Our group chat was only three spots down, just below my mom and dad.
With one tap of my index finger, I was in like Flynn.
Me: Why haven’t one of you fuckers told me about Game of Thrones? Are we not really friends? Is our friendship an elaborate hallucination on my part?
About a minute later, my phone vibrated in my hands with a response. I smiled.
Everly: At least one thousand people have told me I need to watch it, but I haven’t. I’m just as in the dark as you are. Or were. And no, getting drunk in Cancun and almost getting thrown in Mexican jail WAS NOT an illusion. I can only assume that means our friendship is real.
Me: Oh. My. God. How many times have I told you NOT to bring up Mexico? He seemed like he was propositioning me, okay? I didn’t know he was a cop and all he wanted was for me to calm down.
I shuddered at the memory and typed out another message.
Me: Anyway, we’re done talking about that. Right now, we’re talking about Game of Thrones and how much YOU NEED TO WATCH IT. Do it. Do it now.
Everly: Geez. Bossy, much? Some of us can’t just drop everything and watch Game of Thrones.
Me: Shut up and listen. You will fall madly in love with Khal Drogo. Who, by the way, is played by Jason Momoa.
Everly: Jason Momoa? Fuck, Six. How many times do I have to tell you to lead off with the important information? What channel is that shit on?
Me: I’m rolling my eyes at you for asking about a “channel.” That’s so two years ago. You can STREAM it on HBO Now. Ask your hot brother for help.
Everly: STOP CALLING MY BROTHER HOT.
A hearty, raspy, sexy laugh sounded across the room and pulled my attention from the text message screaming match with Everly.
Standing by a high-top table next to the pool table, Sean was laughing and backslapping with a couple of guys I recognized from the practice squad.
More and more guys had been arriving with each minute that passed, a turn of events Mother Hen Quinn had no control over, and the lower level of Martinez’s house was filling up fast. I wiggled into the white leather of Martinez’s basement sectional and tried to blend into the material.
Sudden and powerful, Sean’s gaze found mine and held it.
Fuck, I don’t think the blending is working.
Instinctually, I wanted to avert my eyes, but it was too late to save face. I’d already been caught in the act, gawking at him like a fool.
He smirked and then winked, and I rolled my eyes in response.
The fucker. I kind of hated how fucking attractive he was. How well he carried the weight of his big-ass ego and how I couldn’t stop looking at him.
My phone could apparently sense my distress. With a wiggle and a vibration, it danced in my hands and called my attention back.
Sammy: My ears are ringing from all the yelling the two of you have been doing about hot brother and Mexico.
Me: Don’t bring up Mexico!
Everly: My brother is NOT hot.
Sammy: You’re both in denial. Maybe that’s why I didn’t tell you about Game of Thrones. As punishment.
Quickly, my mind refocused on my new Game of Thrones fandom, and I typed out a message.
Me: You’ve been watching this shit and never told me?! I don’t know if we can be friends anymore.
Sammy was shameless.
Sammy: Yep. I’ve seen all seven seasons, and I’m desperately waiting for the eighth. It’s so freaking good!
Me: I no longer love you, Sammy. I’m transferring everything I once felt for you to Jason Momoa. He’s much more deserving. Khal Drogo and his beautiful Khalessi. Sigh. They make my little heart pitter-patter with all the fucking feels.
Sammy: HAHA. Too bad you don’t love me anymore. If you did, I might be willing to save you from heartbreak.
Me: What? What are you saying, Sammy?
Sammy: How many episodes have you seen?
Me: Like, two and half. Why????
Sammy: No reason. Just wondering.
Everly: Isn’t Game of Thrones known for killing off like every-fucking-one?
My eyes popped wide of their own accord.
Hold the fucking phone…
Me: Oh. My. God. Sammy… Does Drogo die?!?!?
Sammy: …
I jumped from the couch violently and screamed. All eyes came to me.
“Oh. Whoops. No worries, guys.”
Everyone but Sean laughed it off and turned back to their regularly scheduled programming. I could feel the weight of his eyes on me, though, long after I sat back down on the couch and moved my focus back to my phone.
Me: Thanks a lot, hooker. Now the Mavericks think I’m a psychopath.
Everly: They don’t already think that?
Sammy: It was only a matter of time.
Me: You’re both assholes.
Sammy: I’m sorry, but are you seriously texting us about Game of Thrones right now? While you’re hanging out with the Mavericks?!
I furrowed my brow and tapped my fingers across the keypad.
Me: Is that a bad thing?
Everly: Consider this text conversation over. It is now time for Six to be a normal human being and go mingle with the sexy AF football gods.
Sammy: Yep. Agreed. We will resume our GoT conversation another time.
Six: GUYS! Don’t be dicks. I need to know more details! I mean, does Drogo die? Tell me he doesn’t die, Sammy! I don’t know what I’ll do if he dies!
But my desperation didn’t matter. My friends gave zero fucks.
Everly: Let us live vicariously through you. Go have some goddamn fun with the freaking Mavericks!
Me: Live vicariously through me? What exactly does that entail?
Everly: I think you should experience at least one of the penises you managed to see several weeks ago. And, personally, if I were you, I’d be calling dibs on Sean Phillips.
Of course, she just had to mention him.
I mean, there were only approximately one million players on the team, and still, Everly mentioned the one man I was bound and determined to stay the fuck away from.
Me: He’s a total manwhore.
Everly: Which means he’d be absolutely perfect for a no-strings-attached hookup. You talk like you’re Mother Teresa.
Sammy: Plus, you’ve already seen his penis. You’ll know how many jaw exercises to do prior to your rendezvous.
She had a point. But I refused to let it become anything of substance inside my stubborn brain.
Me: Gah. All this penis pressure. You guys are the worst best friends ever.
Sammy: Love you! Bye, Six!
Everly: Stop thinking about Game of freaking Thrones and go enjoy yourself! Anyway, we all know it’s been a while… Your vagina needs a cleanout.
Six: My vagina isn’t fucking old and crusty.
I waited for their rebuttal, but it never came.
After a good minute of staring at the screen had gone by, I gave in and sent them a text message.
Six: GUYS. Come back. Please?
Six: EVERLY…SAMMY…COME BACK!
Six: Hello?
Six: God, you’re such bitches.
I knew from experience, when they ended a group chat for the night, they meant business. No doubt, they wouldn’t respond until tomorrow.
And that would most likely be to ask me if I’d managed to get down and dirty with a Maverick.
My old, cobweb-filled vagina tingled at the thought.
Goddammit.
With a heavy sigh, I finally threw in the towel and shoved my phone back into my side pocket, dug my body out of the butter of the couch, and occupied my time by watching as Quinn and Cam played a game of pool. All the while, my mind couldn’t stop thinking about what my stupid best friends had ridiculously suggested.
Hooking up with Sean Phillips?
What a terrible fucking idea…right?
“Uh oh, Mitchell,” Quinn teased after he missed his first shot of five. With only one solid and the eight-ball left, the odds of a win were looking pretty damn good from where he stood. “Looks like you better shit or get off the pot.”
Cam chuckled, then flashed a quick glare. “Slow your roll, QB Pie. I’m only a few shots behind you.”
I giggled at the nickname. “QB Pie?” Cam smiled triumphantly.
“Georgia Brooks gave him that one. Personally, I think we should use it more often.”
“Pretty sure she calls you Hammy Cammy,” Quinn chimed in, and I giggled some more.
“And what does she call Sean?” I found myself asking. It didn’t matter what lies I told myself on the regular—my interest in the cocky son of a bitch was potent.
“The man. The king. The dual threat.” A deep, raspy, sexy as fuck voice whispered into my ear.
I turned my head, tucking my chin into the hollow of my shoulder to look back at him.
“Are you sure those aren’t just your nicknames for yourself?”
“She calls him Sealami Roll-ups,” Cam kindly added before leaning down into the table and lining up his next shot.
Sealami Roll-ups as in Salami Roll-ups?
His Georgia-given nickname literally revolved around meat.
Which, recalling the size of his…yeah…that…it was quite ironic.
I bit my lip to fight my perverted giggles, but I couldn’t swipe the grin from my face.
“That’s pretty fucking hilarious.”
Sean shrugged and smiled. Apparently, it’d take a lot more than a ridiculous nickname to bruise his confidence.
God, he was dangerous. And hot. Quick on his feet and sure with his hands, he lived up to his dual threat position.
Don’t forget about his huge penis.
Shit. If there was one thing I really needed to do, it was forget about that.
Like, it was becoming a real fucking problem. If I, all of a sudden, decided to take up golf, I’d have to claim the cocky fucker’s penis as an actual handicap on my score.
Oh, sorry, fictional golf partner, but I have a ten-inch handicap. Which means, I can’t go fifteen minutes without thinking about Sean Phillips’ penis, and therefore, I completely suck…
Suck…Sean’s penis…
Oh my God! Stop thinking about it!
God, if anyone was ever actually inside of my head, hearing these ridiculous fucking thoughts, I’d honestly think they’d need therapy.
Despite my scattered, schlong-focused thoughts, our gazes locked for a long moment, but before either of us could say anything, a football version of bulls on parade came barreling down the stairs.
It was only then that I realized I’d been the only female at this shindig…until now.
Behind the ten or so football players came a handful of very pretty females. Hemlines at crotch level and boobs set to spillage, they were more than ready to give their all to the occasion.
Most were blondes, but one was a brunette. All were white.
Instantly, I glanced down at my hoodie and yoga pants and mauvy-brown skin. One of these was definitely not like the others.
Meh. Oh, well. I mean, I’d come here to fill my belly with tacos, which meant I’d needed something cozy, otherwise known as my official “eatin’ pants,” and I couldn’t change the fact that one of my parents was from India and the other from the Philippines—more than that, I didn’t want to.
Not only did my special pants accommodate food babies, but they also kept my legs surprisingly warm in the cool fall weather. And as weird as it was, the combination of my parents’ traditionalism and my wackiness worked for me.
It was a total win-win, and if anything, when I really looked at the ladies with full makeup, wearing skirts and dresses over bare legs, I only felt sympathy.
For them—not me, obviously.
I might’ve looked like a hobo, but I was fucking comfortable.
Before I knew it, more bodies came downstairs into the basement, and the little “get-together” had turned into a damn party.
“Teeny, if the team looks like shit tomorrow, I’m sending Coach’s wrath and fury directly to you,” Quinn called over the now bass-pumping music that bumped and bounced throughout the house.
Homeboy had one hell of a sound system, that was for sure.
I wonder if he minds if I snoop around to figure out what brand it is? Clearly, finding his sex toys and snapping pictures would be purely on a bonus basis.
When a glass filled with what I assumed was a margarita was pushed into my view, I stopped worrying about my covert mission on Teeny’s belongings and cooed.
“Ooh,” I said, smiling. “Pretty alcohol.”
Sean grinned.
“Trust me, you’ll need this in about twenty minutes when Teeny pulls out karaoke.”
Evidently, Sean had somehow developed the impression he needed to convince me. That wasn’t the case, but I was a kind woman. I could live without correcting him. If he was like other men, there’d be plenty of other opportunities to prove I was the superior being.
Accepting gallantly, I took a sip of the cool, refreshing beverage that was, in fact, an ice-cold margarita and moaned. “Mm. That’s really good.”
“That’s because I made it.” He waggled his brows. “You’ll eventually learn that I’m a man of many talents.”
Slowly, we found our way back to the couch, Sean moving some of the groupies out of our way with just a jerk of his head.
I curtsied and took a seat. The cushion beside me jostled a bit as Sean sat down, and instantly, my senses were assaulted with how fucking good he smelled.
His scent was sweet and spice and everything sexy and erotically nice, and just about every cell in my body stood up and took notice.
Hot damn. I wonder if he tastes as good as he smells?
Instantly, déjà vu assaulted my thoughts.
I’d been down this whole Sean Phillips smells fucking amazing route before. But for the life of me, I couldn’t pinpoint when it had occurred…
“Having fun?” he asked, and I couldn’t stop myself from searching inside the depths of his hazel gaze. I had no idea what I was looking for, but goddamn, he had the most mesmerizing eyes.
I just offered a little shrug in response. “I’ll never complain about a party that serves tacos and allows me to drool at Jason Momoa for two hours.”
“Jason Momoa,” he repeated through a soft chuckle. “I never would’ve guessed it.”
“Guessed what?”
“That he’s your type.”
A laugh bubbled up from my lungs. “I’d love to meet the woman whose type isn’t Jason Momoa.”
Pretty sure this delectable, smells like heaven, with the body of a fucking mocha-skinned Greek god man sitting next to you is also your type…
It was moments like this I wished I possessed the power to turn off my brain.
But it was useless. The wheels of my mind had started to turn, and with every rotation, I categorized all Sean Phillips’s most irresistible traits.
His body. His eyes. His sexy voice. His contagious laugh. The way he had the power to say all of the most charming things followed shortly by something completely egotistical.
It was an attention-grabbing combination, and I lived for everything noteworthy.
He was undeniably powerful on the field and one of the best players in the league, but I wondered endlessly what lived below the surface.
A person is almost never one thing. They’re an onion of layers, deep fried in secrets.
Wow. That makes everyone sound like a popular appetizer at Texas Roadhouse.
Sean shifted, his hand doing the discreet adjustment dance all men did with their cocks, and another kind of appetizer took over my thoughts.
Ah, fuck. Everly and Sammy’s pervy suggestion about fuck buddies and hookups was starting to sound like a good idea.
Oh, sweet summer wine, I had to stop the crazy train of bad ideas.
Because Sean Phillips was a very bad idea.
But he’ll probably feel so good.
With the rim of the glass to my lips, I guzzled down the rest of the margarita in one gulp.
“Thirsty much?” he teased, and his eyes sparkled with amusement.
Yeah. For you.
Oh, dear God.
Maybe the margarita was also a bad idea?
Alcohol led to loosened lips and zero inhibitions, and the last thing I needed right now was to blurt out something ridiculous like, Oh, hey, Sean, do you want to go upstairs and fuck my brains out?
Visions of the craziest words flowing out of my mouth like water consumed my mind, and I knew I had to get up off this couch before I did something insane.
Too lost in my thoughts, too tempted by his presence, I stood up from the couch and strode away without offering a goodbye or an explanation for my sudden muteness and inability to carry on a simple conversation.
Up the basement stairs, my feet paused momentarily on the first level while my eyes searched out a quiet reprieve. But the music was too flipping loud, and there were too many people scattered throughout the main living area.
So, I did what any insane woman who couldn’t seem to stop thinking about the biggest manwhore she’d ever met would do, I walked through Martinez’s house like I owned the place.
Once I reached the second level, I found a quiet guest bedroom to recollect my thoughts.
But the peace and quiet only lasted for a moment or two.
“Six?” a sexy voice I couldn’t scrub from my brain asked from behind me. “You all right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You sure?” Sean asked, but I couldn’t find the strength to turn around and meet his eyes. All I could do was stare out the guest bedroom window into the endless, nothing landscape that was the dark of night.
Only the glow from the moon and a few scattered stars provided anything of substance for my eyes to latch on to.
“Yep. I’m sure.”
“Did I say something to upset you?” he asked, and the sounds of his feet taking a few steps into the room filled my ears.
“Upset me?” I turned on my heels at his words, a sarcastic laugh on the tip of my tongue.
Upset me? No. Upset my hormonal balance? Yes.
His eyes were like light green lasers, and the power of his gaze was more than I was prepared to handle.
“Yeah…” He paused as he stepped all the way into the room. “You just kind of up and left, and it felt like I’d said something to piss you off.” He shut the door behind him with a quiet click to give us some privacy.
Privacy that I knew was dangerous.
Being closed away in a room with Sean Phillips was not good for my willpower.
My libido was a screaming lunatic, and closing out all the other voices in the house made it easier to hear her.
“No,” I said on a near whisper, trying to duct-tape Libby Libido’s mouth shut as she begged me to take off his pants and ask him to come all over me. “I just needed some fresh air.”
He quirked a brow. “Fresh air? Inside the house?”
God, I sounded like a lunatic.
And honestly, what was the point in all of it?
So what if I was attracted to Sean?
So what if I wanted to know what he tasted like?
So what if I wanted to know what he felt like inside of me?
I was a single lady, and Sean’s bad boy appeal had short-circuited my brain. Wires smashed together and hot-wired into business, little Six’s engine was officially off and running.
I flashed the bat signal, looking up from under my eyelashes with coy seduction, but all I got in return was a squint.
I worked my body harder, pushing out my chest and sighing a heavy, hot breath.
Still nothing.
I turned on the charm even harder and danced my eyes, willing him into submission like a snake trainer with a cobra.
“Uh. What are you doing?” he asked.
Ah, shit. Fuck subtlety. I apparently wasn’t any good at it.
With a charge in and a leap, I closed the distance and forced myself into his arms. Finally, he got the fucking message.
Our lips found one another quickly, fusing into a battle.
And good God, Sean Phillips knew how to fucking kiss.
His lips guided and demanded while his tongue teased and tasted.
His kiss, his touch, held some kind of live wire straight to all of my erogenous zones.
My nipples grew hard and sensitive beneath my bra.
My pussy throbbed, and I clenched my thighs together to lessen the ache.
Goose bumps peppered the skin of my arms, my neck, and back.
And my heart, well, it flew like a hummingbird’s wing, each thump-thump-thump coming faster and faster.
Libby was fully in control now. I wanted him.
And by the thick arousal sheathed beneath his jeans and pressed into my belly, I knew the immense need wasn’t one-sided.
Strong hands to my ass, he lifted me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he moved us two steps and pressed my back against the wall.
All the while, he never stopped kissing me.
“Fuck me, Sean,” I whispered against his mouth on a soft moan.
He stopped for the briefest of moments to look me deep in the eyes, his free hand brushing a few loose curls out of my face and tucking them behind my ear. “Are you sure?” he asked, and I nodded without hesitation.
“Yes. Please.”
The begging, the fucking needy words that were coming out of my mouth went against everything I’d promised to myself when it came to this man, but I’d handle the backlash after the fact.
I was incapable of focusing on anything besides feeling him. All of him.
My fingers to his jeans, I undid the button and managed half of the zipper, all the while, my eyes stayed locked with his. “Fuck. Me. Sean.”
With his guttural groan and nip of my bottom lip, it was clear my words goaded him into action, moving us toward the bed in two long strides. My back hit the mattress with a soft bounce and a brief ricochet before I could process his movements.
We locked eyes for a moment, just a quick, quiet stretch of time to feel safe with one another, and then he turned primal.
I watched with rapt attention as he slid off my yoga pants and panties, pulling them down my legs and tossing them to the ground.
Soft, needy whimpers fell from my lips as he kissed from my toes upward.
Slowly, so fucking slowly, he kissed a trail up my bare skin as his hands led the path up my legs, always just a little higher than his kisses.
My back arched in anticipation, and my head rocked back against the mattress as his lips placed fluttering kisses against the one spot where I throbbed and ached relentlessly for him.
“I knew it,” he whispered and circled my clit with the very tip of his tongue. “I knew you’d taste even fucking better than I imagined.”
His lips. His tongue. His mouth. His fingers.
I was on pleasure overload.
God, he’s good. So. Fucking. Good.
Within minutes, I was coming hard against his mouth.
My thighs shook. My heart raced. And pleasure assaulted all of my senses.
By the time I’d managed to regain my focus, Sean was sliding his thick, hard cock out of his boxer briefs and jeans, and I’d never seen anything that erotic in my life.
Well, except for the first time I saw it.
His hand on his cock, he stroked it up and down, up and down, while his gaze stayed fixated on my spread thighs, my wet pussy. His eyes drew a slow path up my body until they locked with mine.
“You want my cock, Six?” he asked.
Shame long and truly gone, I nodded and begged.
“Yes. Please.” I was beyond caring. I wasn’t too proud to plead. I just wanted to feel him inside of me.
Condom out of his pocket and sheathed over his dick, he gripped my thighs and slid every inch of his thick shaft inside of me.
I moaned. He moaned.
One thrust. Two thrusts. And I felt delirious with how good it felt.
By the time he pushed himself in to the hilt, the world just up and melted away, and our priority turned to fucking each other’s brains out.
Deep, pulling kisses accompanied by clutching hands and a pounding rhythm, and I was done for, lost to the intense feel of it all.
Each drive forward stayed steady and persistent, and it didn’t take long before another climax started to build deep within me. Beginning at my toes and working its way up my trembling thighs, my orgasm taunted until it found its path up my spine.
My heart rate tripped into an erratic rhythm, and my breath came out in short, desperate pants as I felt the pleasure build and build and build.
God, I am so close.
But all at once, he slowed his pace, turning his hard, deep thrusts to slow and easy, and I whimpered.
The toying bastard leaned forward to press a heady kiss to my lips, his tongue sliding in and out of my mouth in sync with the pace of his cock.
I writhed beneath him, desperate, greedy—needy.
“Do you want to come again, Six?” he asked, his voice laced with pleasure and satisfaction, and this dominant, alpha control that only seemed to intensify my arousal. “Does that perfect little pussy want to come around my cock?”
“Yes,” I whispered against his lips.
“Beg me for it,” he said. I was wanton and unashamed and ready to comply, but he picked up his pace again, and all I could do was moan.
Fucking me harder. Faster.
Taking me just to the edge and then slowing again.
Eyes locked with mine. Demanding. Powerful. Fucking mesmerizing.
“Say it,” he whispered. “Tell me what you want.”
“Fuck me,” I said, forcing the words out between my needy moans. “Make me come.”
Ordinarily, I was a woman of my own mind and power. But now, I was a simple slave to the pleasure he so generously gave.
Thighs shaking, heart pounding, and breaths a staccato rhythm of moans and pants, I came hard, and it didn’t take him long to follow my lead. With his strong fingers gripping my thighs and a guttural groan, he found his release deep inside of me.
I had no idea how long it took me to come back down to Mother Earth, but the instant I became fully aware I’d just had sex with Sean inside a guest bedroom at a party filled with his teammates, it felt like the walls were closing in on me.
Ho-lee mother-flipping shit. I just fucked Sean Phillips.
I’d had sex with Mr. Manwhore, and I’d be a liar if I said it wasn’t some of the best sex I’d ever had in my fucking life.
A mindfuck of epic proportions.
Quietly, we disentangled ourselves and put our clothes back on, and my mind whirled with the consequences of my actions.
I’d been the one holdout in Sean’s life, and I’d just willingly given up my role. I’d thrown myself into the moment, and I didn’t regret it.
But goddamn, I wasn’t ready to face the living nightmare of his growing ego.
The answer, albeit a little cruel, came to me in an instant of clarity.
I needed to save face.
I needed to go back to the façade where I acted like he wasn’t one of the most irresistible men I’d ever met.
I looked up into his big hazel eyes and patted his shoulder with my hand. “Thank you for that,” I said, voice easy breezy. “That was pretty good.”
A surprised little smirk brought his smile into check as his gaze searched mine. “Just pretty good?”
“Yeah. It was pretty good.” I shrugged. “Better than I thought it would be.”
Liar.
His stare was manic and searching, and I shielded myself against it. Libby bounced in the background, begging me to give up the ghost, but I stayed stalwart and strong. This would be for the good of both of us in the end.
Because Sean Phillips would never settle for being mediocre. No, now, he’d be determined to prove me wrong.
I patted his big, muscular shoulder again, forced a big-ass smile to my lips, and walked out of the guest bedroom.
Ready for the onslaught.
Sean Phillips would be back. Of that, I was sure.