“What?” Trav slings an arm around my shoulders as I open the door.
“Eww.” Like picking up something soiled, I use only the tips of my forefinger and thumb to remove the offensive limb. “Don’t touch me until you’ve wiped yourself down with Lysol.”
“Straight-up savage, sis.” The shit-eating grin on Trav’s face and the way he joins in with everyone else laughing tells me he’s just as amused.
I blow him a kiss and give a mock bow, but there’s no stopping the warm fuzzies I get any time he calls me his sis.
“You have no idea,” E agrees from the recliner he and Bette occupy while sharing a cup of coffee.
Knowing both my brother and Trav—not to mention B—the commiserating over who gets it worse from me has only begun. I leave them to it and head for the shower. I need food and coffee, not necessarily in that order.
It’s a good thing E was too busy canoodling with his wife to get a good look at my appearance, because the sight staring back at me in the mirror as I get undressed is not one an older brother would want to see on his younger sister. There’s beard burn on my neck, chest, stomach, and between my thighs, not that the latter few are noticeable with clothes on. The faintest hint of bruising above my right knee and on my hips is the last of the evidence of how thoroughly fucked I was by Mase last night—all four times.
I’m halfway to feeling human by the time I’m done with my shower and start to get dressed. Aside from wearing a scarf—which would be fine if we were back home but weird in Santa Clara—there’s not much I can do to hide the beard burn visible on my neck. At least I packed the perfect shirt—a gold crew-neck tee with Love you to the end zone & back written in black and a little heart with football lacing—that will help cover the marks most likely to have E lose his mind. I finish off my ensemble with a pair of ripped black skinny jeans and gold sequined Chucks.
“Nice shirt,” Mase comments, pulling me onto his lap and passing me a mug of coffee prepared the way I like it.
“Thought you would like it.” I give him a quick kiss and settle into his embrace, saying hello to the rest of our friends who have filled the suite while I was showering. I spot the twins at the breakfast bar with T and Em, and Q, Alex, and Kev have joined CK at the dining room table to dig into the buffet Bette ordered.
“Where’s Noah?” I ask, noticing he’s the only one missing.
“Downstairs doing interviews,” Kev mumbles around a mouthful of bacon.
It should come as no surprise that in a room full of athletes, the television is tuned to ESPN, the guys hooting and hollering when the broadcasts recaps the Hawks’ victory over the Crimson Tide to become national champs. It takes on a whole other level when they play the clip of Mase’s announcement.
I groan and do my best to bury my face against him. Em snorts, and I can already hear her telling me to get used to it because this isn’t going to go away any time soon.
“I got it,” B calls out when there’s a soft knock on the door.
“Well aren’t you a tall drink of water,” an older feminine voice says once it’s open.
“Nan?” Trav asks, rising from the couch.
B steps to the side, confirming Nana McQueen is our unexpected visitor, and I don’t miss the way she cops a feel of B’s bicep as she passes.
Can we be her when we grow up? My inner cheerleader might be onto something there.
“Travis Joseph McQueen.” She scans her grandson from head to toe and back again, letting out a heavy sigh. “I hope you at least remembered to wrap it up. I don’t need you making me a great-grandmother with some jersey girl, or whatever it is you call them”—she waves her hand dismissively—“who’s not worthy of being my granddaughter-in-law. Remember…” She steps up to Trav and affectionately pats his cheek. “No glove, no love.”
The room erupts in guffaws and Trav blushes, like actually blushes. “Christ, Nan.” He runs a hand through his hair, not helping how disheveled it already is.
“Have I ever told you you’re my favorite person ever, Nana?” Livi skips over to hug