Page 95 of Bad Run

Maryse chuckles. “Girl, you’ve been staring at your laptop for, like, ten minutes.”

“Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“I’m sure you do.” She briefly glances at the spot where my rings lie hidden. “Anyway, Mateo’s here and is demanding that I go home and rest.”

“You should totally get some rest. It’s been a long day.”

Maryse shuts the lid of my laptop. “If you think for one second I’m going to let you stay here working alone, you are out of your mind.”

“But …” I look around the now empty office. I must have really spaced out if I didn’t notice my colleague leaving.

“No buts. Everything will get done. Just not tonight. Now, go home and get yourself some dinner. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” She rubs her rounded stomach.

At the thought of food, my stomach rumbles loud enough for Maryse to chuckle. “Guess I am a little hungry.”

I haven’t eaten since I inhaled an order of the stadium’s famous truffle fries while I watched the game.

“Girl, same. Gotta get some food before this baby revolts and I’m hit with a terrible case of heartburn.” The phone in Maryse’s hand buzzes. She shakes her head and smiles as she reads the message. “I better go before my husband comes looking for me. Same time tomorrow?”

“You know it.”

“Thank you for all the hard work you’ve been putting in, Gwen. You’ve been doing an amazing job, and I want you to know that I submitted a request to HR for you to cover while I’m on maternity.” She winks at me.

My stomach bottoms out, but I plaster on a smile. “Thank you. Having your support means a lot to me.”

After trying to get pregnant for so long, Maryse isn’t sure she wants to return to work after she has the baby. Her husband, Mateo Diaz—a retired Evaders’ pitcher—just wants her to be happy and healthy, no matter what she chooses. He’s the green-flag husband of every girl’s dreams.

Maryse’s plan is to make sure I’m prepared in case she decides not to come back.

“Lance?” I call out, slipping off my shoes by the door.

I make my way through the lit living room toward the kitchen, checking the pool through the back wall of windows. The lights outside are off, and the water is undisturbed.

No Lance.

As I make my way toward the back of the house, the sound of the shower running in the distance grows louder. Not thinking much of it, since Lance has been using the guest bathroom to shower, I enter the bedroom and unzip my skirt, pushing it over my hips and letting it fall to the floor.

I scoop up my skirt and head toward the walk-in closet. My feet freeze two steps past the bathroom when it finally registers that the sound of water crashing onto the tiles is coming from the master bathroom and the door is wide open.

Lance is showering with the door open.

My heart races, and a hot wave of need rolls through me.

Do not look, Gwen. Keep walking.

My feet have a mind of their own and reverse their direction.

Steam covers the glass walls of the shower, but I can still make out Lance’s back as he stands under the spray of water. My gaze travels lower, checking out his firm ass.

Memories of the last time we shared a shower pop into my head. Me on my knees, water dripping down Lance’s chest as his hips thrust and his cock bumped the back of my throat.

His body jerks, pulling me from my visions.

“Fuck,” he groans.

Is he doing what I think he’s doing?

I inch closer. Lance’s back and arm jerk again. He leans forward, resting one hand on the tiled wall, and mutters, “Gwen.”