45. Quinn
The key card beeps as we enter the suite, post-show adrenaline still coursing through our veins. I set down my purse while Jarron flops onto the plush king bed, his stage clothes still clinging with sweat.
"First night without the baby since..." Austen trails off, counting on his fingers.
"Forever," Lyle finishes, kicking off his boots.
I head to the mini bar, pulling out the bottle of wine I'd stashed earlier. "Anyone else need a drink?"
"You sure you can?" Beau's protective instincts kick in as he watches me pour five glasses. "What about feeding Mace?"
"Already thought of that, big guy." I hand him a glass with a wink. "Been pumping extra for days. Monica's got enough stored up, and these," I gesture to my chest, "are all yours tonight."
The reaction is immediate and ridiculous. All four grown men leap up like they've won the lottery, fist-bumping and high-fiving each other like teenagers.
"Hell yeah!" Jarron pumps his fist. "The girls are back!"
"Y'all are actually twelve years old," I laugh, but warmth spreads through my chest at their enthusiasm. These ridiculous, wonderful men.
"Damn straight we are," Austen grins, running a hand through his messy hair. "And proud of it."
Lyle raises his glass. "To successful shows and freed boobs!"
"Really?" I roll my eyes, but clink my glass with theirs anyway. "That's what we're toasting to?"
"And to Monica the manager slash baby whisperer," Beau adds more diplomatically. "The real MVP tonight."
"Alright, boys," I say, setting my wine glass on the table. "Here's the deal. I'm thinking of a number between one and a hundred. The one who gets closest goes first."
They exchange looks, excitement lighting up their faces. It's like watching a pack of wolves ready to pounce, and I can't help but smirk.
"Ready?" I start unbuttoning my sweater, slowly revealing the lacy bra underneath.
"Austen, you're up first."
He leans back, blue eyes glinting with mischief. "Twenty-seven."
"Good guess," I say, dropping my sweater to the floor. "Lyle, your turn."
Lyle grins and rubs his shaved head as if it's a crystal ball. "Forty-two."
I slide off my pants, standing in just my underwear now. "Nice try."
"Jarron, you're next."
Jarron crosses his arms over his broad chest, tilting his head as if deep in thought. "Sixty-nine," he says with a cocky grin.
I unhook my bra and toss it aside, feeling their eyes on me like a physical touch. "Not even close."
"Beau baby, last but not least," I purr.
Beau's gaze locks with mine, his face serious as he thinks it over. "75," he finally says with a grin that makes me roll my eyes.
"Classy." I laugh, shaking my head as I take a step back to consider their guesses.
I point at Lyle. "Closest without going over."
Lyle's face lights up like a Christmas tree as he stands and steps forward to take my hand.
The other three groan in unison.
"You've gotta be kidding me," Jarron mutters.
"I call for a recount," Austen grumbles.
Beau just shakes his head but manages a smile for Lyle. "Go get 'em, tiger."
Ignoring their complaints, I lead Lyle to the bed. He follows eagerly, practically vibrating with excitement.
I glance back at the others over my shoulder as we reach the bed. "Better luck next time, boys."
Lyle sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me into his lap, hands wandering over my bare skin as he kisses me hungrily.
"You're so beautiful Mama," he murmurs between kisses.
"Shut up and kiss me," I whisper back.
The other three are still grumbling but come in sit down to watch.
"Let's get ready to ruuumbbllle!" Austen shouts.
The room fills with low laughter and playful banter as they try to hide their disappointment behind jokes and teasing.
Lyle's hands are everywhere—soft but insistent—and it's all I can do not to melt right there in his arms. The heat of his body against mine is intoxicating; every touch ignites sparks along my skin.
This is going to be one hell of a… long… night.