I glanced up at him. Mikey stood leaning against the doorjamb to my bedroom. He wore faded plaid pajama pants and an oversized Riggers T-shirt he’d most likely stolen from my ridiculously large stash if he hadn’t gotten it from Coach. I remembered the first year he’d worked for me when we’d been diligent about ignoring each other for the most part. He hadn’t come in my personal area of the house, and I hadn’t gone anywhere near his garage apartment. But it didn’t take me too long to realize he actually had come into my personal space since he was the one who did the laundry.

I hadn’t intended for him to do the laundry. That fact needs to be clear. I’d hired a housekeeper to handle cleaning and laundry, but Mikey had quickly made the executive decision that the housekeeper needed to go.

“She took pictures of your underwear and put them on Instagram,” he’d told me when I’d finally noticed and confronted him about her disappearance. “So I fired her.”

“You can’t fire her. She works for me,” I’d said. Stupidly. “Get her back.”

“Mhm. Okay. Sure.”

I’d never seen her again.

After yanking out the duplicate gear and tossing it onto the unmade bed, I zipped the bag closed and headed his way. “Antone, Peevy, and Colin are coming for dinner. That okay?”

I passed by him and tried not to inhale. A sleepy Mikey was the best kind of Mikey, and I had no business even knowing that, much less enjoying it. It had only taken a year and one crazy playoff season for Mikey to stop worrying about showing up perfectly pressed and dressed to prepare breakfast, and honestly, I’d been relieved. It was easier for me to think of him as a generous roommate who happened to fix me breakfast than an employee who dressed to impress.

“Colin is not okay,” he said as he followed me down the hall and into the kitchen. “He looks at me funny.”

I whipped around and almost knocked into him. “What? Funny like how?” If any of my teammates even thought about messing with my… Mikey, they were going to have words with me.

He sighed. His hair was so adorably messy, I wanted to put my fingers in it. I’d been having these inappropriate thoughts more and more lately, and it made my teeth ache. “Fine, I kind of… hooked up with him, okay? And he’s upset because I won’t do it again.”

I stared at him. The sun streamed into the kitchen from the huge windows, and every stainless steel surface gleamed in its usual pristine state. The only thing on the large island besides the usual giant pottery bowl full of fresh fruit and Mikey’s personal recipe notebook on its custom stand was a single place setting with a steaming casserole dish on a trivet right next to it and the familiar thermos with my protein smoothie in it. I knew from experience there would be a large soft-sided cooler bag in the fridge with my snacks and lunch already packed and ready.

Mikey was an amazing chef. I was spoiled as hell, and everyone on the team envied me. Thanks to his knowledge and talent, I ate like a king and my body was fueled to perfection. Over the past five years, I’d packed on lean muscle, and I now felt better than I had at sixteen. Who knew nutrition made such a difference? Everyone but me, apparently.

“You slept with Colin Saris?” My voice might have squeaked a little at the end.

“I didn’t sleep with him. We just kind of… did some other things. Don’t tell anyone, though. He’s not out.”

“No shit he’s not out,” I snapped. “The man has a different woman in his bed every damned night. How the hell did you end up there?”

I wasn’t sure why the idea of my assistant slash chef sleeping with one of my teammates upset me so much, but it did. It really, really did.