The game wasn’t over.

It had barely started.

And every single one of them knew it.

My fingers moved before I could stop them.

Logan’s hand was still over mine, pressing my palm flat to the burning skin of his stomach, but I let my fingertips slip free and trace the edge of the tattoo where it disappeared under his waistband. The ink was raised just slightly under the pad of my finger, like it had been carved into him on purpose. His abs jumped hard when I touched it. A low, rough sound scraped out of his throat.

“Fuck,” Jake muttered from the chair, voice already thicker. “She’s really...