Sin’s friends are still going strong and seem cranked up for more, as if it’s not 2 a.m. When I return to the living room, the girls inform me they’re leaving. My friends manhandle my present so much, I hide it in Saint’s closet next to his perfect designer clothes, occupying a hanger of honor right in the middle. When he bends to kiss my cheek, I burst out with glee, “I’ll frame it!” “Yeah, I did.” Frowning harder even as his eyes start glimmering with pure amusement, he brings it over and presses it into my hands. He catches the shirt easily, then frowns and looks down at it. “You didn’t!” I look up at him, balling it up and tossing it back at him as if it burned. Signed by every fucking player who played tonight. “What is it?” Curious, I spread the cotton fabric open and make out the Cubs T-shirt, size small. He tosses it into the air, and it lands softly on my lap. I perk up from my chat with the girls and turn to see him ball a piece of fabric into his hand. Saint greets him for a minute by the elevator, then comes back to head to the guys. Five minutes later, Otis comes up to the penthouse.
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