Winning With Him

by Lauren Blakely

  He winces.

  I would too.

  Here’s the thing usually precedes bad news.

  “What’s the thing?” He lets go of my hand.

  I set mine on the table. “When I started seeing Carla last May, she challenged me to really think about what I wanted to change in my life. Who I wanted to be. The type of person I want to be, and the type of man I want to feel worthy of.”

  “And what type of man is that?”

  “It’s not a type.” And here goes the full truth. “It’s you. I want to be worthy of you.”

  Grant closes his eyes, like this is all so much. When he opens them, he breathes out harshly.

  Worry snakes through me. I drag my hand along the back of my neck. “Is that too much? I’m sorry if it’s too much.”

  Grant shakes his head. “No, it’s not too much. Not at all. I just feel like there’s a but coming. Maybe I’m bracing for it.”

  Fair enough. He’s not entirely wrong. “The only ‘but’ is this: I promised I wouldn’t start a relationship during the first year we started diving into my issues. I’m really trying to treat it like recovery. Does that make sense?”

  He tilts his head. “What do you think you’re in recovery from?”

  “Loving an addict. Enabling an addict, for sure. Co-dependency. All of that, but also all the choices I made, like at the end of high school when I nearly tanked my baseball career. The regrets I have over that, and over how I ended things with you way back when. I’m trying to learn how to do things differently. I don’t want to bring all my bad habits into a new relationship. I want a real chance.”

  Grant slides his fingers through his thick hair as he does when he’s thinking, absorbing new info. “And you want that with me?”

  “I want to be with you. I want to be involved with you,” I say plainly, hoping he wants the same damn thing, but knowing I have to handle this conversation so much better than the meet me in Miami one I bungled five years ago. There’s no beating around the bush about my state of mind now. And no pushing him beyond what he can handle, like I did then. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life asking what if I had told Grant that I want to try again,” I say, my heart beating outside my damn body.

  His blue eyes shine with possibility. “You really do?” There’s wonder in his voice, perhaps disbelief. Or possibly the same damn emotion I feel—hope.

  “I really do.” My gaze stays locked on his as I push past how foreign it feels to talk this openly to someone I care so much about. I have to do this. “But I don’t want to fuck it up. I don’t want to make a mistake this time around. That’s why I want you to know the score. I’m still learning how the hell to be open about my feelings. I might still be rough around the edges, and I’m honestly a little terrified of starting up again at the wrong time. But if I don’t tell you this and put everything on the line, I might as well strike out looking. If you’ll have me like this—still working on me—I’ll do everything I can to make us work. I’m stepping up to the plate. And I’m taking a big fucking swing.”

  There it is.

  The truth of my heart.

  Flaws and all.

  Grant shudders out a breath. Scrubs a hand across his jaw. Parts his lips but takes his time. “First, I’ve always loved getting around the bases with you, so you swinging for the fences kind of gets me going. Second, I’m glad you told me where you’re at and what you want. You being open is a huge turn-on.” His brow knits. “But I’m a little confused now, so I’m going to be really blunt. It sounds like you’re on a timeout, and that you also want to sleep with me and start a relationship. So, Deck, what exactly are we doing tonight in, oh, say, about an hour?”

  I laugh lightly. Then shrug, feeling a little helpless. “I want to spend the night with you. I want to find a way to be with you. But if you want to wait till I’ve got more of this shit figured out I understand.” I take a resolute breath. “If you tell me to call you in May and you’ll see where you’re at and if you’re still single, I’ll honor that. If you tell me thanks but no thanks, I’ll respect that too.”

  His expression goes full Edvard Munch “The Scream.” “That sounds horrible.”

  I laugh. “Like a brand-new form of blue-ball torture?”

  “Exactly. So, May is a year for you?”

  “Yes,” I say, heavily, because waiting to touch Grant the way I want sounds like the worst form of torture. “Three months from now.”

  He blows out a long exhale. “So, you’re saying you want to be with me. Like really be with me. And then you’re also asking me if I want to wait three months to spend the night with you? Is this a test? Like, do I want all of your cock and some of your heart? Or none of your cock and all of your heart in three months?”

  A laugh bursts from me. “I’m happy to give you all of my dick anytime, and yes, I want all of yours too.” Then I turn serious again. “It’s not the physical I worry about. We’ve got that down. But I want more than sex. I want all of you, but I want to make sure I can be good for you in every way too, and I’m still a work-in-progress. So, if you want to wait on the whole cock until I get more of my shit together, I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you.”

  Grant shakes a finger at me. “You’re a cruel fucking man. You tortured me with your wicked hands and your dirty talk and all those filthy, sexy, insane things you say that make me melt for you. Not to mention those eyes and the way you stare at me. Do you have any idea how you look at me?”

  I slide closer, eating this up with a big spoon. “How do I look at you?”

  Grant leans into me. “Like no man has ever wanted anyone the way you want me.”

  Lust slams into me—a punishing, beautiful jolt of desire. “Because that’s how I feel for you. In every single way. But if going full-speed ahead now is going to ruin my one chance with you, I’ll wait,” I say, putting that out there, so he knows how I feel. “Like I said, you’re my what-if.”

  He looks up and those blue eyes hold mine with so much honesty and need as he whispers, “Don’t you know? You’re my what-if too.”

  My skin sizzles with the promise of an us. This is the reward for speaking the truth. A big, beautiful reward. “Good,” I say.

  “You’ve got to know I want another chance with you. It’s why I asked you out tonight. I’m desperate for this. For us. But I also care too much about you to mess up your work. I’m so happy you’re seeing someone, that you’re treating all this as seriously as recovery.” Grant draws a deep breath, then his lips curve into a grin and he shrugs playfully. “But on the other hand, if we don’t fuck tonight, I think I might die . . . so can you please make this whole-cock-or-no-cock decision for us?”

  I laugh, tempted, so damn tempted, to pull him against me. To kiss the breath out of him right here. To thank all the lucky stars that he’s willing to brave my imperfections, to gamble on my flaws. To take a chance on me. I’m not going to squander it, and if Grant wants me as I am, then I want him too. “Seems like the decision’s been made. I refuse to let you die. You get the whole cock.”

  “Thank God. I want the cock, the whole cock, and nothing but your cock,” he says, relieved, then a wicked glint crosses his eyes. He takes out his phone, clicks on a folder and shows me his test results. “Negative.”

  I do the same. “Negative too. We better be going bare.”

  “Mmm . . . yes.”

  “Can’t wait,” I murmur, and once again, we might set the place on fire.

  Good thing the waitress swings by and asks if we want a refill.

  “Just an iced tea for me,” I say, grateful for the distraction.

  “Diet Coke,” Grant says, and when she brings them by a minute later, I take a drink. “I want to hear more about you. What you’ve been up to. I have to say, I was really proud of you last night. For your award.”

  “Thanks. That means a lot to me.”

  “I kept thinking, too, that when I met you, you were like a cub.”

  Grant rolls his eyes. �
�Gee, thanks. Just what I’ve always longed to hear.”

  “Come on. You were a rookie in every sense. You were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. But look at you now,” I say, gesturing to the man next to me.

  Grant sits a little taller, straightens his shoulders a little more, knocks back some soda. “What do you see now?”

  “I see a champion. I see a businessman. I see a friend. I see a family man. Most of all, I see a leader,” I tell him earnestly. “I see a man who had a dream. I see a man who put some things aside to make that dream come true.” Another drink of the iced tea, then I add my final thought on who Grant Blackwood is. “And when I see that man, all I can think is, my God I like that man so much.”

  Trust. That felt like trust. Like what Carla was getting at. Putting yourself out there and trusting the other person won’t stomp on your heart.

  Grant doesn’t seem like a heart stomper.

  “You,” he says softly. “You and me.”

  “Me and you.”

  His eyes hold mine. “I told you what would happen if we were together again,” he whispers.

  I remember his words in my apartment perfectly. But I want to hear them anew from his lips. “What would happen?”

  Grant sets down the glass, his blue eyes sparking with something entirely new, but something wonderfully familiar too. He looks at me like he did once upon a time. But he also looks at me in a whole new way, like maybe it’s our moment. “That I would fall for you again,” he says.

  A greedy, needy sigh escapes my lips as I gaze at the only man I’ve ever loved. I want to wrap my hand around the back of his head, pull him close, kiss him soft and tender, so that everyone could see he belongs with me. Only me. “So fall for me. Because I’ll be doing the same for you.”

  “Sounds like a deal.”

  What it sounds like is a second chance.

  Then it sounds like the sexiest night ever is about to begin when Grant lifts an eyebrow, his lips curving into a dirty grin as he inches closer. “To answer your question from earlier, I do have more ink. Want to see it?”

  As the waitress sails by, I hold up two fingers and call out, “Check, please.”

  27

  Grant

  With Declan in the passenger seat, I pull away from the curb. This is why I took my own car tonight.

  I can be our getaway driver. We don’t have to worry about some Lyft driver recognizing us on the way to my house. It’s just easier this way till we figure shit out.

  What’s easier, too, is that I don’t have to wait to touch Declan.

  When I slow at a light a block away, I reach for his hand, and our fingers thread together. Just like that, sparks jump all over my skin. “Jesus, man. Holding your hand turns me on,” I confess.

  Declan rubs his thumb along my knuckles. “You’re not the only one. I’ve got shivers running up and down my back,” he says.

  “This is going to be the longest ten minutes of my life.” The light changes and I let go of his hand so I can turn right.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Pacific Heights. On Jackson, near Alta Plaza Park.”

  “So, an eternity when you’re horny.”

  I laugh as I drive. “Exactly.”

  I tap the screen on the dash, opening the music stations. “By the way, have you ever googled the lyrics to ‘November Rain?’”

  “I have. Why?”

  “That’s a sad song, dude. She dies in the video too.”

  “Way to spoil the video for me, Grant.”

  I roll my eyes. “The video’s from before I was even born, so I’m pretty sure it’s not a spoiler. Anyway, no wonder we were doomed back then. You picked the wrong song for us.”

  Declan gestures to my dash. “Then you pick a new song for us, DJ.”

  As I stop at another light, I wiggle my eyebrows, liking the sound of that. “I will,” I say, quickly finding just the right tune.

  But before the song I have in mind can even start, his hand is on my face, cupping my jaw. “Can’t wait to kiss you again.”

  Goose bumps cover my whole entire body. “I know. Trust me, I know. But not at the light. They change too fast,” I warn.

  He slides his thumb along my jaw, then lets go. “I can wait, then, because I need it to last.”

  “Me too,” I murmur but I’m not entirely sure my body is onboard with the delay. I swallow, trying to shake off the fine dusting of desire I’m coated in, then I hit play as the light changes.

  An upbeat pop song fills my car.

  As I drive, Declan furrows his brow, like he’s trying to place the music. But soon, he tosses his head back against the seat. “Jonas Brothers? You’re giving us a Jonas Brothers tune?”

  “What A Man Gotta Do” fills the car.

  I smile wickedly as I drive. “It’s a better omen than Axl Rose’s fictional wife dying in the music video of ‘November Rain.’ Which is a song about love not working out, man!” I point at the screen. “Admit it. This is a much better song for us.”

  He’s quiet for a minute, listening to the lyrics about what a man has to do to get locked up by his lover. It’s a song about a guy saying I’m yours.

  It’s cheesy and poppy and so goddamn boy-band-y that it’s kind of hurting my ears. But I won’t back down. “I am not returning to ‘November Rain.’ That song is done. It can be your favorite tune, but you cannot associate it with me.”

  “Fine, I’ll admit this is a much better contender for all the reasons you laid out.” Declan laughs. “But I cannot believe you like the Jonas Brothers.”

  “You can say it. I have excellent taste,” I say, preening.

  He arches a dubious brow. “How about something from Pearl Jam?”

  I scoff. “No. First of all, no one understands Pearl Jam lyrics. Everything has a double meaning. Second, you are not allowed to pick a song. You’re just not. My turn.”

  He cracks up, shaking his head. “Just give us something other than Jonas Brothers.”

  “Fine,” I say with a smile. I have something else in mind. Something that hearkens back to our early morning convos in Arizona about music and gay icons. With a quick glance at the screen, I flick over to Lady Gaga and play “Stupid Love.”

  He listens intently, almost like he’s hearing it for the first time.

  “You’re not into pop music, are you?”

  Declan shakes his head. “Not really.”

  “Do you like to dance?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve never been a big dancer.”

  I smell opportunity. “We’re going dancing sometime. My friends and I love to dance. Reese and Tia and Layla and the women I was friends with in college. We go clubbing and we tear up the dance floor. And I love pop music. And Lady Gaga. I just do. Also, she’s fucking awesome.”

  “I will give you that. She is fucking awesome.” Declan sighs happily, then shifts his gaze to me. “We’ll go dancing. And yes, this is a good song. All about the one you’ve been waiting for.” He squeezes my thigh. “That’s you, babe.”

  Time for a full-scale butterfly attack. I’m waving the white flag to all the butterflies in the world. They own me tonight.

  When I turn on Jackson Street, I reach for his hand one more time, and we thread our fingers together. Once my house comes into view, I tip my forehead to the slate-gray modern building with the Scandinavian architecture feel and tall windows on each floor. “That’s mine,” I say of the swank three-story home wedged town-home style next to a city block full of some of the sweetest abodes in the city. “It’s athlete row here, as I like to say. Some of the Hawks and Renegades live around here too.”

  “Cool neighborhood. But you’re the only person I want to see for the next twelve or fifteen or whatever hours,” he says.

  “Same, Deck. Same.”

  Tonight feels like our first true night alone. A night when we aren’t surrounded by a hotel full of teammates. A night when we don’t have a workout in the morning.

  A night when we can just b
e together, and also be alone together in a city of millions, without sneaking around, checking stairwells, avoiding the coach.

  Finally, five years later, we can just . . . be.

  I click on the garage door opener and pull into my home. Once the car stops, I cut the engine, close the garage door behind us, and get out.

  That’s it.

  We’re officially alone.

  “It’s just us for the rest of the night,” I say reverently. I close the short distance to the door that opens into my place.

  As I unlock it, Declan comes up right behind me, presses his whole frame against me, and wraps an arm around my waist. I melt into his touch, then my bones liquefy when his lips brush across the back of my neck. “Mmm. You taste incredible,” he whispers.

  I lean into him, savoring the feel of his mouth on my skin. Indulging in his kisses for several delicious seconds that unspool into a swoony, decadent minute. I don’t want to stop, don’t want to break the hold he has on me. “Don’t want you to ever stop doing that, but maybe we should get inside,” I murmur.

  His hand snakes down to my crotch, where he covers me with his palm. “Get inside,” he muses. “I want to get inside you. Want you to get inside me.”

  My breath comes in a shuddery gasp. “Deck, I don’t know if I will last up the stairs with the way you talk to me.”

  He sweeps his lips across my neck one more time, pushing his erection against my ass, his chest against my back, giving me a preview. “Then we’ll fuck again and again and again.”

  That sounds like the best night ever.

  I need it to start so I peel away, unlock the door, and open it.

  Once inside, he follows me up the steps to the ground level where I toss my keys on a table in the foyer, then turn around.

  We lock eyes. Need flares between us. It consumes me all at once.

  I push my man over to the wall, right next to a framed black and white photo of the Pacific Ocean along the California coastline, waves cresting. In a hot second, I’m against Declan, slamming my pelvis to his, our lips crashing together. We combust. I can’t keep track of where we are. We are just making up for lost time in a collision of mouths and teeth. Hands and bodies. Like we have to touch all over.