Winning With Him

by Lauren Blakely

I shrug, with a smile. “This is why I couldn’t commit. Because this is my favorite night ever now.”

  “Stop. You’ll make me fall deeper in love with you,” Declan says, pressing his forehead to mine.

  “You don’t want me to stop.”

  He shakes his head. “Never.”

  “Come over tonight. And tomorrow. And the next night,” I say, full of hope.

  “Yes.”

  I kiss him tenderly this time, slowly, wanting to remember every second of how this kiss feels.

  Because it’s another brand-new start. Another second chance.

  36

  Declan

  My mother is waiting at Grant’s front door. Next to her is Tyler, with my duffel bag at his feet. Grant sees them as he turns into the driveway, and he slows to a stop. Then he looks at me, lifting a questioning brow. “I’m sure your family is super cool, but are we hanging out with them tonight? I’m fine with that, but I do really want to fuck and cuddle you all night long.”

  The way he asks is adorable, as if he would suffer through family even if he’s as ready as I am for the great naked fest.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head as he cuts the engine. “But Mom did kind of know about my trade before you did.”

  Grant narrows his blue eyes at me in pretend anger. “And why is that?”

  “I couldn’t very well show up at the art gallery, holding a duffel bag and looking for you. We haven’t figured that part out yet.”

  Grant sets a hand on my thigh. “We will. Soon. Because you and I should be free to do that.”

  “And we will be. But I was being practical. When I landed at SFO, I called her and asked if I could drop my bag at her house on the way to the gallery. And then when we drove away from the bridge, I texted her to please bring it over here.”

  He smiles. “Your mom’s cool.”

  “She is. Let’s go say hi to her again.”

  We get out of the car and meet my mom on the front steps. I clap Grant on his shoulder, keeping my hand on this man I love. “Mom, you already met Grant. Grant, this is Tyler. My stepfather.”

  Grant steps forward, extends a hand. “Good to meet you, sir.”

  “Good to meet you too. And thank you.”

  Grant’s brows lift. “For making Declan happy?”

  “Well, that. But mostly, thank you for the five hits, four RBIs, and the excellent work behind the plate last fall, getting us a World Series win.”

  I roll my eyes. “Seriously? I’ve just been traded to the Dragons, and you are fanboying all over my boyfriend?”

  Tyler snaps his gaze to me and adopts a surprised but delighted expression. “Oh, it’s good to see you too, Declan. But,” he says, giving a what-can-you-do shrug, “Grant is the one who helped us get a World Series win.”

  Grant nudges me with his elbow. “The man is right. You should really let him fanboy for a minute.”

  I toss my hands in the air. “Fine. Go ahead and fanboy over Grant Blackwood.”

  My mom squeezes my shoulder. “Look on the bright side. At least we don’t have to pretend to root for the Comets anymore.”

  “You never rooted for the Comets, pretend or otherwise! Maybe you’re the reason we didn’t win a World Series. Hell, that’s why they traded for me five years ago—to try to win a World Series.”

  Grant tilts his head to the side. “And how’d that work out for them? Kind of rough, isn’t it?”

  My eyes bug out. “You did not just say that to me.”

  “I kind of did. Have I told you that your boyfriend is a competitive bastard?” Grant asks.

  “I knew that about my boyfriend. But I thought he would be a little more sympathetic,” I say with a huff.

  “This is sports, dear,” my mother tuts. “There’s no sympathy in baseball. It’s cutthroat.”

  Tyler nods. “Do or die. And listen, I hope you understand, Declan, but we’re not even going to pretend to root for the Dragons.”

  “As if I thought you would,” I say.

  Mom steps forward, wraps her arms around me in a hug, dropping the ribbing, going straight into mom mode. “But I will say this much: I am so happy that you’re a Dragon. I’m so happy for you.” As she holds me close, tucking her face against my neck, her throat hitches and her voice breaks. She brings me even closer, whispering, “I am so happy for you that you’re here. So unbelievably happy that you can be with your love.”

  “Me too,” I whisper.

  When Mom pulls back, she sucks in her tears then swipes a hand across her face. Tyler steps in, wraps an arm around her, and presses a kiss to her cheek. “You don’t have to pretend you’re not crying,” he says softly.

  Pursing her lips together, she runs her fingertips under her eyes again. “Fine. I’m crying. And seeing the two of you like this”—she gestures from me to Grant—“is my greatest joy.”

  Grant smiles then turns to plant a quick kiss on my lips. “Hopefully that makes you happy too. It makes me pretty happy to do that to your son,” he says to her.

  My mom’s hand flies to her heart, and Tyler lets a tear slide down his face too.

  I wave a hand dismissively. “You guys are going to get me all choked up. And don’t you know, there’s no crying in baseball,” I say, a little rough and gravelly.

  Grant reaches for my hand. I don’t know if this means we’re telling the world that we’re together. I don’t know if anyone is walking by taking our picture.

  But I also know that I don’t care. Right now, my life is somehow even better than it was twenty minutes ago.

  37

  Grant

  Yes, I want to be alone with my guy.

  But I want something more right now. I want to make him happy—as happy as he makes me. The great thing about Declan 2.0 is he tells me what he wants. He lets on. He gave me the keys to his wishes the day I got my real World Series ring. That night, he shared his dreams.

  I have this fantasy of seeing you in the stands. Locking eyes. Of calling my shot and hitting a homer for you.

  I can give that to him, so I turn to his mom and Tyler, like I’ve got an ace up my sleeve. “Would you like to go to Declan’s game tomorrow? All of us together?”

  His mom’s eyes sparkle like Fourth of July fireworks. “I would love that.”

  “Let’s make it a party. I’ll invite some of my Cougar buds and my best friend, Reese.” I drop my voice to a stage whisper. “Her boyfriend is a Dragon too.” I shudder, all over the top. “She and I are kinda in the same boat. In love with the enemy.”

  Declan slides his arm tighter around my waist, laughing. “You’re never gonna stop.”

  I drop a kiss onto his cheek. “Nope.” Then I turn back to his mom. “I’ll get tickets. Don’t worry—since I’m a Cougar, I can get awesome ones. We’ll get a whole crew, and we’ll root for this guy,” I say, looking at Declan again. He rolls his eyes, but he’s happy. I’ve made him happy by making plans to go to his first game.

  “I think that sounds like a perfect night,” his mom says.

  “We’d love to go. We never turn down a baseball game,” Tyler adds, then winks at Declan. “Even a Dragons one.”

  “Awesome,” I say, then hold up a finger. “I have a gift for you, Cyndi—Wait. Can I call you Cyndi, or do you prefer Mrs. Martin?”

  She laughs, shaking her head. “Cyndi is great.”

  I unlock the front door, rush inside, grab a little something from the drawer in the entryway table, then return to the porch. Outside, under the San Francisco sky, I show Declan’s mom the baseball.

  “Since you’re such a Cougars fan, I thought maybe you’d like a signed one,” I say, squaring my shoulders.

  Declan scoffs. “You are really hard to take,” he harrumphs.

  “Ignore him,” I tell his mom and Tyler.

  “We will,” Tyler says.

  I inscribe the baseball just for her, sign it, and hand it to the mom of the guy I love. When she reads it, her breath catches. Holding the ball like it’s a pr
ecious jewel, she throws her arms around me, hugging me so tight she nearly knocks me off-balance.

  It’s a foreign feeling, this motherly hug. The only woman who hugs me like this is my grandma. She’s awesome, and I love her madly, but I also like this—this maternal thing I’ve never truly had.

  When she lets go, she shows the ball to Declan.

  He smiles like the inscription lights up his soul.

  Well, it should.

  It says:

  Dear Cyndi, Thank you for helping your son find his way back to me. He’s everything to me. I love him so much.

  With her eyes glossy, she wraps her son in one more embrace, and then she tips her forehead to the street. “And now we really are going to leave you alone.”

  “Wait. Give me your number so we can make plans for the game tomorrow,” I say.

  His mom and I exchange texts, and something about that simple task—such an everyday, ordinary moment between my boyfriend’s mom and me—feels so damn right.

  As Tyler and Cyndi head down the steps, Declan grabs his bag and we go inside my house. When the door shuts and it’s only us, he sets down his duffel, shoots me a lopsided grin, and pulls me against him, his arms looping around my waist.

  “Is the great hug-fest about to continue?” I ask. “Seemed like we were all trying to set a record out there.”

  With a small laugh, Declan shakes his head. His laughter fades. His eyes darken. Passion declares itself in his eyes. “No. I want your kisses. All your kisses. All night long.”

  “Take them,” I say, grabbing his hips, yanking him even closer, and bringing my face inches from his.

  For a heartbeat, maybe two, we gaze at each other like we still can’t believe our luck.

  Is it luck?

  Is he here in my house, in my town, in my life because of luck?

  Tonight feels like so much luck.

  But maybe it was always meant to be this way. Maybe we were always going to find our way back to each other and land in the same place at the same time.

  Most of all . . . at the right time.

  I tilt my head. He follows. We are caught in the tease of each other, lost in that heady moment before a kiss.

  I flash back to our first kiss ever, in a car in Arizona on the side of the road, hot and desperate. I picture our kiss in New York in his apartment when I had to know if I felt the same wild need and found I ached for him even more.

  Then, a few months ago we kissed again, right here in my house, and it felt like coming home. It felt like the start of us once more.

  This is another moment. How will this kiss be different?

  “Kiss me, shortstop,” I whisper, eager to know the answer.

  “I will, catcher.”

  My once-upon-a-time rookie affair brushes his lips to mine and kisses me like he doesn’t want to ever let me go.

  I hum happily. This is how this kiss is different.

  This kiss tastes like our future.

  It’s like opening the door on a summer morning, the sun shining brightly, warming your skin. Declan Steele is no longer my secret crush. He’s not my nighttime tryst. And he’s not my we’re-not-making-a-plan guy. He is all my plans, all my crushes. He’s the man I’m going to love for the rest of my life.

  I can’t wait to tell this city that he’s mine. I can’t wait to write my love for him across the sky. Knowing that, feeling it deep in my heart, means our soft and tender kiss doesn’t stay gentle for long.

  We don’t come together softly.

  We come together like two men who play hard.

  Who love hard.

  I thread my fingers through his hair, jerking his face back, breaking our kiss. I huff out a harsh breath as I drag my hands down the front of his polo, grappling with it. “Want you so much.” My palm travels south of the border, hellbent on reaching its favorite destination. Covering Declan’s rock-hard dick, I squeeze his erection. “Want you coming down my throat,” I growl.

  Shuddering, he grabs the waistband of my pants, slams his cock against mine, grinds us together. “What do you know? I want the same damn thing.”

  As I press against him, a velvety rumble falls from my throat—I might have just purred from rubbing up against my man’s hard-on. “Sidenote: my dick is so happy to see you again.”

  Declan laughs. “To see me or my cock?”

  I tilt my head and give him a deadpan stare. “I love you. My cock loves your cock. That’s how it works, man.”

  He snakes a hand between us, rubs my dick, murmurs his appreciation. “Let’s get them reacquainted. How about on that sex couch of yours?”

  I wiggle my brows. “It’s stocked up and ready to go.”

  “I do admire your commitment to sex and sex plans.”

  I wink at him.

  Quickly, we toe off our shoes, leaving them by the door. On the way to the world’s biggest couch—maybe I subconsciously bought it hoping to bang him on it someday, or maybe because it’s perfect, too, for cuddling—I fiddle with the top button of my shirt.

  He grabs my ass, stops me in my tracks. “Turn around,” he commands.

  I do as he asks. I like his orders, always have.

  Declan’s eyes blaze with heat, glimmer with dirty desire. “Let me undress you,” he says, low and smoky, as he covers my hands with his and gently moves mine away so he can slide his fingers along the top button on my shirt. His touch makes me shiver. The fire in his eyes makes me harder. Makes me ache.

  Declan undoes one button, then another, then presses a kiss to my chest. A groan that sounds like a whimper escapes my lips. He undoes the next one. Another kiss. I’m all kinds of dizzy as Declan takes the reins, as he pushes open my shirt, kissing his way down my body, flicking his tongue over my pecs, my piercing, my ink.

  When he bites my nipple then tugs on the barbell, a tremor slams into me, and I moan with a mix of frustration and desire. “Need you naked,” I say, this close to begging.

  “You’ll have me.” When he’s opened all the buttons, he spreads his hands across my chest, pushing the shirt off my shoulders so it falls to the floor. I’m only in pants, my hard-on tenting the front of them.

  I seize my chance, shoving my hands under his polo, tugging it over his head. My temperature skyrockets. I’m the surface of Mercury as we stare at each other, the air charged, atoms and ions buzzing and crackling like a wire about to fry.

  Then we’re off to the races. I unbutton, unzip, push my pants to the floor—my socks too. He’s down to nothing in seconds flat. Nostrils flare. Breath comes fast. Our bodies crush together.

  A gasp staggers past my lips. This is it. Skin to skin, flesh to flesh with my man. Our cocks rub against each other, and I groan from the promise of ecstasy, from the sheer intensity of how incredible it feels to touch him, to be touched. From how good it is to connect like this—with our love language.

  No matter how hard we fuck, how dirty we get, how rough we are, this is love.

  We love and we fuck and we want.

  I break our hold, lean over the couch, and adjust a blanket so it’ll be right beneath us. Then I turn to him, and like I’m making a snow angel, I fall backward onto my sex-and-cuddle couch, pulling him on top of me.

  I want to do so much with him. To do everything with him. Starting right now.

  38

  Declan

  There is still so much to say.

  So many things I want to tell Grant Blackwood.

  Or really, one thing.

  But that can wait.

  Right now, I want our bodies to talk. Hell, I need this communication. I have to reconnect with my man, and I want us pleasuring each other at the same time.

  When I land on top of him, I push up on all fours so he’s lying under me. I lift my chin, run my teeth along my lower lip and give him a hot, dirty stare. “Sixty-nine. You in?”

  “All in,” he says in a filthy voice that sends a sharp blast of pleasure straight to my balls.

  “You want to be on top or me
?”

  Grant wiggles a sexy brow. “Seeing as you’re already on top, let’s get this double BJ party started. Move around and get your dick in my face.”

  As I get into position, still on all fours, his cock bobs a greedy hello at my face. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Grant reach into a drawer in the end table, grabbing some lube.

  “Just in case,” he murmurs as I lick a stripe down his shaft. Then I go farther, licking his balls.

  “Oh yes,” he groans, jerking up his hips.

  I indulge in a long, slow, delicious inhale of him. My body jolts with pleasure as his scent floods my nostrils, bathes my brain in desire. He is mine.

  And I’m his as Grant lifts his arms, wraps them around and over my cheeks, and tugs me closer to his face. My man flicks his wicked tongue against the head of my cock. “Now fuck my mouth,” he commands, and he opens his lips in a filthy invitation and suctions me into the warm, wet paradise of his mouth.

  My nerves sizzle from the twin sensations—me sucking him, him sucking me.

  That’s all that’s happening in my head.

  Just crackling. Sizzling. Burning. Melting. My brain is an egg frying on a hot summer sidewalk.

  I pump my hips, thrusting my length down his throat.

  Sparks tear across my body.

  I want to talk, to tell him how much I love this, to use my words—I am a chatty mofo in bed. But I can’t since I’ve got a mouthful of perfect cock to keep me quiet. A cock I want to lavish all my love on. I draw him in, humming around his length.

  Then I clamp down nice and tight, vacuum-sealing his dick in my mouth. I suck hard like that, rocking up and down on his erection with wild abandon, my hands braced on the couch, my body poised above him.

  Sucking Grant off is a heady, mind-bending experience, and it always has been, but it’s even better tonight.

  Because I’m here.

  We’re not living on borrowed time.

  We can sixty-nine tonight, and screw tomorrow, and we can jerk each other the next night if we want.