Thanks For Last Night: A Guys Who Got Away Novel

by Lauren Blakely

  The man next to me is simply . . . delicious.

  Even more so after our chat on the way over.

  And I know how badly Ransom wants to beat these guys. Hell, I want him to. If we do, we can raise even more money for his chosen charity.

  The look in Ransom’s eyes—fiery—tells me he wants me to play along with the whole we pretend to hate each other pretense.

  But I decide to have a little fun with these guys.

  I shake Adrian’s hand, answering his question. “I’m Teagan King, and I happen to be a big fan of hideous beasts.” Then I take Ransom’s arm. “And he’s the most hideous one of all,” I say, in a way that makes it clear he’s the complete opposite of grotesque.

  “Oh, I love it when you call me names, dollface,” Ransom says with a twinkle in his eyes.

  I give an over-the-top pout, tapping my finger against his nose. “You adore everything I do, my beast.”

  He smiles all lovey-dovey. “I so do.”

  Adrian furrows his brow, pointing from Ransom to me and back. “Hey, Puck Boy, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend till I saw you walk in with this belleza. How the hell is that possible?”

  I flick my gaze to Ransom, and he shoots one back at me. A look that says, Go along with it.

  Because that’s what these guys do. They one-up each other. That’s their hobby.

  I squeeze Ransom a little tighter. “What can I say? He’s irresistible, and that’s why I came here tonight. Can’t let any other woman get her claws in this guy, can I now?”

  “I don’t think anyone would want to,” Adrian says, but then he flashes me a grin. “Now tell me, Teagan. Are you honestly a fan of the world’s dullest sport?”

  “Yes, are you a fan of long, dull games played on baseball diamonds, Teagan?” Ransom asks pointedly. “Inquiring minds want to know.”

  I smile at Martinez, giving a my bad laugh. “Oh, when you said ‘dullest sport,’ I thought you meant auto racing.”

  The Yankee chuckles and points at me. “She’s a keeper, Ransom. Don’t let this one get away.”

  Ransom shoots me a sweet smile, then shrugs. “I won’t.”

  A waiter circles by.

  “Want to grab some drinks?” Martinez asks.

  “See? I knew you guys were friends,” I say.

  Martinez narrows his eyes.

  Ransom hisses.

  I roll my eyes. “You can’t fool me. But I can go along with this whole frenemies thing if you want.”

  “Good answer, Teagan,” Ransom says as he snags three flutes and thanks the server.

  With champagne in hand, Martinez looks my way. “Moment of truth—what is your favorite sport, Teagan? But if you hate sports, please lie because that would devastate us.” He smacks Ransom on the shoulder, and I love that too—the little signs that these guys really are buddies, even though they pretend they’re not.

  “I actually love baseball,” I say truthfully.

  Ransom jerks his gaze to me, blinking. “Blasphemy.”

  “What can I say? My dad was a huge fan, and we had season tickets for the Yankees,” I tell them. “He took me to a ton of games back in the heyday of Jeter and Williams, Posada and Rivera.”

  Martinez brings his hand to his heart. “Those guys are my heroes. I watched them all late at night growing up across Europe, when I could get the games on satellite in Spain, Italy, sometimes in France. But wherever I was, one thing remained the same — Mariano Rivera is the greatest ever.”

  “He’s the best. No one has ever been better.”

  “No question. I look up to him, to Posada—to all those greats. It is an honor to play on the same team as the men I admired from across the ocean.” Martinez turns to Ransom. “And I take back everything I’ve ever said about you because your girlfriend is an angel.”

  Ransom drapes an arm around me. “She’s pretty awesome, isn’t she?”

  Martinez again looks from Ransom to me and back. Something seems to spark in the cool blue eyes of the closer. “May the best man win tonight.” He downs some of his drink, then looks at his watch. “I should go freshen up before I have to strut onstage and crush your sorry ass. Carnale and I have our own side bet about the auction.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s it for?”

  Martinez tips his chin at me. “When we saw you come in, Carnale laid a grand on the charity of your choice that your girlfriend won’t kiss you backstage if you win. I said she would. Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  He winks, claps Ransom on the shoulder, and strolls away.

  In slow motion, Ransom turns to me, and when our eyes lock, neither one of us seems to know what to say.

  I don’t know if I can speak.

  All I can do is wonder.

  I wonder what that kiss with him would be like.

  When his eyes darken, flaring with something that looks like heat, I wonder how much he wants to know too.

  A few hours later, when Ransom heads backstage, I make a beeline for the women’s room. Peeing, obvs. Then washing my hands. Double obvs. I touch up my gloss, check my hair, and take a breath.

  I’m a little nervous, and I’m not a nervous person. So, I turn to my person.

  Bryn.

  I take out my phone and send a quick text. She’s my de facto family, my best friend. We met a few years ago in a grief support group. We’d both lost our parents. We were both alone. We needed each other. Our friendship was born from the ashes of others’ lives.

  * * *

  Teagan: Your crazy friend is ready to bid on your other crazy friend. Gah.

  * * *

  Bryn: Did you bring your piggy bank?

  * * *

  Teagan: Yes, and a hammer to smash it open. It’ll be like performance art right in the middle of an auction.

  * * *

  Bryn: Never a dull moment with you, girl. But I have to ask—are you okay?

  * * *

  Teagan: Of course. Why?

  * * *

  Bryn: The gah. You always say “gah” when you’re . . .

  * * *

  My phone trills in my hand, and I answer immediately. “Hey, girlie girl,” I say, keeping it light.

  “That’s yet another giveaway.” Bryn really does know me too well.

  “Ugh. I hate you and your mind-reader ways,” I say with a huff, leaning against the wall.

  “What’s wrong? Why are you nervous? Do you feel like we pushed you guys together?”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re always pushing us together.”

  “Yes, because you two are the perfect couple,” she says, like it’s as factual as Newton’s Law of Universal Gravitation.

  “I don’t belong with anyone, and you know that,” I say, sharp but clear. Because I’m not a one-person-or-bust kind of girl.

  She sighs. “I know. I know. But maybe someday.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “So, why are you out of sorts?”

  I roll my shoulders, trying to let go of the worries skating through me. “Eh, it’s just momentary nerves. Ransom is so competitive, and he wants to win this, and I want to win this. For the foundation, for his fundraising. That’s all.”

  She’s quiet at first, then she asks, “Are you sure it’s not for any other reason?”

  A reason like I really dig the guy? Yes, I’m sure that’s the reason. I’m positive. I’m damn positive, especially after that kiss comment, because I want to lay one on him and kiss him all night long. And maybe, just maybe, he wants that too. But then what would happen tomorrow?

  “Just momentary nerves. Silly little things. Bye-bye, nerves.”

  “Let me know how it goes.”

  “I promise. Love you.”

  “Love you.”

  I end the call. Good thing she reached out. Talking to her reminds me what matters most.

  My friends. Our friends. The whole family we’ve made in this city. These fluttery feelings aren’t worth jeopardizing that.

  So, I leave them all behind and head
into the auction.

  It’s time.

  I’m in the ballroom with hundreds of other dolled-up women and some spiffy men too. The Yankees shortstop is one of a few openly gay major league baseball players, and he’s notoriously single too, so I’m not surprised the men are lining up to bid on him.

  I survey the crowd, assessing the competition, trying to glean an idea of who might be vying for Ransom tonight.

  Maybe that brunette in the red dress? She’s studying a program for the night, and from where I sit, it looks like the page is open to the hockey players—three from Ransom’s team.

  Or the blonde with her hair in a sexy-messy bun? It looks like she has hockey sticks as nail art, which shows some serious commitment.

  Nerves skitter across my skin, but I try to rid them with a healthy dose of determination.

  I draw a breath, steeling myself.

  It could be anyone. Could be a guy too. But whoever is gunning for the forward, I’m going to run the table.

  That’s the plan.

  I’m going to get my man.

  I’ll make the biggest bid for Ransom. I have no control over what anyone else goes for, but I can do my damnedest to win him for a kiss.

  I mean, for a cause.

  Win him for the cause.

  I repeat that over and over in my head.

  Don’t want to forget why I’m here.

  The hostess—a polished and poised sports reporter from Las Vegas—strides across the stage.

  “What a thrill to see so many of you here ready to bid on New York’s finest men! I’m Lily Nichols, and I couldn’t be more honored to host this year’s charity auction,” she says in a voice I know from her on-air reports. “We have quite a lineup tonight, so let’s get started with some of the New York Giants.”

  She introduces the running back from the team, who strides onstage, flashing a smoldering smile and filling out a suit quite nicely. The audience hoots and hollers for the man as Lily rattles off Leon’s attributes. “Leon loves to sing in the shower, spend time with his grandparents, and try new cuisines. Let the bidding begin.”

  After some heated back-and-forth bidding, Leon goes for four digits, and some of the other football stars net a bigger payday before Lily segues to the NBA.

  After she works her way through a handful of hoops players, she’s on to the Yankees, talking up Jose Carnale.

  I tap my toe, wishing the hockey guys were next.

  “Jose Carnale loves to dance, run you a bubble bath, and hear about your day.” Lily shoots the catcher an approving look. The strapping Bronx Bomber wiggles a brow. “My God, could this man be any more perfect?”

  A determined Lucy Liu look-alike calls out, “He’s mine!”

  Time proves she is, indeed, determined. She wins him for a high four figures.

  Next up is the team’s shortstop, and the bidding war is fierce, with a smoldering man in a suit winning him, and all I can think is they’d make a smoking-hot couple. I hope their date turns into the real thing because I wouldn’t mind checking out some cute couple pics from those two.

  Purely as a social media strategist, of course.

  “And now, we have The Tree, also known as Adrian Martinez, the star closer for the New York Yankees. An avid feline fan, every night he’s in town, he goes home to his two cats, Puss and Boots.”

  The woman in front of me squeaks. The woman next to her gasps.

  Understandable. Those are adorable names for kitties.

  “He loves to cook for you, play Scrabble, and indulge in candlelit dinners.”

  Part of me wants to call bullshit. I mean, who really likes all that? But the marketer in me is impressed. Adrian—or his press person—has made himself seem like quite a prize.

  And maybe he is.

  “Who would like to start the bidding?” Lily asks the audience.

  A leggy lady in front of me thrusts her hand in the air. “I have a bidder on the phone,” she says. When she drops the number, my jaw comes unhinged.

  Damn.

  That’s a lot of greenbacks.

  Before Lily can even ask if anyone else wants to meet it, one of the cat-lovers in front of me tosses her hat in the ring with a higher bid.

  They go back and forth for a few minutes until the gasper drops out, and the anonymous phone bidder wins.

  Martinez was the last Yankee. It’s our turn now.

  My stomach churns. Or maybe it flips. Hell, it might do both. I’m nervous and excited. Ready and worried.

  Lily smiles, sweeps her arm out wide, and flashes a grin at the man in the tux who picked me up at my home earlier tonight.

  “And we have Ransom North, star forward for this city’s NHL franchise,” she says as Ransom strides across the stage, a gorgeous smile gracing his handsome face.

  That smile.

  My God. It’s so magnetic. So inviting. So warm. All at the same time. His dimples are killing me, making me feel all gooey inside.

  He scans the crowd and finds me. A twinkle seems to play across his hazel eyes.

  My heart stutters.

  Flippity-flop.

  My cheeks flush.

  Burn, baby, burn.

  And my pulse? It freaking races.

  Cheetah fast.

  “I want to have your children, Ransom!”

  I blink, jerking my gaze toward the source of the high-pitched warrior whoop—a freckled woman in a white dress coos at Ransom from the back row.

  “How about we start by trying to win a dinner?” Lily asks diplomatically.

  “Dinner then making babies.” The lady does a pump of her hips—impressive, given that she’s sitting down.

  Okay, then.

  Lily shakes her head. “Let’s remember to stay classy, everyone.” She returns to her list. “Ransom North loves to play Ping-Pong with his friends, read fast-paced thrillers, volunteer with children who have hearing loss, and help with companion dogs. He also has quite a sweet tooth and says he can easily be bribed to do extra chores . . . with a chocolate milkshake.”

  I laugh at the bio, the things I knew—Ping-Pong and kids—and also the thing I didn’t—his affinity for milkshakes.

  “Who would like to start the bidding?”

  I raise my hand and toss out my opening bid.

  The woman in white raises me by a small amount.

  We go back and forth, with others weighing in too.

  As I up the bid once more, a tall figure weaves through the crowd. Is that . . .?

  Oh, my stars.

  It is.

  Fitz.

  And he’s not alone.

  He’s flanked by Logan and Oliver. The three of them make their way toward the front row, with Fitz raising his hand.

  “I’ll make an offer on North,” he booms, then outbids me by one thousand dollars.

  Ransom’s eyes widen, and he tilts his head, giving his buddy a what’s up look.

  My potential date’s eyes swing to me, and he nods at me with narrowed eyes.

  I’m not positive what that nod means, but knowing him, I’m going to assume it means win at all costs.

  I raise my hand, and with all the bravado I have—and that’s a lot—I up the bid.

  Fitz laughs and does me better, going higher.

  What the hell?

  Do these guys not know me?

  I’m not about to be outbid by Ransom’s friends.

  He’s mine. Oh hell, is he ever mine.

  Squaring my shoulders, I raise the stakes.

  Fitz rolls his eyes, lifts a casual finger, and adds another thousand. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Martinez leaning against the wall, chuckling.

  “We’ve got quite a bidding war going. I guess you both want to get milkshakes with Ransom, and it looks like”—Lily stops, peers into the audience, and does a double take when she sees who’s in on the action—“last year’s winner is in the lead. James Fitzgerald.”

  Last year’s winner.

  And those words click in my head.
r />   They flash brightly.

  Because I’m pretty sure that’s not allowed.

  I’m willing to bet Lily’s pause means she thinks so too.

  I clear my throat and decide to go for it. Our friends are messing with me, but I know how to mess right back. “Excuse me, Lily, but are we sure that former entrants in the auction are allowed to bid on other entrants?”

  “I’ll bid on him,” Oliver chimes in.

  “Me too. He’s worth a couple bucks,” Logan puts in.

  Lily flashes a professional grin. “He’s worth plenty, but since Fitzgerald began the bidding, he’s responsible for it.”

  She steps into the wings, and I cannot suppress a smile as she confers with the organizer.

  Ransom grins at me from his spot onstage.

  Seconds later, Lily’s heels click across the hardwood, and she scans the crowd for the guys. “As much as we appreciate your bid, Mr. Fitzgerald, you are, in fact, disqualified.” She turns to the crowd. “Do we have any other bids for Ransom North?”

  She waits, checking out the room.

  I cross my fingers.

  I hope he’s mine for so many reasons—first and foremost because he’s about to go for more moolah than the other guys.

  And secondly because . . . I want to make him happy.

  And this will make him happy.

  “Going, going, gone. To the redhead in the second row.”

  I double-pump my fists.

  Ransom blows me a kiss.

  Then Fitz smiles at me and winks at Martinez.

  Martinez swings his gaze from Ransom to me, and his words from earlier echo in my mind, loud and crystal clear.

  But did they ever really fade away?

  Carnale laid a grand on the charity of your choice that your girlfriend won’t kiss you backstage if you win. I said she would. Guess we’ll find out soon enough.

  That’s the question indeed. Will I?

  When the auction ends, the guys are gone, Fitz, Logan, and Oliver having bid and run.

  The winners, meanwhile, go to greet the players backstage. Ransom strides over to me, heat in his eyes. My stomach flutters, then it flips as he pins me with his gaze.