Scoring With Him by Lauren Blakely
Declan
Sex makes me hungry. Especially when I haven’t eaten in hours. After we shower, we walk across the street to The Lazy Hammock.
It’s like a safe house.
Plus, if someone sees us here, I can live with it, but I doubt it’ll be a teammate.
Once inside, River looks up from the bar, his brown eyes welcoming. He pushes his floppy hair off his forehead, then hustles over. “Good to see you two again. Table on the deck? In the far corner?”
“Yeah, same as last time, thanks,” I say since that spot felt the most out of the way.
The owner pats my arm, then winks at Grant. “Absolutely. Did you guys enjoy the day? I went hiking up Camelback Mountain, and if you haven’t done that yet, it’s a must. We have the best hiking here and fantastic views.”
“No. But I’ll give it a try next time I’m in Phoenix,” I say.
“And don’t you dare forget the Grand Canyon. Sunset there is sooo romantic,” he says with a wink as he guides us to the deck.
River doesn’t mention baseball at all. And I love it. I love that he’s simply an ambassador for the state of Arizona. When we reach the table in the corner, away from prying eyes, he shoots us both a grin as we sit. “By the way, it makes me so happy to see you two together again.” He clasps his hand to his chest. “Can I take the credit? I kind of feel like Cupid.”
Grant laughs. “Maybe you can.”
I reach for Grant’s hand across the table, taking it in public view.
Fine. This isn’t like kissing him at a ballpark.
But that’s not the point. I’m just making my intentions known in as public a way as I can.
River awws happily. “Let me know when you two want to order.”
“Actually, I’m ready,” I say, and I order a chicken salad and Grant opts for chicken and veggies.
“Athlete food,” I say, once River leaves.
Grant pats his belly. “Gotta keep the abs tight both for baseball and for this guy I’m seeing in November.”
“This guy you’re seeing likes you for more than your abs,” I say, feeling a little like an infatuated fool.
“But the abs help,” Grant says in a conspiratorial whisper, then he sends me a shy smile. “Is this our official first date? Kind of out in public and everything?”
“Seems it is.” I squeeze his hand harder. He squeezes back.
“Do you think any of the guys figured it out? That I was leaving to see you?”
I shake my head. “No, but you better play well tomorrow. So I’ll know I broke your streak.”
His grin is magnetic. “You broke my never-been-laid streak.”
I crack up. “So, what’s the verdict? You like topping me?”
“I love it. I love it all. I love sex. I want to have sex every night, every day. I want to do it again and again and again with you. I think you made me addicted to it.”
I growl. “Good. I want to service your addiction.”
“Service me all you want, Deck,” he says, letting my nickname roll around on his tongue.
“Still turns me on the way you say it,” I murmur.
“Good. Everything about you turns me on.” His brow knits. “But I have a question. That whole thing with you and sliders?”
“That’s a one-eighty.”
“Yeah, but I still want to know. It’s not true, is it?”
I grin, slow and easy. “Why ever would you say that?”
Grant hums, like he’s deep in thought, then taps his temple. “See, I replayed that pitch in my head. And I remembered the pitcher hesitated, that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t throw you his best slider. So, I found the clip on YouTube while I was waiting for you in the room.” I keep a straight face as Grant continues assembling the clues. “He threw you a cement mixer slider. That ball was begging you to hit it. And it became legend. But it wasn’t because you’re an evil genius with sliders. It was a bad pitch that you went yard on.”
Letting go of his hand, I slow clap. “Well, aren’t you just a regular Sherlock Holmes. Figuring me out.”
“And now the whole damn league thinks you’re Hank Aaron at the plate and you eat sliders for breakfast.”
I blow on my fingernails. “Yeah, they do. But guess what?” I say, leaning closer to him, lowering my voice.
“Tell me,” he says, curiosity dripping in his tone.
“I will but you can’t tell a soul.”
“Oh. Do you want me to sign an NDA?”
“You are my NDA.”
Grant wiggles his finger for me to serve up the goods. “What’s the deal?”
“I mean it. Don’t share this, okay?”
He rolls his eyes. “Who the hell am I going to share it with?”
I give him a look like the answer is obvious. “Your team.”
Grant raises a palm like he’s taking an oath. “I won’t tell anybody.”
“They’re my weakness,” I whisper. “Can’t hit ’em for shit.”
He whistles in appreciation. “What do you know? The great Declan Steele has a weakness.”
I level him with a stare, then speak from the bottom of my heart. “You’re my weakness, rookie.”
A tingle rushes down my chest as I say those words, then along my whole body when he whispers back, “You’re mine.”
I take his hand again, rubbing the pad of my thumb over his knuckles. “It’s going to be hard waiting till November.”
“I know,” Grant says heavily, then perks himself up. “But hey, I have a long list of things I want to do with you in bed. We only got through four. Four. I want so much more than four.”
A zip of pleasure slides down my spine. “Tell me.”
“Well, rim jobs. Giving and getting. As you know,” he adds.
“And I can’t wait.”
“Sixty-nine. I definitely want to do that. Because what’s better than one blow job? Simultaneous blow jobs.”
“I’m down for it.”
“And,” he says, taking a beat, letting a rumble slide past his lips, “I really want to flip fuck. I’m kind of obsessed with it. Always have been.”
Images flicker past my eyes, him and me, taking turns. I have him first, he takes me next. We trade off in the same night. After I linger on those pictures, I tell him something I think he’s really going to like. “I’ve never flip-fucked with anyone.”
His eyes widen. “Yeah? You’re serious?”
“Never have.”
Grant’s tone borders on desperate. He stretches his hand across the table and holds my face. His thumb strokes my jaw. “Save it for me.”
“I will. I want to with you,” I say, then I let out a heavy breath as he lowers his hand. “Grant, it’s going to be hard not talking to you. Not seeing you.”
“But we need to,” he says, eyes locked with mine, gaze serious.
He’s right. I know he’s right. But still. I want what I want. “Do we, though?”
He crooks his lips at the question. “Do we what?”
“Do we really have to go cold turkey?” I ask, reaching for something, anything. My desperate heart doesn’t want to go without him. “What if we talked? What if we FaceTimed? What if we Skyped? Maybe not during spring training. Maybe you need to figure out what’s going on over the next few days. But I don’t know that I can go six months without you. Why can’t we Skype and FaceTime?”
Grant doesn’t answer because River arrives with the food. “Bon appétit,” he says.
“Thanks, River,” I say, but I don’t pick up my fork. Neither does Grant.
“You really want to do that?” the man across from me asks. “Long distance?”
“Better than nothing.” But I don’t want to make things worse. I don’t want to get in his head. I wave my hand, like I can lighten the mood. “Think about it. I don’t want to put any pressure on you. But the truth is, I’m going to miss you so fucking much. And a little bit of Grant is better than none.”
“Deck, you know I’ve never been able to say no to you. You know I’ve never been able to resist you,” he says, laying out his truth.
“I’m glad, because you’re irresistible,” I say, then I pick up my fork and we eat.
When we’re done, I pay the bill, and then we tell River goodbye and return to the room to spend our last night together for six long months.
He rises at four in the morning, kisses me hard, then says he’s catching a Lyft. “I should get back to the team hotel.”
I drag him close—one more kiss for the road—then I gird myself to say something I’d rather not say. But I know my dad’s right. And it’d be wrong not to tell Grant.
“In the last couple games,” I say, “your weight was too far back on your knees. Shift forward maybe a millimeter. Like you usually do.”
Grant’s smile is easy and carefree as a bird soaring across the bright blue sky. “You’re right. I’ll do that today.”
He leaves.
A little later, I head to the airport, but I stop in my tracks when I spot a TV playing a report on the Cougars on The Sports Network. Grant’s passed ball yesterday blazes across the screen.
