Winning With Him (Men of Summer #2) by Lauren Blakely

Crosby claps a hand on my shoulder. “I do indeed. And that’s why I need to know if you have a favorite animal, Grant. Because I might wear lucky socks in your honor.”

I bring my hand to my heart. “Aw, that’s so sweet. But why would you do that?”

Crosby stares at me sharply. “To celebrate the fact that you are on track to be the motherfucking Rookie of the Year, of course.”

“I wouldn’t go there yet,” I say, even though I’m beaming inside at my teammate’s regard—and the suggestion I might win one of the sport’s most prestigious awards.

“Yeah. Don’t jinx him,” Chance says.

Sullivan pops up from next to the closing pitcher. “But G-man, you do have a hell of a shot at it.”

I ignore the prediction; it would be bad form to lean into it. Instead, I return to Crosby’s question. “My favorite animal . . .” I scratch my head. “Are we five? Do we still have favorite animals?”

The third baseman rolls his eyes. “We play a game for a living. We absolutely can have favorite animals.”

Hmm.

What’s mine?

Unbidden and red-hot, a memory springs to mind—Declan prowling up the bed like a tiger, taking his sweet-ass time, ready to pounce on me. “Panther,” I say quickly, shoving the image into a locked drawer.

Crosby smacks the back of the seat. “One pair of panther socks are coming right up in honor of you.” A second later, he furrows his brow. “What are you doing in the off-season?”

The question jerks my heart out of the carefully controlled orbit where it’s been spinning for the last five and a half months.

That’s how long it’s been since I made plans with Declan. Five and a half months since we talked about seeing each other in the off-season. Five and a half months since he asked me to meet him in Miami.

And five and a half months since he called it off.

Do I miss him?

Not every second. Not every hour. But probably at some point each day.

Do I imagine Miami?

Every so often my mind wanders to what might have been—blue skies and sand, the ocean and sun-kissed skin. Days with no schedule and nights that don’t end.

My heart lurches, scrambling toward the city in Florida, wanting to throw itself on the beach next to the shortstop.

But I need to stop imagining what might have been. Declan is in the past, and every day, the memory hurts less.

Besides, I have new plans.

“My grandfather had knee surgery this summer, so I’ll be up in Petaluma, spending some time with him and my grandmother.”

And when I’m not with them, maybe I’ll take River up on his offer to cruise the bars. Or maybe I’ll get on Grindr. It’s been a while. I’d really like to get laid again.

That, I don’t need to share with the guys.

“I’ll be around, though,” I add. “Got something in mind?”

Chance peers over the headrest. “We do some volunteer work with local underprivileged kids—coach and play ball. Want to join us?”

My smile spreads from the warm, welcomed feeling in the center of my chest all the way across my face. These guys have made me feel like a part of the team since I arrived at spring training—even more so once I made the roster. We’ve gone out, played pool, eaten our meals. But them asking me to participate in something that matters to them this way?

Hell, yeah.

“I’m all in,” I say. Maybe if we become closer friends, I can ask them to do something with the organizations that matter to me, like the San Francisco-based LGBTQ Youth Sports Alliance. I just started doing some volunteer work and advocacy, and since my Instagram profile has taken off this year, I boost their signal on my social media.

But now’s not the time to bring it up with the guys. Not when I’m a rookie. Also, I don’t yet know how far they’d go as straight dudes to stand up for queer kids.

I suspect Chance will say yes, though. At the start of the season, he told me his twin brother, TJ, is gay.

“Cool. I’ll get you all the dates,” Crosby tells me, then points at Sullivan. “And you’re joining us too, Sully.”

Sullivan smiles. “Count me in.”

A voice rumbles from a row away. It’s Rodriguez, the backup catcher. “And don’t forget, while we’re talking about good causes, we have the foster kids coming to visit next week. You’re all going to be there to show them around and take batting practice with them.”

“Absolutely,” I say as the other guys chime in too.

I’d been worried Rodriguez wouldn’t like me after I won the starting job over him. But after the roster was announced, he pulled me aside and wished me luck, said he’d be my backup for whatever I needed.

Now, Crosby returns to his seat, but before he can settle in, he swivels around to say, “I forgot the most important thing about our trip to New York.”

“Winning?” Chance quips in a duh, that’s obvious tone.

“Okay, that. But this is a close second.” Cupping his hands into a megaphone, he declares loudly, “Declan Steele is having an excellent season.”

My head goes hazy and conflicted at the mention of his name, just as it has every time he comes up in conversation. Images rise to the surface, and I smack them down like in a Whac-A-Mole game, only for them to return.