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

“Tokyo is hella far,” he says. “Probably hard to get together for Christmas.”

I let out a light laugh. “It is. But I could try.”

“You should go,” Grant says earnestly. “It’s good to see family. And thanks for telling me.”

He’s not sarcastic, but I get the subtext. I never told him much about my family before. Maybe this is a small start. “Maybe I’ll offer myself up for a Christmas visit.”

“Do that.” He takes a breath, peers out the window again, then back at me. “And how’s New York treating you?” he asks, his smile disappearing, a note of concern in his voice. Pretty sure I know what he’s getting at. He wants to know what I’m up to at night. I want to know the same about him.

“Better now,” I say, keeping my eyes on him, making my meaning clear. “It’s really good to see you, Grant.”

He lets out a shuddery breath, drags his hand through his hair, looks out the window. Fiddles with his tie once more, tightening the knot rather than loosening it.

But he says nothing.

In his silence, I can read his emotions like a book. He’s wildly conflicted. About everything. About me. About tonight.

“You want that drink? Or a not-drink?”

“Yeah. I’m parched.”

I beckon him into the kitchen, where I grab the bottle of champagne I bought for him. “For the rookie of the year,” I say, lifting the bottle. “Let me pour you a glass.”

I’m about to pop it open when he shakes his head, reaches for the neck, and wraps his hand around it. “No.”

“Why not?”

Grant stares at me like he can’t believe I asked. “Because you don’t drink.”

“But I got it for you. To celebrate,” I say, then stare at our hands wrapped around the bottle. Close to each other’s. So close we could touch.

He tugs a little harder. “Like I said before, I’m not going to drink with you.”

“Why?” I ask. I truly don’t get it. I never asked Nathan not to have a glass of wine. I never told Kyle not to drink a beer. I don’t expect the guys I’m with to live the same way I do.

“This is a choice that matters to you, and I don’t need alcohol to have a good time. I don’t need it to talk to you. But thank you for the offer. I’ll have something else, though.”

“Fair enough,” I say, and I’m honestly gobsmacked.

I don’t know what to make of his reaction—except I don’t have to guess because he keeps talking. “If it matters to you not to drink, it matters to me to make that choice when I’m with you,” Grant adds, more softly this time.

I do get it now.

He’s showing respect. He’s honoring my choices.

“Thank you,” I say, then I grab a can of soda from the fridge, add ice to two tumblers, and pour us both a drink. I lift my glass and we clink in a toast.

“Congratulations, rookie,” I say, lingering on that nickname for him.

The last time I said it, he asked me not to use it.

This time, he nibbles on the corner of his lips for the briefest of seconds. “Thanks,” Grant says, then knocks some of his drink back, and all I can think is I want his Diet Coke kiss so badly.

But I have to earn it.

So, when he sets down the glass, I do the same, then I go for broke, laying my cards on the table. “I messed up when I cut you off. I regret it every day. I haven’t been with anyone else since you, and I want to tell you what happened,” I say, and it’s not my finest moment, it’s not a great speech, but I hope it’ll get the ball rolling.

Grant’s quiet at first, his fingers straying to his tie, unknotting it more, but like he’s not quite sure how it works. “I haven’t been with anyone either.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “That’s not a game-changer for me, though. I want you to know that. Even if you’d been with someone, I’d still want you again.”

“But I haven’t,” he adds.

“Good,” I say, my lips crooking up in a grin as his fingers toy with the knot once more.

“I want to tell you what went down, but first . . .” I take a step closer, reach for the blue silk. “Let me help.”

I’m a thief, and I’ll steal this chance to move a little bit closer and reach up to undo his tie.

“I know how to untie a tie,” he says, a little annoyed, but it’s a feeble protest. When my fingers reach for the silky fabric, he doesn’t stop me.

“I don’t doubt you do,” I say, my breath coming fast and hard, the air charged, the sparks crackling in the space between us. “I just want to help.”

He moves his palms behind him, setting them on the counter as I undo the tie the rest of the way, my hands so close to him as I go, my fingers brushing against his chest, my body lighting up from the close contact.

Once the knot is undone, I tug off the silk, leave it on the counter.

I’m about to ask if he wants to sit down and talk, since I know that’s what we need to do.

But Grant is faster.

He moves like a cheetah.

In less than a second, his hand ropes through my hair, and he brings his lips so close to mine.

Stopping when he’s a millimeter away.

His breath ghosts across my face. His fingers curl tighter around my skull, and my body hums with need.