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

I laugh. “And I suspect the man you really want just arrived.”

“Things you need to know about me—I require lots of feeding,” he says, vaulting up from the couch and practically running to the front door, where he thanks the DoorDash guy by name.

Then we grab chopsticks and chow down.

We eat and talk.

“Listen,” Grant begins. “I know you said you’re willing to let me set the pace. But I think we should take things slow."

“Sure. That makes sense,” I say, even though I wish there were a full-speed ahead option. But schedules simply don’t permit that.

“You made yourself a promise. You gave yourself a year. I don’t think you’re rough around the edges like you said, but I also want you to do what you need to do.”

“I need to do you,” I say in a low rumble.

“Yes. And often.” He turns more serious. “But what I’m saying is I don’t want you to regret this. To say oh man, we started too soon. So, I’m going to have to lay down a rule.”

Curious, I gesture with my chopsticks for him to go on. “Continue.”

“No boyfriend talk. No future talk. No this is what we are talk,” Grant says, setting down his chopsticks in the takeout container. “What do you think?”

“That’s three or four rules,” I tease.

“And rules are good. Because I want this. Don’t you?”

I set down my food on the coffee table. Curl a hand around his head. Tug him close. “Yes. I want to prove myself to you.”

Grant shakes his head. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Deck. This is for us. You said you were nervous about starting up. So, let’s not define this thing. Let’s not make long-term promises. Let’s just . . . be. Day by day, whatever that looks like.”

I smile from deep within my soul. “I want all that, but can we maybe, possibly, pretty please make plans to see each other in May? Because I might die if we don’t.”

Grant cracks up. “I see that’s going to be an issue for us. Death from sex camel-ing. Let’s not let that happen. I will give you the whole cock treatment.”

I press my palms together and raise my gaze heavenward. “Thank you for the whole cock.”

We compare our schedules right then. He leaves for spring training in Phoenix in a few more days, since pitchers and catchers report first. I’ll head to Tampa in a week, but I’ll still see Carla via Zoom, I tell Grant when he asks.

When spring training ends, the regular season begins. Our schedules are packed, as they usually are.

“I have one day off in April,” I say heavily.

“Same,” he mourns. “But not the same one.”

We don’t have any games in the same city, even, and the Comets don’t play the Cougars till July. But I spot an opening.

I point to the May schedule for the Comets, then the same month for the Cougars. “Do you see what I see?” I wiggle a brow. “Los Angeles. Then Seattle.”

“Oh yes,” Grant says, with a dirty growl. “You’ve got a day off between playing the Bandits and the Storm Chasers. And I have a day off too.”

“And what do you know? It’s the same day. Want to invite me over that Thursday before I go to Seattle? I can make a pitstop in San Francisco for the night. If you invite me, I bet I’ll say yes.”

“Spend the night with me on that day,” he says, pointing to the calendar.

“Done.”

We don’t even attempt to figure out what happens after May, and that’s the point.

Even though I suspect we both know that beyond May is the real challenge—navigating a long-distance relationship with our jobs. But we don’t try to tonight. Tonight is for this long overdue reunion.

“I’ll miss you before then. But that’s okay,” Grant says, chin up. “You’re going to focus on Carla and keep up all this good work. That’s what I want you to do. I don’t want to mess up your recovery, as you call it. It’s a good thing we can’t see each other. And we’re not going to make plans beyond that because that will distract you from your therapy.”

I growl like I’m mad at him, even though he’s hit the nail on the head. “You’re right.”

“‘Course I am. Catchers always know best. Did you know catchers are the smartest guys on the team?” he says, with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

“Or the cockiest.”

“Because we work the hardest.”

“Like I said.”

Grant grabs my thigh, gripping it with an affectionate squeeze. “Listen, Deck. What I’m saying is this: I’m not going to let you backslide by giving you too much access to my fine ass.”

“Thanks for depriving me of my favorite thing,” I grumble.

“It’s all for a good cause.”

Indeed, it is. The good cause of a second chance.

When we plow through half the food, we go back to his bedroom, change the sheets, and turn on the fireplace.

We return to each other, doing some of our favorite things, then we kiss till the stars wink off in the sky. I’m not sure if it’s the fire or us that’s warming me up from the inside of my soul.





In the morning, I wake to an insistent buzzing on my phone.