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

As we work out, the three of us get lost in our own worlds. I’m not a mind reader, so I can’t speak for Holden and Crosby, but I know where my mind is.

I text Declan as I kill it on the treadmill, sweat sliding down my skin.



* * *



Grant: Told them I DoorDashed. Had a burger and a blow job.





* * *



Declan: How was the burger?





* * *



Grant: Fanfuckingtastic. Was it a good one for you too?





* * *



Declan: The best. By the way, thanks for the hat. Smells like your shampoo. Which means I’m hard.





* * *



Grant: So, pretty much how it always is with you when it comes to me?





* * *



Declan: Yup.





* * *



Grant: I’d ask for a dick pic, but you’re at an airport. You can send me one tonight.





* * *



Grant: Wait. Pretend I didn’t ask that.





* * *



Grant: I’m ignoring you for three months.





* * *



Grant: I’m ignoring you so fucking hard.





* * *



Declan: Watch it, rookie. You’re not ignoring me. No way. Also, you act like you can stop me from sending you a pic. But I will. I definitely will.





* * *



Grant: Score!





* * *



Declan: Hey . . .





* * *



Grant: Hey to you . . .





* * *



Declan: Thank you—for giving me another chance.





* * *



I smile as I hit four miles at a ten percent incline, running hard and fast. This feels amazing, like anything is possible.



* * *



Grant: Remember last night when you said therapy was like spilling your guts and hoping people still want to hang out with you?





* * *



Declan: I do.





* * *



Grant: I want to hang out with you more than ever.





Declan keeps his promise to send me a selfie that night. I make excellent use of it.

Since I’m generous that way, I send him one too.

He also makes use of it.

A few days later, I land in Arizona, step off the plane, and snap a shot of Camelback Mountain to post on my social media feeds. Four greatest words in the English language to a baseball fan: Pitchers and Catchers Report.

Declan Steele is the first person to like my post.

The next day, I go for a run around the golf course, stopping to take a picture of two herons. I don’t post that on social. I send it to him.



* * *



Grant: It’s Apollo and . . . wait . . . let’s give him a new name since that story has the “November Rain” problem too.



* * *



Seconds later, he replies.



* * *



Declan: Apollo and T.S. Eliot?





* * *



Grant: Done. I’ve renamed them.





* * *



Declan: I always suspected you were a revisionist heron historian.





* * *



Grant: Speaking of Eliot, I read The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. You told me it was your favorite.





* * *



Declan: And do you hate it like “November Rain”? It’s got some mixed messages in it too, I admit.





* * *



Grant: I don’t hate “November Rain.” I like the song, but not the sentiment. I like Prufrock. But I DID think this line could use some improvement. Do I dare to eat a peach?





* * *



Declan: I’ll bite. What would you change it to?





* * *



Grant: Do I dare to suck a cock?





* * *



Declan: Has anyone ever told you that you have the dirty mind of a twelve-year-old?





* * *



Grant: Dear God, I hope no twelve-year-old has my mind. It’s an X-rated carnival in my head sometimes.





* * *



Declan: What sort of games and rides are open at the Grant Blackwood Wonderland?





* * *



Grant: The Steel Rod Rub-Off Intimidator. The Down-and-Dirty-Rim-Job Merry-Go-Round. The Suck-Me-Off-In-the-Sky Ferris Wheel. The Great Double-Banger. The Flip-Fuck Fiesta. The Hot, Hidden Hand Job Tilt-A-Whirl. Oh, and the Sixty-Nine Simultaneous Jizzer.





* * *



Declan: You. Win. The. Text. Messages. Forever.





* * *



Grant: Thank you very much. Step right up and get your tickets. Don’t be shy.





* * *



Declan: I’ll take an all-access pass, please. Every ride. All day long.





* * *



Grant: I had a feeling you’d be buying a party pack.