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

A minute later, we’re in my car, and I still feel like I’m in a dream. Like all this fantastic reality might vanish when I wake up.

“Which way are we headed?” I ask. “My home? Please say my home. I’m dying to be alone with you.”

Declan tips his head the other direction. “How about the Golden Gate Bridge?”

“You’re killing me,” I mutter. Checking the mirrors, I pull away from the gallery and drive along the water toward the bridge. Evening joggers run on the edge of Crissy Field, and a group of women plays a soccer game under the lights.

I can’t stand it any longer. The need to touch him trumps everything, and I reach for his hand. “Spill,” I demand as our fingers thread together.

Squeezing back, he runs his thumb across my knuckles. “I will, but we need to stop somewhere.”

I groan in misery. “So, you make me get in my car before you’ll tell me why you’re here, and now that we’re in my car, you won’t tell me till we get out of my car. Dude, you are whiplash.”

Declan laughs, the big and deep kind of laugh that comes from the soul. “I promise it’s good.”

“You’re here. That’s good enough for me,” I say as the road curves and the traffic thins out along with the crowds. Darkness shrouds the car. We reach the foot of the winding hill leading up to the bridge.

“Good. That’s what I like hearing.”

A few seconds later, he nods, pointing to the side of the road. “You want to pull over here?”

“Can we make out? Please say yes.”

Declan laughs, brings our joined hands to his lips, and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “Sure.”

“Don’t sound so excited.”

“Trust me. I’m very excited.” Declan does sound happy, but like he’s trying to contain it.

I pull over, cut the engine. The bridge looms nearby, lights flickering. But we’re alone in the car. It’s all road and hills from here on out—no more jogging path.

“What’s going on? You’ve got me all nervous and excited. What’s the deal with the Sports Network story? Why are you here early?” I ask, questions spilling out in a wild rush. “Were you traded to LA? To Seattle? Either would be amazing.”

With a grin he can’t seem to rein in, Declan nods toward the bridge. “This is where I was when I found out I’d been drafted. I went out for a run, since I didn’t think I would go in the first round. But that’s what happened. I was here when I got the call I’d been picked by the Cougars,” he says, his voice sliding into a storyteller tone as he tells me about his younger years.

“Right here?” I ask, picturing Declan at twenty, phone in hand as he ran. “Bet you were listening to Nirvana, Pearl Jam, or Guns N’ Roses.”

“Pearl Jam. ‘Jeremy,’” he says, squeezing my hand harder.

“That’s so you,” I say.

“I was really happy to get that call.”

“Of course you were. A dream come true,” I say, knowing the feeling, having had the same experience. “I was in Petaluma at my grandparents’ when I got the call.”

“Fitting. For both of us,” he says, then draws a big breath, his brown eyes twinkling with secrets he’s about to share.

“And now?” I ask because I’m damn ready for him to crack them open.

“I’m happier now. So much happier. Want to know why?”

“Um. Yeah,” I say drily, anticipation winding tighter under my skin. “I believe we established that when you showed up at the art gallery twenty-four hours early. I’m dying to know.”

Declan takes a moment, then says, “I’m coming to San Francisco.”

What?

My smile evaporates.

Did he quit? Oh hell.

Or wait. Was he traded to my team?

No, please say no.

“Did you quit?” My pitch rises in alarm.

“No—”

“Oh, fuck,” I moan, dragging a hand down my face. “You better not be a Cougar again. Please tell me we’re not teammates. I don’t want any more drama. I just want you.”

I sink into my seat, eyes closed, talking back to my overactive brain. It’s fine. We’ll manage. We can handle it. But all things considered, I’d rather he didn’t play for the same team.

“Grant,” Declan says, reaching for my face, holding my cheeks. I open my eyes. “I was traded to your rivals. To the Dragons.” He bursts out into laughter—joyous, buoyant laughter. “I’m playing in the same town. For the other team. It’s fucking perfect.”

His words tumble out so fast that I can barely process the enormous awesomeness of what he’s saying. I part my lips, but I just shudder out a breath, and he keeps going. “It’s perfect, isn’t it? Please tell me it’s perfect to you too. Please.”

His desperation unlocks my own. I can’t let him think I’m anything but happier than I’ve ever been in my life.

I lift my hand, cover his on my face, and look into his eyes. With my heart soaring, I tell him it’s perfect. But I don’t use those words. I use other ones.

“I love you. I love you so much, Declan Steele. You’re the love of my life. I am so in love with you,” I say, my heart surging with joy, my skin tingling with so much happiness.