Immoral by Nicole Dykes

“Dowe really have to do this?” I laugh at Grady’s whining about The Tonight Show appearance, but I don’t blame him. Even though my ass is still sore from last night, I want nothing more than to drag him back to bed.

“Yes. It’ll help.” I grab his hips and pull him to me. “You raise my price tag, remember?”

He laughs at that, easy and calm. His grin is something I can get lost in. “Well, I suppose this goes to our retirement plan then?”

I swallow, looking into his eyes, trying to see if he’s fucking with me. But I only see honesty. “Retirement?”

“Yeah.” His lips brush over mine. “When I’m a washed-up rockstar and your body has had enough of playing . . . We’ll travel. Maybe move to an island.”

I grin. “You can’t swim.” The fucker sinks like a rock in water.

“Guess it will be an island we never leave.”

I laugh but release his hips when I hear Jenny’s voice coming from the living room. We’re still in my room after a shower we shared, but we’re both dressed and ready now.

“Fuck, Medusa is here.” I shake my head at yet another nickname Grady has for her.

“Not original.”

He flips me off, and we walk into my living room where a camera crew has a setup going for the live interview, and Jenny and Waylon are busy directing them. “Fucking finally.” Jenny is her usual self as she walks over to us in a sleek, black designer skirt and crisp white shirt.

“Sorry. Had to make ourselves pretty,” I say, and Grady is right by my side.

“They’re ready for you two. Don’t fuck this up.”

“We’d never mess with your paycheck, Jen-nay.” I turn to Grady, shaking my head at his Forrest Gump impression, but I can’t help smiling.

She flips him off and walks back over to the camera crew, obsessive over every single angle.

“She really hates you.”

Grady shrugs his large shoulders, tossing me a wicked grin. “But you don’t.”

“No. No, I don’t.”

His smile only widens. “In fact, you kind of fucking love me.”

I can’t argue with it, but I’m not sure what sense he means when he uses the word “love.” Like a friend? Or so much fucking more? Because my mind and heart are starting to lean toward the latter. Or maybe they were already there, and it’s too much for right now.

“Okay, you two are going to have to get this under control.” I startle at the sound of Waylon’s voice behind us. He’s quiet, but when he stands between us and eyes us both, a cold, worried shiver slides through me.

“Get what under control?” Grady asks, looking behind us at Jenny, who thankfully is preoccupied.

“This . . .” He keeps his voice low as he waves between Grady and me. “The obvious flirting.”

“We aren’t flirting,” I object quickly. Maybe too quickly because Waylon pins me with a knowing look.

“You are. You’re both standing here like you want to devour the fuck out of each other. Like you’ve definitely seen the other one’s face when they come.”

Grady nudges him. “Hey, shut it.”

Waylon isn’t bothered by the nervous edge in Grady’s tone and shrugs. “It’s hot. I’m not going to lie, and some people may think it’s just this bromance bullshit Jenny is trying to sell. But I’m telling you . . . some people will definitely pick up on it.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. I look at Grady. “Did you tell him?”

Grady looks slightly guilty. “Not exactly.”

“Look, trust me.” Waylon steals my attention. “Your secret is totally safe with me, but you guys have to tone down the bedroom eyes.”

“They aren’t bedroom eyes,” Grady tries to argue.

“Bullshit.” He turns to Grady. “Having said all that, though, I so want details later.” He winks at me as he walks away, and I stare at Grady wide-eyed and freaked the fuck out.

“I didn’t tell him about last night.” His eyes plead with me to listen, but he doesn’t touch me or move closer. “I promise. And I’m not going to.”

“It’s fine. You guys are friends.” I feel numb and I fucking hate it. I was on a high earlier today, but maybe Waylon is right. How the hell are we going to hide the fact that we’re fucking?

“Ry, listen to me.” I look into his eyes. “It’s going to be fine. I promise. Everyone is just going to see what we want them to.”

“This was a stupid idea.”

“An idea pushed by your agent.” He has to point it out, but Jenny doesn’t have the facts, unlike Waylon apparently.

“And your manager was fine with it.”

“Because he knows we’re professionals.” He punches me in the shoulder, and I glare at him.

“What the fuck?”

“Just being bros.” He laughs, and I flip him off because his bony ass knuckles probably left a bruise. “Come on.”

I roll my eyes but follow him to the couch. My nerves hit me hard, but I try my best to get it all under control. When it’s all set up and we go live, it’s Grady who instantly goes into performance mode.

He smiles pretty for the camera and answers most of the questions which consist of easy ones like when we met and what we were like growing up. He easily sells the whole idea that we’re childhood friends who played sports together and went out on double dates, which is pretty much true.

He left out the part where I watched him like a fucking creeper on those dates, wishing like hell he was holding my hand and not whatever chick he was on the date with.

It’s apparent that I’ve been too quiet by the death glare Jenny is giving me, and I straighten when the host directs his question right at me. “So, are you happy to have your buddy back, Ryan? I mean, this has to be the greatest time in your life. Best friend back in town and winning the World Series?”

Is that really a question? My hands feel clammy, but I manage a nod. “Yeah. It’s umm . . .” I look at Grady, who’s trying like hell not to laugh at me and then back at the camera. “It really is the best time of my life. I’m just living on the high.” I know they need a soundbite for their articles later.

The host lights up and nods, and I know he’s thanking me for finally not being such a lame interviewee. “And what about you, Grady? What’s next? Are you staying in KC for a bit?”

My stomach drops. Three weeks. Less than that now. That’s all we really have. “For a couple of weeks, but then I start my US tour.”

The audience cheers. “That’s right. How long is that tour? And is it all of the US or are you just going to the cool parts?”

Grady easily chuckles at that, playing the game. “It’s all over the US, and I think it’s six months.”

Six. Months. Motherfucker.

I’m sure I look sick, and I can feel the daggers Jenny’s eyes are shooting at me, but I don’t give a fuck. Six months? By then, I’ll be back on the rigorous baseball schedule.

“Yeah, but then after that, who knows? Maybe I’ll take a break for a bit.”

He looks over at me briefly as the audience boos at the thought of him not being on tour where they can get a chance of seeing him. He raises his hands in mock surrender with a laugh only I know is forced.

“Well, hell. Maybe not.”

The host does his job and laughs along. “Yeah, I don’t think they’re going to let you off that easy.” The late night host looks to his audience. “But that’s just because you love Immoral, right, guys?”

They hoot and holler, but I’m close to a breakdown. The host wraps it up, letting us go, and the camera crew cleans up, leaving my house the way they found it. But I can’t shake the sick feeling, and I know Grady is feeling it too.

Unfortunately, a talk about it is going to have to wait because Waylon and Jenny—who have somehow become fast friends—have decided to order a late lunch/early dinner for us all.

Fuck, can’t a man just be alone to wallow in self-pity for a bit?