The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

13. Do You Know His Story?

13

DO YOU KNOW HIS STORY?

Gunnar

I scramble to my feet. Who the hell is knocking at this hour? Who even knows we’re here in the owner’s suite? The ballpark is nearly empty. Fans went home a while ago. I pray it’s the maintenance crew.

Not my manager.

Even though I’m dressed, not the one with his dick out, I straighten my clothes too. One glance at the windows, though, reveals the tell-tale evidence. My lips are swollen. My hair is a mess from his fingers, and the outline of my erection is a neon sign blinking— I’m horny.

Dear Dick,

Please deflate stat.

K, thanks, bye.

Your owner

Rafe takes his time, adjusting his spent dick, tucking it into his eponymous briefs. His breath still comes fast, and he looks so fucking satisfied—eyes all hazy, lips still parted. I want to bask in my accomplishment.

But our unexpected visitor raps again.

“Just a sex,” I call out. Fuck. “A sec. Just a sec.”

Rafe covers his face, chuckling into his palm.

“Glad I amuse you,” I hiss, annoyed despite the humor. “But I’ve got to answer that now, so maybe move it along, Mister Monopoly.”

He drops his hand, stares at me as cool and debonair as Clooney in a casino heist flick. “Why don’t you let me handle it?”

“No offense, dude, but your pants are undone. And I work here. I’ve got this.”

“But I’m borrowing Marlow’s suite,” he retorts. “I should be the one to handle it. It might be her. It’s only appropriate I answer. Also, we need to talk, Gunnar.”

That is all kinds of foreboding. I’m sure it concerns my confession that he’s the first guy I’ve been with, and the boardroom voice and the dark look in his eyes hint that I won’t like what he has to say.

I trot up the steps and open the door, sighing in massive relief to see Zane standing there.

“Took you long enough,” he drawls. “Better not be that slow on the field.”

I step out into the corridor. It’s long and quiet, nothing but suites here, and the silence is a bit eerie. Zane peers around me into the owner’s suite and spots my... lover? Hookup? Something in between? Forget terminology. When Zane swings his gaze back to me, he looks like one of those cat clocks with the swinging tail and huge, mischievous eyes.

“Oh, so that’s how it is,” he says. His smirk is world class as he tries to peer inside again. “Is that...”

I’m not in the mood for banter. I’m in the mood to get back to Rafe, so I step farther into the hall, making Zane back up too.

“How did you know I was here?” I whisper.

He gives me an are you nuts look. “One of the equipment guys said you headed to the suites. I took a wild guess.” Then he reaches into his back pocket and hands me a phone. My phone .

I take it like it’s an alien artifact. “Why do you have my phone?”

“I believe the appropriate response to a favor is ‘thank you.’”

Shit. He’s right. “Sorry, man.” I exhale and lean against the stucco wall behind me. Framed pictures of famous baseball games hang on the opposite wall. “Thanks. Did I leave it in my stall?”

“You did,” he says.

Well, I guess I w as eager to get my ass over to Rafe. I waggle it in acknowledgement and slide it into my pocket. “You’re the man.”

There’s a long pause, then Zane clears his throat. “So. You and Rafe Rodman?”

“It’s not what you think,” I say quickly.

He rolls his eyes. “Dude, you are so transparent. I knew something was going on.”

Is something going on? Rafe wants to talk , but honestly, I’m looking for fun and games and sex—sex with a man, finally. If this erotic game has hit the talking-about-feelings level, it might be time for me to tap out.

Only, the thought of ending our tryst feels like . . . striking out looking.

I answer Zane with the truth. “There’s nothing going on.”

He gives me a long stare then an I call bullshit nod. “Right. Tell that to the jury. Meanwhile, I’ll be collecting my cool hundred grand at the end of the month. Well, technically, my charity will.”

Ohhh. I’d forgotten about that bet. The hundred-grand wager that I’d still be single AF at the end of the season.

But I will. Rafe doesn’t seem like boyfriend material.

I motion to Zane to move away from the door, and we stop in front of a photo of Sam Shipman launching a fastball into the upper deck. I grew up watching him man third base. That dude could play.

Bet he never got distracted by a hot hookup in the owner’s suite. No way. Sam kept his head in the game.

I ought to do the same.

“Listen, thanks for bringing my phone. But nothing going on here affects the bet.”

Zane tilts his head meaningfully toward the suite. “You sure about that? He came to your game. He got a suite.”

“So?” I push back. I’m not going to get caught up in Rafe.

“Don’t you know he hasn’t even dated since?—”

He breaks off, and I snap to alert. What didn’t Zane just say? “Since when?”

The first baseman seems surprised. “You don’t know his story?”

“No. Do you ?” I ask pointedly.

As soon as I do, a chill rushes over me. Do I want to know about Rafe’s past? Do I need anything more than the promise of pleasure?

“I do,” Zane says, and his tone adds that he’s willing to dish.