14. Two Can Play
14
TWO CAN PLAY
Gunnar
I know what I should do.
Walk away. Head out to the players’ lot, get in my car, and drive home. Over and out.
Because, really, do I need to be tangoing with guys who have stories ? That’s up there with “need to talk” on the “complication” scoreboard.
I glance down the hall toward the suite Rafe secured to seduce me in. To surprise me with the gift of his cock.
A gift I fucking loved.
Dammit.
The mystery surrounding this man is as irresistible as everything else about him. Who the hell is Rafe Rodman apart from what the public knows? British billionaire who went from Wall Street to Fashion Week—he’s a man dripping with money, who chose to follow his passion for making things . . . sexier .
Curiosity wins. “Talk to me,” I say.
I don’t have to tell Zane twice. “A couple years ago, before you were traded to the team, he was engaged.”
“To whom?” I ask, stunned. That doesn’t sound like the man I know.
“You know Lucas Hanson? The model turned actor?” Zane asks.
“Of course,” I say. Hanson’s been on the covers of GQ and Men’s Health , but he vaulted to fame and fortune when he partnered with an Italian fragrance mogul to launch his own cologne line. Hanson. He’s the face of the brand and the brains behind its success. That’s the impression from the press, at least. “The fashion guy? Cologne and all that?”
Zane nods sagely. “That’s him. He was with Rafe a few years ago.”
“Okay. So, what happened?” I ask.
Rafe doesn’t seem like a playboy—more like a man who enjoys trysts and keeps his lovers at a distance. I can’t picture the enigmatic Brit so deeply in love that he’d commit to marrying somebody.
But then, how well do I know him? Not so well at all.
“Supposedly,” Zane continues, “Lucas was using Rafe to open doors. Rafe’s the one who knew people, and he went everywhere with Lucas. To galas, to openings, to fashion shows—all the see-and-be-seen parties.”
I picture Rafe looking sharp in a tailored suit, showing off his man. Rafe in a tux, walking into a glittering gala with a gorgeous model on his arm. That does track.
And it rankles. But why? It’s not like I want to be his arm candy.
Maybe it’s that I imagine him happy and unguarded as he ventures out in public with a fiancé. The Rafe I know plays poker after midnight and arranges secret rendezvous. What happened that led to this new man?
“Why did they split?” I ask.
Zane shakes his head. “I don’t know. Nothing public. Just that Lucas went into business with Sergio Zucconi for the cologne line, and they’re together now.”
My stomach twists with anger on Rafe’s behalf. “So Lucas used him and moved on?”
A shrug from my unexpected source of celebrity gossip. “There might have been some overlap, based on snaps on social of Lucas and Rafe at the party where Lucas and Sergio met.
What the fuck is wrong with Lucas? Only a contemptible idiot would cheat on Rafe and use him that way.
My hands cramp at my sides, and I force them to unclench before Zane notices. Bet or no bet, I don’t want to let on that I care so much about a man who is likely . . . shut down.
“When did you become an expert on celebrity news?” I ask Zane lightly.
He shrugs. “Honestly, Maddox stays on top of everything. Reads everything. Follows everything. I try to keep up,” he adds with an almost sheepish smile. “Anyway, I had a feeling you might not know, so I wanted to let you in on the backstory.”
“Thank you,” I say with more bravado than certainty. I’m not sure what to make of this info. “And we’re not dating, so it’ll be just fine.”
“Yeah. Fine. You said that.” Zane is too straight-faced.
“We are definitely not dating at all.”
“Cool. Not dating. Got it.” He definitely smirks this time.
“I mean it,” I insist. Rafe and I are not a thing.
“Of course you do.”
“We’re not. I’m not.”
“Sure thing, Gunnar.” The first baseman claps me on the shoulder. “Anyway, see you tomorrow. And have fun with your not-dating.” Then he winks, the fucker, as he waves goodbye.
“No strings, babes,” I call after him as he heads to the elevators that’ll take him out of the ballpark. I repeat that mantra as I return to the suite.
No strings, no strings, no strings.
Hell, what strings could there be? We haven’t even gone on a date.
Inside the suite, I find Rafe pacing by the glass window as he talks on his phone. He’s as polished and put together as he was when I first arrived.
My pulse kicks up as I look at him, framed by the lights of San Francisco in the midnight sky. I feel more than desire. There’s still the knot of anger that formed when I learned about Lucas. But am I mad at Lucas for hurting Rafe? Or annoyed at Rafe for being in love?
Rafe’s back is to me as he walks, allowing me to watch him. “Be sure to send that to me. I want to review it myself, Matthew,” he says into the phone. “That’ll be just fine. Send it over. I’ll be working late tonight.”
My heart sinks with a thud like an anchor hitting the sea floor. Disappointment squashes any remaining anger. But what did I expect? Midnight fries and milkshakes at The Burger Shack?
Get over yourself, Gunnar .
Gut check—maybe I did think this hookup would turn into a date, that it would be more than a quick blow in the suite.
But he’s going home to work.
When he turns and spots me, his dark eyes find mine and he holds up a finger letting me know he’s almost done.
“Yes. I’ll have an answer first thing in the morning. And Matthew...?” he says, adding one more thing. “Go to bed. Enjoy yourself and don’t call me again after-hours.” The words are stern, but his tone is kind as he says goodbye and hangs up, still holding my gaze.
Without acknowledging the phone call, Rafe strides up the steps toward me, stopping a foot away. Then he tilts his head like he’s studying me, cataloging details. It’s unnerving. I’d rather stare down a lefty with a wild knuckleball.
“So, you forgot your phone.” His honey and whiskey tone says this is an opening gambit, and it’s not about my cell.
I dig in my heels. “I did.”
He strokes his chin as if he’s adding up clues, his irises sparkling. “You were that excited to see me.”
I bristle at the implication that I’m more into this than he is. “And you were so excited to see me that you got a suite,” I counter.
Rafe lifts a brow, a slight grin curving his lips. “Touché.”
“In fact, you sent me an invitation on monogrammed stationery.” Maybe he’s being coy, but I’m calling out his gamesmanship. “So, yeah. I’m busted. I forgot my phone because I wanted to get here as soon as I fucking could. Then I confessed how eager I was to get down on my knees and suck your cock.”
He says nothing as I reach out to smooth a hand along the front of his expensive shirt. “You’re as affected as I am. That’s why you’re here, Rafe. You arranged the suite. You set up this private tryst so you could seduce me with your words, and your voice, and your desire for me.” I spread my fingers firmly over his pecs, and he shivers at my touch. “We’re both in this. Wanting each other.”
He exhales hard and regards me like he’s not sure what to make of me. Hell, I’m not sure what to make of me either, but I needed to tell him he can play games with my body, but not my mind.
Rafe licks his lips, then speaks softly. “I do want you, Gunnar. So much that I got this suite for you. I had plans for you. I wanted to spend the night with you.” He inches closer, lays a hand over mine, then peels my fingers off his chest. “So, why didn’t you tell me the truth?”