The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

26. Midnight Craving

26

MIDNIGHT CRAVING

Rafe

I stare at my phone, my heart thrumming too quickly, my pulse pounding too hard. All this intense reaction to Gunnar’s name on my screen.

The bathroom is tiled in black and white, its sleek modern design hand-selected by me to be a sanctuary, a haven of hot showers and self-care. But instead of reaching for aftershave or my favorite lotion, I clutch the phone like I could break it and stare at my reflection in the mirror. “Who have you become?” I rasp. “Less than two weeks, and you are fucking obsessed with him.”

I close my eyes.

I. Am. Obsessed.

I give in, unlock the phone, and open his message.

Gunnar: I wrote you a long text on the plane a couple hours ago. I hit send over the Midwest, but when we landed in New York I saw that it had never gone out. It made me wonder if fate was trying to tell me something. Do you believe in fate?

Closing my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose. What is he trying to ask me? What does he want?

I know what I want—contact. With him. So, with a towel slung around my waist and my body still dripping wet, I write back.

Rafe: I don’t believe in fate. It seems like an excuse to be irresponsible. Life happens. Things don’t always go your way. It’s not fate. It’s just life.

I hit send.

He replies instantly.

Gunnar: Whoa. Are you okay? Hope I didn’t touch a sore spot...

I reread my note. I suppose that was rather intense. He can’t possibly know I’m thinking about my parents. I’m not sure now is the time to tell him. But I give him this much...

Rafe: Just thinking of people I miss. Family members I’ve lost. I don’t like to think fate was out to get me.

I hit send then catch my reflection in the mirror. The tic in my jaw spasms. A vein in my neck throbs.

I should get dressed, go sit on the couch. But I can’t make myself move. I feel like if I walk away, this conversation will end, and I don’t want that.

Seconds later, there’s a reply.

Gunnar: I’ve lost people I love too. It’s hard, man. It’s really hard. And I know what you mean. It’s not fate.

Rafe: Sorry about your loss. Or losses.

Gunnar: Same to you. Also, it’s weird to talk about this over text.

My heart squeezes. Is he going to call me? I don’t know that I want a deep, Friday night conversation about missing . I do my best to stave it off with my reply.

Rafe: It is difficult, true. So, why did you ask me about fate?

There. I’ve directed the conversation back to the present, away from the past and the people in it.

Gunnar: I wonder if fate was looking out for me.

My stomach twists. I wish he’d just be direct, but at least he’s being honest, it seems.

Rafe: What was in this text you didn’t send me? Since you keep mentioning it.

Gunnar: What happens if I say no to you?

I grimace as a weight sinks in my gut. Taking the phone, I head to the living room and sink onto my couch, defeated and resigned. I should have prepared for this answer, but I didn’t think it would happen. Maybe that makes me a fool.

I stare out the window, where the evening is shrouded in fog. It’s fitting, really.

Rafe: If you say no, that will be that.

I look at the note. That’s really all there is to say. I hit send, and his reply pings back almost immediately.

Gunnar: You wouldn’t try to convince me?

Rafe: No.

Gunnar: Why not?

Rafe: Because I respect you.

My heart hammers painfully. I close my eyes and drop my head back onto the couch cushion. I wish he’d said yes. I had so many delicious plans for him.

I need to hear it—read it—to make it official, so I open my eyes and write:

Rafe: Is this your way of saying no?

The message flies into the ether and I wait and I wait and I wait. I can barely stand it. I turn on music on my phone. Play Prince’s “Purple Rain.” I look down at the towel I’m wearing. I should change. I should open up my laptop and dive into work. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. But as soon as I make that decision, my phone trills in my hand.

Gunnar’s name flashes beautifully across the screen, followed by his face.

I answer the call. The moment the video connects, Gunnar’s eyes pop wide, then they travel up and down, cataloging my frame. “Are you wearing only a towel?”

I smile. “I am indeed only wearing a towel.”

“Fuck, babe,” he groans, low and raspy. He stares at me from the middle of his hotel room like he wants to eat me up. Looks like he’s in The Luxe in Manhattan. I recognize the low blue lighting, as well as the crisp white decor. There’s a desk by the window. Gunnar scrubs a hand along his jaw. “You look hot,” he rasps.

I’m smug for a moment, but it doesn’t last. My obsession is stronger than my pride. “Thanks. But what does it have to do with why you’re calling?”

I don’t feel like playing games. I don’t think he is toying with me, per se. But I want to cut to the chase.

“Rafe, I wrote a whole text on the plane,” he says, guileless, unbuttoning his shirt with his free hand as he talks and paces. “But I didn’t send it.”

“Yes. You told me that.”

“I want to tell you what it said.” His voice sounds strained, like this is hard for him.

I sit up straighter. This is exactly what I want. His honesty. As much as I crave his yes, I crave the truth.

He paces the other way, finishing the buttons as he goes. “You said no lies. You don’t want to chase me. I hear you. So I’m just going to lay it all out there.” Then, he shucks off his shirt.

I blink, trying to process both what he’s saying and his state of undress.

“Go for it,” I say, focusing on the conversation rather than his gorgeous golden skin and his outrageous abs.

Gunnar stops pacing his hotel room and locks eyes with me. “I can’t stop thinking about your offer. And I should say no. I need to focus. I have to play well. It’s early in my career, I make just above the league minimum, and I take care of tuition for Jamie and Charlie.”

“Who?” I ask, intrigued to know more about Gunnar.

“My little brother and sister. My dad died when I was twelve, my mom worked hard to take care of us, and it’s my job now to look out for my siblings.”

“It’s good that you do that,” I say, my heart thundering a little harder with everything he reveals.

“I love them,” he says. “I want to be there for them. Mom’s flying in to see a few games this weekend, and Charlie’s coming from college. They’re my reasons for what I do,” he says, sounding as desperate as I feel. “I don’t want to get distracted.”

“You love them. It’s wonderful you take care of them.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Of course not,” I say. I take a beat and turn to what I want to know next. “So, the question is, then, do I distract you?”

He licks his lips. His eyes are dark, needy. “Rafe,” he pleads, then he angles the phone down and begins to unbutton his jeans, popping open the top button.

The family conversation is done. We have moved on. He’s said his piece and now he wants... me.

The pleasure I alone can bring him.

I groan. “Gunnar.”

“Take your towel off,” he says.

“Are you forgetting who gives the orders?” I ask, keeping my face stern.

He nods, looking lost in lust. “I remember now. So let’s do this. Tell me to take my clothes off. Tell me to get undressed. Tell me to get naked on this big hotel bed, and I’ll do it.”

I was already ridiculously turned on.

Now my entire body is strung tight with lust.

I sit up straighter, and I tell him what I want from him tonight.