The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

36. Last Time

36

LAST TIME

Rafe

The clock ticks painfully loud in the morning, a stark reminder that I won’t see Gunnar again once he leaves.

As I get dressed, pulling on the pants I left by the bed, panic creeps over me.

This is ending.

I’m choosing the end.

My chest tightens as I head into the closet to grab a shirt. This uncomfortable sensation promises to gnaw at me as I let Gunnar get away. I distract myself by focusing on my responsibilities—the acquisition plans waiting for me on my laptop for Bespoke, the upcoming campaign with Boyfriend Material, which Gunnar is part of.

I ball my hands into fists and remind myself to stay strong. I can’t give in to what my heart wants. My head has to win this game.

I grab a crisp, burgundy button-up and slide it on, doing the buttons. When I’m dressed, I go out to the living room and find Gunnar relaxing on the couch, laughing at something on his phone.

My breath catches at the sight of him at ease in my home. This is the first time I’ve seen him in the light of morning. All our encounters have been after dark, shrouded by midnight and moonlight.

Now, sun streaks across the room and his golden hair shines in the light. I head over to him, and I can’t resist. I drop a soft kiss to the top of his head, then ask, “What’s so amusing?”

“Ah, it’s just my teammate giving me a hard time,” he says, then sets his phone down on the couch cushion and stares up at me, still smiling. “As he does.”

“Is that Zane?” I ask.

I can barely let go of Gunnar. I want to gobble up everything there is to know about him.

Gunnar nods, still looking over his shoulder at me as I stand behind the couch. “Yeah, we’re just planning to work out before the game tonight. We start a new series against the LA Bandits here.”

“You only had yesterday off. Baseball is so intense,” I say, a little amazed at the relentless pace.

“You know it, babes. We aren’t football players, going at it once a week. We’re working men, playing six or seven days a week, and it’s hard and awesome.”

That schedule is also a reminder of his goals. He had a great series in New York over the weekend. But if he were to keep coming over late at night, staying up past midnight, enjoying the pleasures of my nightly seductions, and all the clever ways I’d service his kink, he’d be worn out and exhausted, which would affect his game. I can’t let that happen to him.

But as I glance at the clock on the living room wall, the shrinking time weighs on me once more. We have one more hour, and I’ve never gone out with him in daytime. I want a last taste of what I’m giving up.

“I bet you’re hungry. Can I take you out to breakfast?”

Gunnar murmurs his approval of the idea, then stretches up and grabs my face. He pulls me over the back of the couch to give me a kiss, whispering against my lips, “I’m always hungry. For food, sex, or baseball. Let’s do it.”

I take him to a nearby café in the Ferry Building, grabbing a picnic table outside where we can watch the ferries dock. He orders egg whites and potatoes without butter, and I opt for granola and yogurt. When the server leaves, I draw a deep breath of the sea air and gaze at the bay.

“You got a boat fetish, Rafe?” he asks.

I laugh. “Maybe you do, as I learned last night.”

“I love the water. We always took beach vacations when I was a kid. I was a fish. Spent the whole time in the water.”

“That’s not surprising, you being so active,” I say.

“What about you? Were you a fish?” he asks.

“A fish watcher. I grew up in London. Used to spend many afternoons walking along the River Thames and dreaming about the life I wanted.”

Gunnar squints like that concerns him. “You weren’t happy growing up?”

“I was happy. We didn’t have much. I wanted more—to build something, make something. Do big things for my family. I’d walk along the water and talk to the river.”

He sets his chin in his hand. “That’s very European.”

“I suppose,” I say with a laugh. “I always loved the water. Staring at it, imagining the stories of the people on the boats moving down it, where were they going to, where were they coming from.”

“Is that what you think about when you’re sketching something new?” he asks. “Do you imagine the people wearing your designs as you create?”

It’s like he has a view into my brain. “Those are all questions I ask myself when I’m working on new concepts. Where would a man wear these? How would he feel in them? How would he want to feel? I suppose all of that started when I used to wander along the water and imagine what the people were up to.”

Gunnar’s smile widens, lighting up his blue eyes. “I’m learning so many fascinating things about you this morning.”

And I’m learning things about him too. He’s intuitive. He’s an excellent listener, paying attention to what I say.

The last man I fell in love with wasn’t like that. It took me too long to see the truth about Lucas. Foolishly, I thought we were a perfect match because we worked in the same industry.

Wait.

Why in the bloody hell am I thinking about love? Love isn’t in the cards with Gunnar. We are not in the cards.

But breakfast is. The server brings our food, and we tuck in. I let myself enjoy this one perfect moment with my obsession.

Only, Gunnar is proving to be so much more than an obsession.

When we’ve finished eating and leave the café, I work up the will to say goodbye. In front of the Ferry Building, as crowds slip past us onto boats or into the financial district or out to the cable cars, I hold Gunnar’s face and bring him close for a kiss.

“I almost wish I didn’t go into Edge that night,” I say, full of regret and longing.

His eyes burn. “Don’t say that. Don’t wish me away.”

“I wish this were easier, then.”

“Nothing good is easy. But you don’t wish we never happened,” he says. “You wish we could keep happening, just like I do.”

Then he grabs the back of my head, claims my mouth, and delivers the most searing kiss in the span of human existence. My brain melts and my bones liquefy. His kiss tempts me more than anything ever has. I want to say fuck my one-night plans, let’s do every night instead.

But Gunnar is stronger than I am. When we break the kiss, he lifts his hand in a simple wave and walks away like he’s leaving the field at the end of a game.

And I watch him go.