The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

40. Smile for the Camera

40

SMILE FOR THE CAMERA

Gunnar

The whole time I model the new designs, I give the camera my best smolder. And the whole time I hope that when we’re done, the door will open, Rafe will ask everyone to leave, then he’ll walk up and tell me he’s been fighting like hell to resist me, but it’s impossible.

But when the shoot ends and the photographer thanks me, there’s no surprise appearance from the tall, lean, dark-haired man who looks like sex in a suit.

With heaviness in my bones, I put on my street clothes, leave the studio, and give the proverbial middle finger to my foolish hope. Theresa waits for me outside the door then escorts me down the hallway. “That went so well,” she says, full of enthusiasm.

“It was a fun shoot,” I say, trying to muster some of that energy. Mostly, I love doing these gigs, and I did enjoy this one. But not as much as I wanted to.

“And I’m so glad you’re doing work for us. Personally, I love the Dragons. Good luck tonight.”

“Thanks. I’m psyched to hear that you’re a fan.” It’s easier to find the passion for the game, so I focus on that. Only the game.

She smiles, a little giddy. “A big one. I love when you blow kisses for the fans.”

“I’ll do what I can to hit a home run for you, then.” I add a wink because I love my fans, and I am damn grateful to have them.

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” she says with a laugh. We stop near the exit and tie up loose ends. “A few details. We have the New York kickoff next month, but we’ll be sure to schedule it around your baseball games.”

“Excellent. I’m looking forward to that.”

“We’re so excited to show you off. It’s going to be a fantastic event.”

“Is...” But I stop myself from asking if Rafe will be there. If he wanted to see me, he’d reach out. He hasn’t. I’m not going to fish for intel.

I glance around the mostly empty warehouse. Besides, if Rafe isn’t here today, he probably won’t be at the New York event. Rafe is my past.

Baseball is my future.

That night at the ballpark, I put everything into the game. It pays off with a home run in the seventh. When I touch home plate, I blow a kiss to the stands.

A few innings later, we finish with a glorious W, clinching a playoff spot, and I rush the mound to pile into a hug with the pitcher, the catcher, and the rest of the team.

I am raring to go and celebrate with my teammates, but before I can hit the clubhouse, Erin, the sports reporter, pulls me aside for a quick interview on the sidelines.

“Congratulations on making the postseason. I know our viewers would love to know who the kiss was for tonight.”

This time it wasn’t for a secret lover.

“For a friend and a fan,” I say from the bottom of my heart.

I go inside the clubhouse with my teammates, high-fiving them and putting Rafe all the way behind me.

I’m sure he’s kicking ass as he works his new deal just like I’m kicking ass here on the field. Life is good. It’s so fucking good.

I don’t miss him.

I don’t miss him at all.

I don’t miss him one bit.

But when I get home and my phone flashes with a text, my insides jump with excitement. Maybe I do miss him a whole hell of a lot.