The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

2. I Dare You

2

I DARE YOU

Luke

On the bright side, at least I have a great story from last night’s disastrous date. My friends will think it’s funny as hell what the dude asked me to do at the end. And I’ve been asked to do some pretty weird shit.

I yank on the door to Gin Joint and saunter into the lively speakeasy in Chelsea. Maybe I won’t collect any winnings from Tanner, but I will entertain my guys. And that is goals.

Especially since the off-season is primo buddy time, and I’ve been enjoying the days of working out and the nights of hanging with my friends.

My buddy Nate has been in town for a few weeks since his TV producer hubs, Hunter, has been working in New York on a show. Tanner and I hung out with them last week at Rapture, where I won an amateur dance contest, thank you very much. They’ll come to the players’ auction on Friday night, probably to heckle me as I host it. Bring it on. After that, the whole crew is flying to California for another friend’s wedding. Thank fuck for the All-Star break, since our baseball buddies can join us at the nuptials. I’m bummed that our friend Bryan can’t make the wedding, but he’s in New Zealand with his movie-star boyfriend, Sebastian Lowe, who’s shooting a new flick there.

Buoyed by my packed social schedule, I weave through the crowded lounge, full of beautiful people enjoying cocktails and tunes. As I go, I scan for my guys. Nate texted me, saying he’d snagged a booth in the VIP section here. Tanner should be here too. He said he was coming to Gin Joint after a quick post-game chat with his watch sponsor. Perfect. I can give him a hard time for being all humbly braggy about his big-time sponsorships too.

Fucking star shortstop. Fucking toast of the town. Fucking most popular athlete in New York.

Someday, I’ll be as secure as he is with my contracts. In my position in this city. Until then, at least I can give him hell with no guilt. Pretty sure I am legally required to, courtesy of the dude code.

With my swagger on, I make my way to the booth, and when I spot my friends, I go in, guns blazing.

“Gentlemen,” I say to the crew, then point at Tanner. “Did you know drinks are on Sloan tonight?”

Tanner rolls his dark blue eyes, the color of a cool mountain lake. “That’s quite an assumption, Remington.”

Nate cuts in, excitement in his expression. “The Macallan Sherry Oak 18 Years Old for the table then,” he declares.

“Make mine a double,” his husband, Hunter, adds in his English accent.

But then Tanner sits up straight, his sturdy frame filling all the space. He always fills the space well, but I’d never tell him that. It’d go to his head. “Not so fast, Mister Big Mouth,” he says to me.

“I’ll take Big Mouth as a compliment, thank you,” I say.

“If the dick fits,” Tanner zings back.

“I always make sure it fits. I don’t believe in the gag reflex.”

“Ah, so that’s your religion.”

“Bet it’s yours too.”

“Obviously.”

“Only way to worship,” I say.

Our volley is interrupted by Nate’s laughter, then a clearing of his throat. “Hello? Are you two going to join us or keep up your foreplay all night?”

Furrowing my brow, I snap my gaze to Nate. “What? We’re just?—”

“—Shooting the shit,” Tanner supplies, quickly jumping on the grenade of Nate’s comment.

Good. Because we were not flirt fucking. But best to move the evening along so I motion for Nate to make room so I can slide in next to him.

Instead, he points to the other side of the booth. “Sit next to Sloan. Your cologne is too strong for me.”

“Maybe it’s too strong for me too,” Tanner says.

For that comment, I park my ass right next to Tanner, up close and personal, our thighs touching. I clap his shoulder. I’ve been doing that a lot lately but hey, I’m a friendly guy, and I’m a physical guy. So sue me. “I get it, Sloan. I’m just too much man for you,” I say.

Tanner snorts. “Yeah, that’s the problem,” he says, straightening even more. Dude is six three, and that’s a real six three, not a baseball-players-lie-about-their-height six three. I’m six two. But I don’t mind the extra inch he has on me. I’ve got inches where I need them.

“It’s okay. Someday you’ll be man enough to ride this ride,” I say.

Nate grins. Hunter laughs.

Tanner just scoffs, then says, “Anyway, how the hell do you figure I’m paying? You always score second dates.”

I preen a little from the compliment. He’s not wrong. I do well in the dating department. I have good people skills, and I know how to compliment a man. Trouble is, last night flopped big time. “You are correct, but I didn’t ask him out for a second date. You won’t fucking believe what happened.”

I’m still a little chapped. But I’m a glass-half-full kind of guy, so I refuse to let it get to me.

“What happened?” Tanner asks, sounding a touch wary. He probably figures I’m setting him up for a punchline. Well, that does sound like my style.

But the joke is on me. “So, we’re having a drink. Shooting the breeze. Talking about New York, the summer, the newest Webflix show.”

“As one does,” Hunter puts in, clearly liking that last one since he produces for the streaming giant.

“Yes, and I’m digging Afternoon Delight ,” I add.

“Yeah, it’s a good show,” Tanner adds, then steers me back. “So what happened?”

I shake my head, like can you believe what went down . “The guy whipped off his T-shirt in the middle of the bar.”

Tanner knits his brow. “That’s your you won’t fucking believe what happened moment?”

Nate chuckles too. “I’d be willing to bet that’s happened to you a few times, Mister Morecock.”

I grin, as wide as a city block. “Thank you.”

“Of course you’d take it as a compliment,” Tanner grumbles.

“ Of course is right,” I say, then continue down story road. “And he reaches into a canvas bag he has with him and yanks out a silver shirt.”

“Ouch,” Nate says, instantly figuring out where this is going.

I hold up a finger. “Then he pulls on my jersey, hands me a Sharpie, and asks me to sign it.”

“Oh man,” Tanner says, shaking his head, like he’s annoyed at the guy’s antics on my behalf.

But hold on. Is that the hint of a smile on his full lips?

I peer a little closer. Yeah, he’s still smiling, and that’s got to mean he nabbed a worse date on the leaderboard. He’s always outpacing me. “All right. ’Fess up. How was your date worse than a dude wanting me to sign a football jersey?”

Tanner raises his face, his eyes locking with mine, his smile vanishing. He’s a little surly now, a little intense. I don’t know how the guy does it, but he’s hot when he’s scowling.

Empirically hot, obviously.

Hell, Tanner Sloan is a good-looking guy. That’s just a fact. But add a little irritation to the mix, and he shoots to scorching levels.

Maybe that’s why I like to wind him up. It’s fun to look at smokeshows.

“My date wanted a selfie to show his friends, and he sneaked one in so fast, I didn’t have time to say no,” Tanner says, practically gritting out the words.

“Damn,” I say, frowning as we commiserate in bad-date misery. “I don’t know whose date was worse.”

“I don’t either. All I know is it sucks out there,” Tanner says heavily.

“Aww, is it hard to date as a rich, famous athlete?” Nate asks, the sort of question only a happily married man can ask.

“You know, it kind of is,” Tanner says, a little defiant.

Nate parks his chin in his hand. Bats his lashes. “Tell us more about how rough it is out there.”

Hunter adopts a too-concerned look. “Two handsome blokes with top-notch teams and such pretty faces. Must be sooo hard out.”

“Hey now. It is hard,” I point out. “You never know if someone is actually into you.”

“That doesn’t seem to stop you from trying,” Nate points out.

“Fine, I’m not exactly a saint.”

“That sounds awful. Your sainthood ,” Nate deadpans, then looks to Tanner. “And yours too.”

Tanner holds up stop sign hands. “Fine, fine. No one’s playing a sad violin for us,” Tanner admits begrudgingly, but then his tone turns vulnerable, a touch wounded. “But is it too much to want to meet a guy who’s not using me?”

Once again, I wish I could erase what his ex did. “Finn is a prick,” I bite out. Sure, I can rile Tanner up like nobody else, but I also know when to stop and that point is when the conversation turns to his former boyfriend—Finn Michaels. Tanner dated the sports reporter last year. Hell, he’d had a thing for the guy for a while. It was a whole like-attracts-like thing, as in, intense guy digs other intense guy, I’m guessing. But in the end, the career-thirsty journalist was using my friend for access to stories. I wanted to wring Finn’s neck when I found out. Hell, I marched out of our building and stalked my way to Finn’s family-money brownstone, ready to give him a piece of my mind, when Tanner ran up behind me, grabbed me, and calmed me the fuck down.

“He’s not worth it,” he’d muttered on Madison Avenue as the evening crowds streamed past us.

Another only in New York moment. No one thought twice about the athlete wrapping his arms around the other athlete. Helps, too, that I’m not as recognizable as Tanner.

But I was livid over Finn. “He’s a grade-A, top-choice, world-class mass-of-algae pond scum on the inside of a tire swing on a hot summer day,” I’d muttered, raring to go. I’m not even a fighter. I’m not a hockey player for fuck’s sake. But I wanted to fight then.

Tanner had laughed. “Yes. Yes, he is.” But then his smart mouth curved into a sly grin. Tanner always knows how to keep his cool. “But how about we retaliate in other ways?”

Better ways.

Like, this one. My teammates on the Leopards and I don’t talk to the reporter any more for stories. Small world, and I’ve always got my friends’ backs.

“I still hate that guy,” I add.

“Okay, fine. You did have a rough patch of it with the prick,” Nate admits. “And last night doesn’t sound too fun either.”

Hunter reaches for Nate’s hand and threads his fingers through his husband’s. They look at each other, all newlywed-ish. They’re so stinking cute.

“Aren’t they the best?” I say to Tanner, pointing a thumb at our friends.

A hint of sadness flashes in Tanner’s eyes, but then he blinks it away, offering a closed-mouth smile. “The best,” he says, then sighs, like he’s erasing his frustration with a long breath. “Anyway, enough of the dating woes. When the time is right, I’ll meet a dude I like and who likes me.”

Good for him, knowing he wants the real thing. But me? No way. Football is my one and only boyfriend.

“I’ll drink to that,” I say as Nate whispers something to his husband. Something I can’t make out.

I lift a hand to signal the server who’s circling by. After she takes our orders I thank her, then hand her my credit card. “This round’s on me,” I tell the guys.

“Because you had a better date?” Tanner asks when she leaves, still sounding wary.

“Nah, because I want to,” I say.

“Thanks, man,” Tanner says, no barbs, no trash talk.

I pat his shoulder. “Anytime.”

Then I squeeze it again. Well, it’s nice and firm. Very grippable and all.

When I let go, Nate’s smiling at me like he’s won the Super Bowl. Again.

I wiggle my fingers at him. “’Fess up.”

“I have an idea,” he says, all Cheshire cat.

“What is it?” Tanner asks, cautious but clearly curious.

“A surefire way for each of you to have a great date,” Nate continues, like a salesman about to close a deal.

Hunter smiles devilishly. “It’s rather brilliant, if you ask me.”

Oh, the games married dudes play.

I cross my arms, giving them an I’m waiting look.

Nate draws a deep breath. “Remington, since you missed the San Francisco players’ auction last fall, you can make up for it this weekend at the summer auction.”

I stare at him bug-eyed. “Dude, I am making up for it. I’m emceeing the event,” I remind him. When the organizers asked me to emcee, I jumped at the chance so fast. I’m not a rookie, but the city still sees me as the new guy . Understandably. But chances like this can help establish me as the go-to guy, the quarterback who’ll be around. I just signed with a new agent and I’m eager to chat with him about going after an early contract extension for me, so I’ve been taking the initiative to raise my profile any way I can. “What are you getting at?”

Tanner leans forward. “Yeah, I’d like to know too, since I’m in the auction.”

Nate’s grin grows impossibly wider. “Exactly. This weekend is like a do-over.”

Even though I didn’t make it to that auction in the fall, I heard all about it. Some hot dude in a suit bid a pretty penny on Tanner, since he was in California then, and entered at the last minute.

Earlier this year, we were all here at Gin Joint, recapping the event. Tanner had said he went out with the guy and it was “nice.”

“Nice? It was nice? That sounds soooo promising,” I’d teased. “For fifteen thousand dollars, I bet he wanted more than a nice date.”

“And maybe nice is a euphemism,” Tanner had said, and it felt a little like a taunt. Pointed at me.

“Well, I like nice dates too then,” I’d said, taking the bait.

Tanner surprised me with his next words: “Maybe next time, come out and bid more than fifteen thousand.”

For a few seconds, I’d been floored. For a few more, I’d imagined bidding on him. But then I’d forced myself to stop that train of thought from going down the dating tracks.

Tanner was joking. I was sure he’d been joking. That’s what we do. We rib each other. We poke and we prod. Like he did last week at Rapture. That I dare you to dance is proof. Tanner lives to dare me. I live to show him I won’t back down.

I won’t back down from Nate’s comment either. I turn to the married guys and ask, “What are the Mr. and Mr. getting at? What’s this do-over?”

“At the players’ auction Friday night,” he says, pointing to me, “you should bid on Tanner.”

I scoff.

Tanner scoffs harder.

They’re nuts. And it’s not because I’m the emcee. It’s because I can’t bid on my friend. I can’t go on a date with my friend. Friendship is sacred. Friendship means everything to me.

Nate crosses his arms, smiles slyly, and goes for the kill. “I dare you.”