The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

15. Two Dinners

15

TWO DINNERS

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Obviously, having sex with someone is intimate.

But showering is too. Cleaning up together is a different sort of intimacy.

I let Luke take the lead as he drags himself out of bed, looking boneless and well-fucked.

Without glancing back, he walks into the en suite.

Hmm. Did I presume too much? He didn’t say want to shower with me . He only said want to shower .

The door creaks open. A soft light flicks on. The sound of pattering water hits my ears.

Still, I don’t move from the bed. Like a peeper, I peer into the open bathroom. He sticks a hand into the small shower stall to check the temp.

Yeah, I jumped too many steps ahead. That shower will not fit two dudes.

No biggie. I’ll wait. He clearly meant we’d take turns.

I settle back onto the pillows, refusing to let the prospect of individual showers dim my post-sex high.

“Dude. Do you need an engraved invitation?”

I’m smiling again like an idiot. “I do,” I call back.

“Well, you’re not getting one,” he says, then the shower door clicks.

In no time, I’m up and joining him in the sardine-like quarters.

“It’s tiny in here,” he says, then wiggles his brow. “But plenty of room to jack off.”

I groan and laugh at the same time. “The true measure of a shower.”

“Am I right or am I right?” he asks, then tips his hair back under the stream. I grab the soap from the dish as he lets the water run over him.

As I wash, I don’t look away from the wet man inches from me.

Hot streams of water slide down his firm pecs, through the rivulets around his abs, down his legs.

But it’s the soft expression on his face that I enjoy most. As he revels in the hot water, it’s like he’s reveling, too, in the afterglow of great sex.

Hell, I can still feel my bones buzzing.

When he lifts his face and opens his eyes again, he sighs contentedly and meets my gaze for a quick second with that same vulnerable look. Like he’s saying that was good for me, was it good for you?

I try to answer without words, hoping my mouth and eyes all say so damn good.

But before I stare dopily at him for too long, I blink off the fuzzy feelings, then grab the bottle of shampoo and hand it to him. He takes it with a grunted thanks, turning around to lather his hair.

As he pours it, nerves fly through me, and I don’t even know why. He’s not going to ask me to wash his hair, is he? That’s even more intimate than sex, though my fingers itch to touch him like that. I’m eager to run my hands up his smooth, strong back and into his hair.

Those nerves? They’re because I wanted him to ask me to wash his hair.

But he doesn’t. He lathers up solo, and that’s fine too. I finish cleaning up as he wheels around to rinse the suds from his hair. When he’s done, he wordlessly asks for the soap, holding out his hand.

I give it to him, then move to step around him. This is such standard post-sex choreography, but it’s like I’m learning the moves all over again with him.

And I don’t want to misstep.

When I’m done, I suppose I should give him his space. I don’t need to be here anymore in this very functional shower.

But I want to stay, so I reach for the shampoo, ready to ask him to let me under the spray. But Luke stops me, setting a hand on my chest, meeting my eyes. “Don’t wash your hair.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a junkie,” he deadpans.

My soul smiles. He doesn’t want me to leave, and I don’t want to either.

“For my hair?” I ask though I think I know the answer. I just want to hear about this new addiction of his—my hair. Me.

With a self-deprecating snort, he says, “For that ballpark shampoo you used tonight.”

“Yeah?” This makes me unreasonably happy.

His hands slide down my chest. “Turned me on. A lot .”

“Good thing I don’t need to wash my hair then.”

“Very good,” he says, lifting his nose, like he’s sniffing me. “And that aftershave you usually wear. That turns me on too,” he adds, with a cocky shrug, like he’s proud of his desire.

I will never not wear that aftershave again.

Luke turns his back to me, returning to the task of running the soap over his body as he leaves me with that sexy mic drop—the admission that I get him going.

Sure, we just fucked. Sure, it was insane. But hearing that he’s been affected by me makes me want to…well, to touch him in the shower.

I lean into that impulse, pressing a gentle kiss to his neck.

He gasps lightly, then murmurs. It’s a nice sound. One I like far too much. I want to wrap my arms around his waist and lavish kisses all over the back of his neck. Want to drown him in touches.

Which means I really should go.

I exit the shower, grabbing a towel and drying off as he finishes. By the time the shower stops, I’m in his bedroom, dressed in my Rafe Rodman boxer briefs and jeans.

I hunt around for my shirt and find it on the floor. I pull it on while footsteps pad across the floor.

When I poke my head through the neck of my shirt, he’s studying me, like I’m a math problem he can’t solve.

“You leaving?” he asks.

It comes out tough. A little abrasive. His green eyes are harder, too, than I’m used to.

I weigh the facts. It’s past midnight. This is just sex. Luke doesn’t want more than sex. I don’t want to overstay. “I was going to,” I say carefully.

Luke glances down at the towel around his waist, then strides past me, heading for the bureau. “Cool.”

After he yanks open the drawer, he snags a pair of basketball shorts and pulls them on.

Under the towel.

“I’m busy tomorrow. Can’t do that photo,” he says, curtly, as he whips off the towel with an irritated flick of his wrist. “But whatever. What are they gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” I say, as my brain scrambles to figure out what Luke wants or needs from me.

Luke swaggers past me to the bathroom to hang up the towel. “It’s not like the Comets are going to drop you from the lineup. Oh, gee, Sloan didn’t post a pic of his date .”

And I better find the fix, stat, because I fucked up.

Luke opened up to me in the shower in his own way, telling me he likes the way I smell. What did I do? Acted like he’s a hit-it-and-quit-it hookup.

“Same for the Leopards,” I say to fill the uncomfortable silence, but nope. That won’t do.

Where is the handbook for hooking up with your close friend?

Think fast.

“Do you want two dinners?” I blurt out, hoping Luke’s favorite things might Band-Aid me back into his good graces.

“Huh?” He barely looks at me, just turning his face enough to make it clear he’s confused.

“I bet you’re hungry. Let me get you some Italian. I ate at the ballpark, but I could use two dinners. Want food too?”

He dips his face, his lips shifting, like he’s working through something. His feelings maybe. His willingness to let me back in. When he looks up, he’s not smiling. But the razor’s edge in his gaze is gone. “Yeah. I’m hungry.”

It’s a reprieve, and I take it.

Thirty minutes later, we’re spread out on his couch, digging into a late-night meal of carbs, carbs, and more carbs. His orange cat is perched on top of the cushions, watching us, and my newest playlist is serving up some cool rock tunes from my phone, starting with Stone Zenith, one of my favorites.

“Tell me,” I begin, waggling the dish of pasta. “Will you have to double your workout or something tomorrow?”

“Yes,” he grumbles, then stabs his fork into the takeout container of penne pasta primavera, spearing an artichoke victoriously. “But hey, there are some veggies in here at least.”

He eats the green triumphantly, then moans his culinary appreciation. “That was good. And now I’ll run ten miles in the morning to repent.”

“Carbs aren’t the worst thing for a pro baller,” I say, taking a bite of the pesto pasta with chicken and tomatoes.

“I know, but still. I’m trying to eat clean so I’m at the top of my game this season,” he says, his voice strung a little tight.

That sound concerns me. I set down the container. “You met with Maddox today, I assume?”

“Yeah. Thanks again for the intro,” he says, but that’s not what I’m getting at. Besides, he signed with Maddox a month ago and gave me a bottle of some glorious single-malt as a thanks—a thanks he didn’t need to give.

“So how was it?” I ask, trying a second time.

“Good,” he says, clearly evasive. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about the business of our business.

But I guessed wrong earlier tonight about his post-shower wishes. I don’t want to be wrong again.

As he fidgets with the food, poking around the container but taking nothing, I try once more: “Is he going to try to get you an early renewal?”

Luke looks up curiously, tilting his head. “I don’t think I mentioned I wanted that.”

As the playlist shifts to a tune of longing from Lettuce Pray, I shake my head. “You didn’t have to say it for me to figure it out.”

He sets down the container on the table. His jaw ticks, and I wish this weren’t hard for him at times. But it clearly is. With a heavy sigh, he leans back into the couch pillow but pops up instantly. “Hey, you,” he says, stroking the cat that he just bumped into.

The orange boy sets a paw on Luke’s shoulder and my heart skids. I’m not a cat person, so this reaction makes little sense.

Luke likes the critters, and End Zone seems to settle him, since he turns to me, saying, “It’s just stressful going into the season and not knowing. I mean, I could play great. Hell, I will play great. But either way, what if they trade me? They could trade me anytime. I like it here. My mom is here, my sister is here…” he says, shaking his head. “But it’s not like I’m going to get a no-trade clause.”

“What does Maddox think he can do?”

Luke shrugs. “He’s meeting with the GM later this week. I’ll try not to go nuts, waiting and wondering. He says he’ll try to get me an early renewal. But I don’t know if he can.”

“He’ll try. He’ll fight like hell for it. That’s what he does,” I say, doing my best to reassure him.

“Easy for you to say,” Luke says, but it doesn’t come out as bitter, like he resents the security I have thanks to my no-trade clause.

It’s more…sad. I hate that he’s sad. “That’s not what I mean,” I say.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not talking about me. I’m not talking about what Maddox has done for me. I’m talking about who he is. He’s a fighter for all his clients. Every single one. He only reps a small group of athletes. Athletes he believes in. He believes in you. He’s going to fight for you,” I say. “He’s going to do his best to get you everything you want.”

Luke huffs out an annoyed breath then shakes his head, like he’s clearing it. “I need to shut the fuck up. I sound like a sad sack. This is not me. Not me at all.”

He pops up, grabs the food, and takes it to the kitchen. Maybe he needs the chore to reset.

I don’t follow him. I give him the space he seems to require.

When he returns to the living room, his lips are quirked in a cocky grin. He comes over to me on the couch, stands between my knees, presses his palms by the cushions behind me, then says, “You came hard, didn’t you?”

I laugh at his one-eighty. But I go with it since he must need it. “Really fucking hard,” I say, then slide my hands up his body, moving them along his waist then around to his abs. I sit up, lean my face closer to his stomach and press a kiss there, glad he never put a shirt on after the shower.

“Me too,” he says, then pushes my shoulders back to the cushions again and bends down for a hot, possessive kiss.

He comes in rough, a little angry. But also like he needs to show me this side of him—the side that gets shit done on the gridiron. His mettle .

I take it, this proof of his fighting spirit. I stretch my neck up, lean my head back, the slightest bit of submission. With my body, I give him the go-ahead to take what he needs. To dominate me with his mouth.

For several wicked seconds, he devours my lips like he’s making a statement. Then, he bites the corner of my lips and grazes his mouth along my jaw, nibbling as he goes.

“Want to do that to you,” he murmurs near my ear.

I’m so kiss-drunk that it takes me a few seconds to stitch two and two together. Then, I get it. We were talking about how hard I fucked him tonight. He wants to fuck me just as hard.

“I want you to,” I answer.

He stops kissing and meets my eyes. There’s flint in his gaze. He lifts his chin aggressively. “Good. Let’s fuck again tomorrow.”

I can’t even be bummed that he shut down the serious talk about football and feelings. I can’t be upset about a goddamn thing since this is the second reprieve he’s granted me tonight.

And I will grab it, clutch it, and make the most of it.

Because Luke Remington is nowhere near out of my system. And I’ve earned myself another night to work through all this rampant lust.

“You’re on,” I say, then I scoot back on the couch, stretching my body along it, and lying down. I yank him on top of me. “But we should take that pic. We said we would.”

It’s important that we be men of our words. I don’t have to spell that out for him though, since he’s nodding in agreement.

“I know. I was being an ass earlier,” he admits.

“Nah. It’s all good,” I say.

“No, seriously,” he says, emphatically. “I was definitely being an ass.”

He doesn’t need to apologize but I take it anyway. “No worries, man. And I just wanted to make sure we don’t forget again.”

“I don’t know, Sloan. I’ve kind of liked our forgetting,” he says, grinning that familiar cocky smile.

“Yeah, me too.”

I’m expecting him to come in for a kiss on that note, but instead he sits up and moves off me, tilting his head as he listens to the music. “Wait. Is this Outrageous Record?”

“It is,” I say, sitting now too, excited he recognized the tune. “Love this band. Which means we have to try to get my brother to like them.”

“We have to. It’s the only way to see if Zach can ever have any taste at all.” Luke’s brow knits, and he hums thoughtfully. “You know, I’m pretty sure they’re playing tomorrow night. A late show. I saw that on social somewhere. I’ve been wanting to see them. Do you want to go?”

So much. You can’t even know how much. “I do. I have to leave early the next day to catch a flight to San Francisco though for the All-Star game.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fucking show-off. Mister All-Star. Mister Watch Sponsor. Mister Big Time.”

I blow on my fingernails, then shoot him a sly grin. “Don’t worry. When we take the pic, you can stand on the top step outside the club so you can look taller.”

Luke grabs his package. “We’re the same height here.”

I crack up. “We are.”

Our laughter subsides, but all I want is to keep riding this feel-good wave with him now that I’ve caught it. “And,” I say, taking a pause for dramatic effect, “I might have rented a McLaren to drive from San Francisco to Wine Country for Jason’s wedding.”

His tongue lolls out. “Fuck you,” he mutters.

“Well, yeah,” I say dryly.

“I’d say I hope it’s foggy and no fun to drive, but I might have to take it out for a joy ride this weekend in Napa.”

“Like fog would stop me from driving that beauty,” I say.

“Won’t stop me either,” he says.

I can picture the scene. Luke with his sunglasses on (or not if it’s foggy), his grin wide, handling the sweet sports car like he handles a man. It’s a damn good image. But then, other images from this coming weekend pile up too. Like, him and me and all the other guys at the B&B. Toasting to Jason and Beck, with Nate and Hunter there, then Maddox and his man Zane, and Gunnar and his dude too, Rafe Rodman.

Sure, I’m looking forward to Jason’s wedding, but for the first time I’m dreading it a little. Luke and I were just friends the last time we hung out with the crew before the auction. Now we’re friends with benefits. But how long will these benefits last? And will the other guys be able to tell we’re banging behind closed doors? Luke and I are on a group chat with them, and the whole bunch of us are constantly messaging. But that’s digital. Seeing them in person is, of course, vastly different.

Luke won’t want them to know. I don’t either. What we have is too uncertain, and far too private.

But I won’t find any answers tonight, so I’d rather ask Luke other questions.

I lean into him and cover his soft dick with my hand. “How’s your stamina?” I ask in a low voice. “Want to come again?”

He turns to take a sniff of my hair, then lets out a throaty rumble as his cock hardens under my palm. “There. I’m ready. And my stamina is off the chain,” he says, then he races to the bedroom.

I follow him there.

We changed the sheets before the food arrived, so he strips off his shorts and flings himself down on the covers, offering that gorgeous body to me.

Soon he’s writhing under me, fucking up into my mouth, giving it to me good. When he comes with an enthusiastic fucking yes, I figure he’ll flop down to the bed and savor the moment.

But nope. He’s on me in a heartbeat, stripping me to nothing and loving on my cock.

He’s just as fierce, just as determined as I was. It’s like he has something to prove.

I kind of wish he didn’t, for his sake.

But for my sake, I’ll take his proof, thank you very much. I give him mine a few minutes later—down his throat.

I don’t leave.

I don’t say a word about leaving either as Luke turns down the light. We both lie there in his bed, naked and sated.

“I’m officially fucked to exhaustion,” he says on a sleepy yawn.

I yawn too. The game, the sex—it’s all catching up to me at last. The adrenaline has burned off and I don’t want to move for a long time. “Me too,” I say, but something still nags at me. I can’t fall asleep without mentioning it. “But Luke?”

“Yeah?” He sounds wary.

I turn to him, propping my head in my hand. “It’s okay if you’re not the life of the party every second.”

He doesn’t look my way, but I hear something like gentle resignation in his tone as he says, “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

His eyes float closed. He rustles around a little, like he’s trying to get comfortable, then he tugs at the covers, and gets under them.

I brace myself for him to kick me out. But he lifts the corner of the covers, wordlessly inviting me to join him.

My dumb heart thumps as I RSVP.

Falling asleep together is more intimate than showering after sex.

Especially since he slings his arm across my stomach. His hand stays on me as he falls asleep.