The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

17. Mega Date Behavior

17

MEGA DATE BEHAVIOR

Tanner

Around nine that night, I hit the elevator button, then step back, checking my reflection in the shiny doors.

Stylish teal-blue T-shirt. Nice jeans. No ball cap, though I did consider one. Put it on, took it off, tried it once more. Tossed it on the floor, muttering, “Get it together, man .”

As I wait, I take a deep breath to settle this healthy dose of pre-date nerves.

What are you worried about? Tonight is a sure thing .

I shake off the stupid worries as the car arrives and I step inside. I played ball today, and we lost our afternoon game. But it’s well in the rearview mirror. When my phone buzzes, I give it a cursory glance, then scan the text from my sister.

Amelia: I’m working on that coffee date! Soren thinks end of next week. He has to travel (me too) but I’ll find a time!

Well, I have to travel too. I have a series in Seattle after the All-Star break. But I don’t want to handle coffee date logistics now, so I don’t reply. I’ll deal with this tomorrow. I tuck the phone away.

Tonight I want to focus on, well, tonight only.

I exit on Luke’s floor. I told him I’d swing by his place first. As I’m striding down the familiar carpeted hallway to his pad, I can’t shake the feeling that this is mega date behavior.

Figuring out what to wear.

Picking him up.

Knocking on his door.

Trouble is, I like it far too much for my own good. I stop and rap my knuckles, doing my best to ignore the thump-thump of my pulse.

When Luke opens the door, I’m floored. By the intensity of my reaction to him—the tingling on the back of my neck, the ache in my hands to touch him, the desire to tell him how good he looks.

Because he looks even better than usual. And I don’t know why. I’ve seen that burgundy shirt on him before, with the short sleeves that show off his arms and the buttons deliberately left open to reveal a smattering of chest hair.

I’ve seen this outfit because he’s worn it on dates. When he likes the guy.

Oh.

It’s like the breath is knocked out of me all over again.

“Hey,” I finally say. It comes out hoarse.

“Hey,” he echoes, a little rough too. He lifts his chin, drawing a long breath.

Of me.

He’s sniffing my aftershave right here in his doorway. “Like it?” I rasp out.

“It’s not so bad,” he says.

My lips twitch in a grin. “I dare you to take a bigger hit.”

He grins too. “You’re on,” he says, then he comes closer, dipping his face against my neck, running his nose along my skin.

I want to skip the concert and spend the night with him.

I want to fuck and get food and just hang out with my friend.

But I also really want to go out with him in public to the concert, as the guy he put on his best date outfit for.

A door snicks open somewhere nearby. Luke tears himself away from my neck, clears his throat, then steps out of the doorway and into the hall. I do too.

Blinking off the fog of lust, I turn in the direction of the noise. From several feet away, Elsie Rubenstein is wagging a stern finger at Luke.

“You better not let my babies escape,” she warns, pointing to the open door.

“Shoot. Thanks, Elsie,” he says, then spins around and shuts the door before his cats can slink out. “I was distracted.”

She rolls her eyes, tutting him. “You can’t let a dapper man distract you.” She looks to me. “Same to you.”

“I won’t, ma’am,” I say, hiding my amusement at the word dapper .

Hiding it too because…did she see us? Did she catch that near-kiss-in-the-doorway moment?

No idea, but I do my best to act normal as I head down the hall with Luke and Elsie.

“Now, listen, Luke. I need you to leave out some kush this time,” she says.

What the what?

“Noted. Kickoff likes her kush,” he says. “I’ll leave it on the counter. Food and catnip are life.”

Ahhh. So that’s what the kush is. “Your cats need two dinners and a little nightcap before bed?” I ask, but it’s not the cat behavior that fascinates me. It’s the Luke behavior.

“They do. But not last night. I didn’t give it to them after the pasta. They only have it when I’m out of town,” he says, and it’s so offhand, so casual, I barely realize what he just did.

Until I do.

He, probably unknowingly, dropped a little hint about our late-night escapades. I steal a glance at Elsie. Did she pick up on it?

I can’t read her.

“Thanks again for taking care of them when I go to California,” Luke adds, clearly unaware that he nearly broadcast Tanner was over late last night .

“Anytime.” When the elevator arrives, the silver-haired lady shifts her focus to me as we step into the lift, ladies first. “Now, do me a favor and please, for the love of all that is holy, try to represent New York well at the All-Star game.”

“I will,” I say, heading to stand by the back of the elevator. Luke moves near me. Elsie takes a spot in front of us, staring straight ahead, chattering on about how I need to watch out for Chance Ashford from the Cougars and his cut fastball.

As the elevator chugs downward, I sense Luke shifting closer to me. When his hand covers my ass, I bite my lip to stifle a groan. He squeezes my cheek, then his finger drifts lower, inching closer to where he’ll be later.

I slam my fist to my mouth, sealing in the groans rumbling in my body.

Out on the street, we say goodbye to Elsie, and as she trundles off, I turn to Luke. “Think she saw us in your doorway?”

He shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Maybe.”

“I thought you didn’t want anyone catching on?”

Another casual shrug. “I don’t. Apparently that Silas Sports Talk dude said something about me going to the game last night. But it’s not like we made out at the ballpark.”

“True,” I say, but that’s a nice image. I keep that thought to myself. “We’ve mostly behaved in public.”

“Exactly. And Elsie’s not anyone. She’s kind of like…a priest.”

I laugh. “Tell me a little more about what you’ve been confessing to her then.”

He wiggles his brows. “Pretty sure you were there last night, Tanner. I don’t need to confess to you .” But then he scratches his jaw, his tone turning serious as we walk to the music venue. “She’s a vault. I don’t worry about her. And I kind of don’t mind her knowing. You get me?”

He stops in his tracks. I do too. He’s looking at me intensely, like he’s trying to tell me with his eyes that he wants someone to see what’s happening with us. I’m not sure why he wants that, or what’s happening exactly. And I don’t want to ask. Don’t want to open my own wounds. I just take the admission for what it is—another private truth he’s giving to me. “I get it,” I say.

Sometimes you just want to feel seen, even if the thing you’re doing is temporary.

“But we can’t let on at the concert,” he says as we resume our pace.

“Oh, you mean I shouldn’t announce how much you like to ride my dick?”

“Only if you want me to tell the world you’re dying to sit on my cock tonight.”

This guy. He kills me. Laughing, I say, “I hope the music gets me in the mood, Remy.”

Ah, hell. I did it again with the nickname slip. Maybe he won’t notice.

The sly little hook of his mouth says otherwise. Luke’s going to zing me so hard I’ll need a crowbar to pry my way out of this trash-talk hole I put myself in.

But all he says is, “Remington just too long to say again?”

That’s…not a dig. It’s said with affection.

“Yeah, guess it was.”

“Good thing I like it when you say Remy.”

Me too.

So much more than I should.

Keeping my hands off Luke at the concert isn’t easy. But I manage in part because Rebel Beat is packed to the gills. We’re stuffed into this club with a few hundred other music fans as the opening act, dubbed Opening Act, slays it.

After the singer finishes with a slash of his guitar, he warbles into the mic, “And now the guys you’ve been waiting for. The one, the only…Outrageous Record.”

The rising stars come onstage, with the band’s front man clapping the departing guy on the back, then taking the mic. “Here’s a new song I wrote last summer out on the beach with my crew,” the singer says, sweeping his long hair off his face, as he smiles at a couple women at the lip of the stage—a blonde and a brunette. “Love you, girls.”

“Love you, my pet,” the blonde shouts.

With a smile, the singer straps on his guitar, then taps his booted foot as he launches into a song he introduces as “Blown Away.”

A devastatingly sultry tune, it’s all about longing and wanting.

The whole time the singer croons, I try not to steal glances at Luke. But it’s getting harder with his shoulder bumping mine, his hip grazing against me.

As the band launches into the refrain with a line about saving a night for me , I can’t resist the pull of the lyrics toward the guy by my side. I give in, tilting my head Luke’s way with a private look. With a chin nod, he licks his lips. Then mouths , “Later.”

That word thrums through me. A hot, dirty promise.

A realization too. I want later, and tomorrow too.

I am so fucked.

The concert is fun. Mostly.

As Luke cheers and shouts after each song, I do the same, but I feel…disconnected.

Like the praise falling from my lips is covering something up. A kernel of emotion inside me that I don’t want to entertain. A desire that won’t see the light of day.

It’s irritating like dating can be irritating—this feeling of wanting something just out of reach.

As the club grows hotter, the press of bodies thicker, and the music invariably louder, I should just be in my body. Experiencing the music. Feeling the aching heart of the lyrics.

And yet, I’m thinking far too much.

I’m thinking—if Luke weren’t Luke, if he were some other guy, I’d ask him out again for the weekend.

I’d want to spend more time with him. Tell my sister thanks but no thanks to the coffee date with Soren since Luke is the guy I want to take to my brother’s wedding.

But Luke’s not some other guy. He’s the one I need by my side—as a friend.

And I can’t let these pointless wishes derail me.

We came here to get a photo. The longer we keep forgetting , the harder it will be for me to deal with the inevitable see you later .

When the band finishes its set, we make our way to the bar. As we go, Luke asks eagerly, “What did you think? You’ve been low-key into them for a while. Remember that time we went for a run last year in Central Park?”

We’ve done that together plenty of times. I don’t recall the specific one he’s getting at, but I nod for him to keep going.

“And you were all amped up about this new playlist you’d made. You said it had all these hot new bands you were into. Pizza for Breakfast, Retractable Eyes, and especially Outrageous Record,” he says. “You’d just heard them for the first time.”

Damn. That’s some memory. It’s all coming back to me. “I do remember that day. It was September. It was the beginning of the football season.”

“And you weren’t even trying to play it cool. You legit wanted me to listen to these bands. You were like dude, you have to trust me. This band is life-changing .”

“Was I right?”

“I tried ’em. I liked ’em,” he says, with genuine gratitude. “Thanks to you.”

And he’s not playing it cool either. “Anytime.”

When we reach the bar, Luke catches the bartender’s attention with a smile and a wave.

The guy nods and comes over to us, asking for our drinks.

Luke turns to me. “What are you in the mood for?”

You. Just you . “Glenlivet on the rocks,” I say.

“Same for me,” he says.

When the guy heads down the bar, Luke leans closer to me, then says in a low and smoky voice, “Want to taste the scotch on your lips later.”

I shudder. “Do it.”

Keeping the volume down, he whispers, “Know what else I want to do? Pour some on you. Lick it off your chest, your abs…your back.”

I shudder harder from the scene he’s painting, the way he likes to give and take. “My back? That’s all, Luke?”

“That’s definitely not all,” he says, fire in his eyes.

Hell, the fire is raging in me now too.

For a few dangerous seconds, we stare at each other like tigers, ready to pounce.

For a few more seconds, I just don’t care who knows or who sees. I’m so damn tempted to grab his face and haul him against me for a bruising kiss. To claim him in front of everyone. To say, this guy is going home with me.

But Luke breaks the hold first, gritting out, “Must not forget the pic.”

“We need that, stat.”

“So stat,” he says.

When the bartender returns with the drinks, I lift the tumbler and take a thirsty gulp.

It quenches nothing.

I grab my phone, ready to get this show on the road when a guy in a well-worn T-shirt, with shoulder-length hair, steps up to the bar right next to Luke.

“Hey there. Can I have a mojito?” he asks in a smooth baritone voice that sounds uncannily familiar.

“On the house, my man,” the bartender says.

Luke’s eyes pop, and he nudges me. “That’s the singer ,” he mouths. I’ve never seen Luke fanboy over someone, and it’s adorable.

“Hey, man,” Luke says to the guy, catching his attention. “Great show.”

The singer flashes an appreciative grin. “Glad you could come,” he says, then his brow knits, and he’s puzzling together who Luke is, and in a second, recognition dawns.

“You’re Luke Remington! Great season last year. Can you do it again?” he asks, powered by pure excitement. “I am a huge Leopards fan. Went to all the games growing up. Suffered through that two and fifteen season a decade ago.”

Luke winces. “My condolences. Sounds like you still have the scars.”

“And they still hurt,” he says, then he extends a hand. “Ethan Adair. Outrageous Record.”

“Yeah, we know who you are,” Luke says and they shake.

When they let go, Ethan extends a hand to me. “And you’re the shortstop, right?”

I smile, so fucking glad he recognized Luke first.

Luke cracks up, curling his hand around my shoulder. “Yeah, he’s the shortstop,” he deadpans.

We chat some more until the bartender swings by, slides the singer his drink, then looks from Ethan to Luke and me and back, saying, “Seriously, E? You break my heart, and now you’re picking up other guys in my bar?”

Ethan laughs. “I’m not that gauche, and I didn’t break your heart, dickhead.”

With a shake of his head, the bartender looks at us, like he needs a sympathetic audience. “It’s one thing to be friends with your ex,” he says, pointing at Ethan. “It’s entirely another to see him seduce the whole crowd.”

That’s a stark reminder. I can’t entertain more fantasies about a future with Luke. Because someday—someday soon—he’ll effectively be my ex.

Better that he’s an ex-hookup than an ex-heartbreak.

We really need that damn photo. I waggle my phone at Luke. “Should we do that pic? Maybe even of the three of us.”

Ethan says yes, so I snap a selfie.

“Want one of just the two of you?” Ethan asks.

“We do,” Luke says.

I move in next to Luke like I’ve done countless times before for other shots. But this isn’t another shot.

It’s the record of a lie.

Me smiling like I’m having a great time when I’m smiling to cover up this longing that has nowhere to go.

We thank Ethan, pay the tab, and leave. Out on the street, Luke says, “I wanted you to see that band. I knew you liked them. I got the tickets over the weekend.”

Something else clicks.

He might have acted all casual and offhand last night when he asked me out for tonight.

But this date was wholly deliberate. He planned it for me. Before we started forgetting to take pics.

My longing grows two sizes bigger.

Maybe one more night of great sex will get all this longing out of my system.

Once we’re back in the building, we pick up where we left off in his doorway earlier tonight. Alone, we lunge at each other in the elevator. All teeth and hunger. Unslaked thirst. We’re tugging at clothes. Grabbing at faces. Rubbing against hard-ons.

It’s ruthless and pent-up, like we both know this night is it.

When the elevator deposits us at the penthouse floor, it’s a miracle we make it down the hall without stripping. At my door, I fumble the code because he’s kissing the back of my neck.

“I’m not going to make it in the door if you keep doing that,” I warn him.

“That’d be a shame then to have to pin you against the door and fuck you like that.”

Lust claws at me. Desire is a hungry thing, a monster that won’t go away till you feed it.

“Such a shame,” I mutter, and I pray I can get the code right this time.

I manage and once we’re inside my home, he tugs me to the couch and pulls me on top of him, barely missing a beat. We’re grinding and pressing, and it’s wild.

Feral even.

I’m imagining that’s how it’ll be tonight. A bend-me-over-the-bed-and-bang-me fest.

My cock throbs at the thought.

He breaks the kiss, panting hard. “Bet you’re thinking about how fucking good it’ll feel with my dick sliding into you,” he says, reading my mind.

“That doesn’t make you a genius,” I say, staring at his lips, swollen from our merciless kissing.

“No, but it does make me right. And I like that better,” he says, smug, and deservedly so. But his cocksure smile disappears a second later.

That worries me a little. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says, then takes a pause. Swallows, nervously perhaps. “I meant it earlier, Tanner.”

“Meant what?” I ask, hoping he means the tickets, and that he’s going to say something about wanting another night, then another.

“When I said I want you to sit on my dick,” he says.

Oh.

Oh .

I grin. Second place isn’t so bad after all. Since I’m straddling him, I give him a preview, grinding my ass nice and slow against his insistent hard-on. “Like this? You want to fuck like this? This position?”

Luke shudders beautifully, his eyes floating closed. “Yes. I never get to…” He winces. Opens his eyes, embarrassment in them. “Shit. Is that selfish of me? Or totally fucking rude to say? Or both?”

I shake my head, absolving him. “Asking for what you want in bed is never selfish. It’s awesome.”

I rise up, reach for his hand, and pull him with me. “Get into my bedroom, Remy. And get me ready to ride that beautiful cock.”

I might not get everything I want, but I’m going to enjoy every single second of what I’m getting tonight.