30. Declan #2
She lifts her head, and a few seconds later, Grant returns, flashing me a smile that latches into my soul. That lights me up. That makes my fingertips tingle. My God, the desire to touch him, to slide a hand along his thigh, to wrap an arm around him—it’s so fucking powerful.
He’s one in a million, all right.
It’s not even the way he looks. It’s everything about him.
I have got to get it under control or I’m going to be staring at him like a starving cartoon character lusting after a turkey leg.
“Bond, James Bond,” Grant says in his terrible English accent.
“Slash.”
Emma lifts her head, laughing. “And I’m Maverick from Top Gun . Also, for the record, we just attained major dork status right now.”
“We so did,” Grant says. And as the third period begins, she drapes one arm around me, the other around Grant, and squeezes us.
Right then, the Cougars fan in front whips her head around again, asks, “Can I take a pic of all of you? I am such a huge Cougars fan.”
“Of course,” I say. Emma tucks the three of us a little closer and we smile for the camera. The seats in front of us are empty, giving the woman a clean shot. She snaps the pic.
Then she nibbles on the corner of her lips, points to me then to Grant. “Do you mind if I just get a picture of the two of you? The guys on the team?”
I pause for a second.
Pictures of the two of us. These are going to go online. These are going to be posted.
“Why don’t we take a picture with you in it?” I ask.
Her gray eyes widen. “Oh my God. That’d be amazing.” She climbs over the seat, switches with Emma, and Emma takes a picture of the three of us.
Just two pals.
Two baseball players. Flanking a fan. That’s all this is.
That’s all this can ever be, and I’d do well to remember that.
When the game ends, we find Fitz and hang out with him for a little bit at the arena. He and Grant chat about the game and when we leave, I offer to take Emma to her hotel.
She says yes.
In the car, Grant opens his phone, says he’s going to check Instagram, and finds the picture the woman snapped. He shows it to Emma and me at a light. “It’s no big deal. It’s just you and me and a fan.”
“It’s no big deal,” Emma says in a reassuring voice.
I cast my eyes to the screen. It’s nothing. It’s just two ballplayers. That is all.
But my heart is beating faster, and my mind is swirling.
What if she’d just taken a picture of me and Grant. Would everyone know? Would everyone be able to tell?
I grit my teeth.
“Hey! Idea. Instead of dropping me off first, do you want me to go in with you? To your hotel?” Emma asks. “So, we can hang out for a little bit before... you know.”
“Yes,” Grant jumps in, sounding relieved. I reach a hand to the backseat, set it on his knee. He covers my hand with his, and for that split second, everything feels right in the world.
“I’ll wait for you in the room,” he says in a quiet voice that’s just for me, even though she can hear our private plans.
But that’s okay. She’s helping with them.
That’s both a good thing and a bad thing. Because it’s part of the problem. The big problem.
I’m silent the rest of the ride.
I’m not even sure what to say. Maybe I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll say too much.
To Grant.
To Emma.
Most of all, to myself.
At the hotel, Grant takes off for his room, giving a quick goodbye, then bumping into Crosby and Chance as he heads to the elevator.
Relief floods me when they say hi to him, then swing their gaze to us. Waving hellos.
She’s the perfect cover.
Emma and I go to the lobby bar, where I order an iced tea and we make a show of being seen for twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes that last forever.
“You doing okay?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“How long will you keep doing this?”
“We set a time limit.”
“And what is that time limit?”
I wince, not wanting to think about it. It’s not even really a time.
It’s an action. It’s the end-of-our-sex plans, even though we still have another week or so of spring training.
But we agreed to finish this fling well before then.
The longer we hold on, the harder it’ll be to keep to the ground rules anyway, so it’s best that we stick to Grant’s dirty list. And we’ll have worked our way through it in twenty-four more hours. “Tomorrow night,” I say heavily.
She gives me a sympathetic smile, pats me on the knee, and then gestures to the door. “I really should go then. I’ll grab a Lyft.”
My stomach dips and plummets at the same time.
This thing with Grant is ending.
But not tonight.
“Thank you. For everything,” I say.
“Don’t mention it,” she says with a smile, and soon she gets into her car.
I shut the door, wave her off, and head straight for the stairwell.
Blinders on, I hope and I pray I run into no one.
Up the stairs I go.
One floor, two, three.
I’m all alone.
Until footsteps echo in the stairwell, heading down.
Someone’s singing a tune in another language. Portuguese, I think.
It’s Miguel. Seconds later, I come face-to-face with the other rookie on the landing.
“Hey man, what’s up?” he asks with a bright smile.
“Not much,” I say, cursing privately, smiling publicly.
“Saw New York killed Phoenix on the ice,” he says.
My brow furrows. Did he see the picture? Does he know we’re... together?
“Yeah, good game,” I remark, tension winding through my veins.
He lifts his chin, shooting me a reassuring grin. “G-man told us he was going with you.”
“Right. Sure,” I say, keeping my tone even.
“And your friend,” he adds, eyes locked on mine.
“Yeah.” I don’t say anything more. I don’t have anything else to say.
“All right. I’m gonna hit the pool. Want to join?”
I shake my head. I don’t even bother to fake a yawn. I don’t want to sell it to the jury. I just want to go. “Nah, I’m going to hit the hay.”
“Catch ya tomorrow.”
I dart out on the fourth floor, drag both hands through my hair, and breathe deeply.
I consider finding a fire escape or climbing a drainpipe up to Grant’s room. All this sneaking around is driving me insane.
But I won’t let him be the one caught.
Grant’s too young. Too new. Don’t want my guy to be running into teammates. Better for me to handle the run-ins.
I wait in the hallway, listening to the stairwell, texting Grant that I’m on my way. When it’s quiet again, I duck back into the stairwell, race up the steps to his floor, scan left, right, then just go.
I march down the hall, imagining a scorched earth of nerves behind me.
With every step, I burn off the worries.
I shed them.
I leave them behind.
And would it have been worth it, after all...
Yes, T.S. Eliot. The Rembrandt is worth it.
When I reach my guy’s room, I almost stop in my tracks as the realization hits me hard.
After only a few nights, I think of him as my guy.
And I’m motherfucking fine with that.
So damn fine with it.
I push open the door, find my guy on the other side, and kick it closed behind me. Grant rises from the couch, heads straight to me, and grabs my face. The rookie claims my mouth in a searing, passionate kiss that makes every stairwell encounter in the world worth it.
I see stars.
My whole body hums with pleasure as the universe goes out of focus. As need grips me.
From this sweet, desperate ache of a kiss.
I want to drown in his kisses.
I want to be smothered in them.
Want his mouth on me everywhere, unraveling me, taking me apart.
Like he’s doing to me right now.
But first, I’ll do all that to him.
When he breaks the kiss, he whispers hotly, “It’s just you and me now, Deck.”
“Me and you, rookie,” I say, and nothing beyond those doors matters for the next several hours.
He is mine.