9. All My Past Mistakes
9
ALL MY PAST MISTAKES
Rafe
The next morning, I run along the San Francisco Bay, fog curling across the water, and try to solve the riddle of the third baseman. My running partner is thirty feet in front of me. So typical of Christine. But the distance leaves me with my thoughts—and that damned video. It plays on a loop in my head now. I’m... addicted.
I first saw Gunnar at Edge a week ago. My reaction to him was instant and primal. Pure chemistry. Before I knew his name or his taste or his scent, I wanted one thing—passionate sex with no strings attached.
But after challenging him, after he turned the tables on me, my want has shifted. I need more.
I’m not planning a romantic evening at a trendy new restaurant. I’ve been there and done that. I’ve walked down the path of emotional intimacy, and been led unexpectedly into the dark, nightmarish world of betrayal and deception. Love is a thief, and trust is its right-hand man, aiming a trigger at your heart.
Romance is off-limits for me and has been for some time. But Gunnar is too addictive to be an easy one-night stand. I liked the video he sent, certainly, but our phone call too. There’s his swagger. His confidence. His way with words, his daring attitude.
I haven’t wanted someone like this in ages. But Gunnar is a puzzle I need to solve. He’s full of contradictions to explore.
I want to tease him. Edge him. Make him beg for me. Fuck him into blissful oblivion.
My heart rate has nothing to do with the run and all to do with the dirty movie playing out in my mind.
I’m nearing the Ferry Building, and I need to clear my head or Christine will see right through me. My pulse pounds and my thighs shake over the final stretch of pavement as I let myself go blank, focusing only on the burn in my lungs.
Finally, I catch up with Christine, pacing in front of the terminal. Her dark hair is slicked back in a ponytail, and her face glistens. She’s grinning, though, because she beat me.
“Glad to see you still can’t catch me,” she says, waving over her shoulder toward the route we just finished.
“Glad to know you’ll never let my head get too big,” I reply.
She flashes a sweet smile that might fool others, but not me. I’ve known her since business school in London, when we bonded as two scrappy, come-from-nothing dreamers who made something of themselves. She runs a fitness empire—her affordable workout clothes are sold worldwide, including at her gyms, which are likewise reasonably priced.
“I trust I’m succeeding?” my London-born friend asks.
“My ego remains thoroughly subjugated,” I say, and she scoffs but still looks pleased to be the winner there too.
We walk along the water, talking as the fog burns away. “You were wretched at poker last night, Rafe,” she says, arching a questioning brow. “So, what’s on your mind?”
“Who says anything is on my mind?” I ask, evading the question.
She adjusts her ponytail. “I’ve learned your tells. You were distracted since you didn’t play at your normally ruthless best.” With that, she gestures to the entrance to the terminal. “Coffee? Tea?”
“Tea,” I say.
We head to our regular coffee cart, and she asks, “So, who is he?”
I turn to her with a dismissive laugh. “Why would you assume a man is distracting me?” Another dodge. Everything with Gunnar feels...private. I don’t know that I’m ready to share.
“I recognized that faraway look in your eyes,” she says, knowing me too well. “Who’s the guy?”
I sigh, frustrated that I’m so obvious. But Christine’s a true friend. She’s in my inner circle, and I trust her. “I met him at a club.”
She hums appreciatively. “Wait. Give me the visual first.”
I smile privately at the thought of Gunnar on the phone, telling me I’m such a visual person.
We reach the coffee cart, quickly placing orders, and I answer her while we wait. “The visual: Athletic. Muscular. Square jaw, blue eyes. The most confident, cocky person I’ve ever met.” But still willing to be led. That may be the most intriguing part. “He’s also charming.”
“Sounds delicious. As long as you don’t fall in love, propose, and nearly lose your mind and heart over him, what’s the problem?”
I sniff. “Thanks for the reminder of my past mistakes.”
“That’s what friends are for,” she says, squeezing my shoulder. “I won’t let that happen to you again.”
“Thank you,” I say, and then, regretfully add, “I should have been smarter.”
Christine faces me, full of wrath on my behalf. “Rafe, there’s nothing you could have done differently. Stop beating yourself up over that twat Lucas,” she says, then pays for our drinks and we grab them. We head out into the morning, continuing along the bay. “So, this other guy... will you see him again?”
I sip my Earl Grey, savoring the burn. Then I smirk. “As a matter of fact, I have a plan. I just need to put it in motion.”
“I want a report,” she says.
And I want to have one worth giving her.
I work on my scheme over the next day, and on Monday at work, I’m about to call the Dragons PR department and set things into motion when Theresa raps on the door. “Good morning, Rafe. Do you want a debrief before the marketing meeting, or were you able to review the market reports I sent yesterday?”
I give her a look of exaggerated disbelief. “Who do you take me for? Of course I read them.” I never go into a meeting unprepared. I would never insult my employees or partners like that even if it meant working on a weekend.
Which I regularly do.
“I like to keep you on your toes,” she says with a cheeky grin.
“And I hope marketing can keep me on my toes too,” I say.
I table the phone call to the Dragons and head to the conference room where the marketing department pitches me on new concepts for our upcoming lines. Some are good, some are duds, but one intrigues me.
Matthew Wong, an enthusiastic and insightful man in glasses, pitches me on what he calls the “you do you” concept. It’s got cheek as well as confidence, and I like it a lot.
Theresa and I meet with him one-on-one later to discuss what it would take to run with the idea.
“I’ll work up some details and show them to Theresa,” Matthew says, sounding excited to dive in.
“Perfect,” I say.
Then I return to my office and shut the door, breathe deeply, and click through my contacts until I find Marlow Winters. She’s the new owner of the Dragons, and we met at a charity fundraiser a few months ago.
I ring her up and the executive assistant passes me right through.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my boyfriend’s favorite underwear designer,” Marlow says when she answers.
“Your guy wears my designs? Color me impressed,” I say.
“You make hot briefs, Rafe. Women buy them for their men, and men buy them for their men,” she says.
My goal has been for men of all orientations to embrace my fashion, so that pleases me to no end. “World domination in underthings has been a dream since I was a lad.”
She laughs. “And mine was to own a baseball team. Look at us.”
“Indeed. In any case, I have a favor to ask. Something I’d love to do at your ballpark later this week.”
I make my request, and Marlow sounds delighted to make it happen. “My suite will be ready for you,” she promises, and as we ring off, I picture how I want the next time I see Gunnar to unfold. It’s an elaborate plan, but it’s not a date. By no means is it a date.
It’s a seduction.