Say You’ll Stay (Mango Bay #1)

Chapter 1

Oscar

“The thing I love the most about the facility?” I confirm the question with Sloan Barrett, a huge podcaster who has a gigantic following on social media.

And, I mean why wouldn’t she?

She is a super hot, tall blonde with killer legs from years of being a starting kicker on the pro football team, The Moonshines, right here in Mango Bay.

When she tore her ACL and couldn’t play anymore, The Moonshines helped her start her podcast, Boss Kicker Chronicles, where she spends her time interviewing professional athletes here in Mango Bay.

“That’s easy,” I say, walking towards that very spot, eager to not only show the space off, but also excited as hell to see my girl.

She’s had a busy morning. “The Studio. We’re known for dancing, right?

So this is where all the magic happens. Plus, there’s the little bonus that my girlfriend, Tatum, is our choreogra—”

As I open the door, my words cut off, my pulse quickens, and bile rises in my throat as I take in the scene in front of me.

“What was tha—” Sloan’s question is also cut short by the loud moan escaping Tatum’s lips as Rafael, our center fielder, nails her from behind.

My mind is having a hard time connecting the dots, almost as if it has short circuited.

His hands are on her hips.

My hips.

It’s not a tight grip full of urgency and lust. It’s soft. Familiar.

“Holy shit!” she whispers in a moan, clearly unaware of the fact that I am standing in the doorway on my phone, or that 2 million people are tuning into this live interview.

Tatum is bent over a speaker in the corner, her leggings around her thighs. Rafael’s shorts are pooled at his feet, and he just keeps pounding into her from behind.

The image is branding a memory as I watch it unfold, and each movement stings like pinpricks. Sharp on contact, but leaves a burn in its wake. A burn that spreads far and wide, settling into the tissue of the dark corners of my mind.

I look up at Sloan on the screen and realize that the entire scene before me is playing out for all the viewers tuning into the podcast as it reflects in the mirror behind me.

It’s only been seconds, but it feels like years. Watching my girlfriend of three years, the love of my life, banging my teammate. No, he’s more than that. We’re like brothers. Or so I thought.

“Ozzie,” Sloan’s voice raises, in warning.

I shake my head trying to free the image from the tangled web of emotion stirring inside me. I quickly close the door and move down the hallway. Just as I see a comment from a viewer pop up on the screen.

Moonshot#1fan: I guess that really is where all the magic happens.

Just as quickly as the comment pops up, it is buried by a stream of other comments that come in faster than anyone can read. Jax comes running down the hallway with a sympathetic glance in my direction as he takes my phone from my hand, taking over the interview for me.

“Today is your lucky day Sloan, you get a Mango Bay two for one. Hi everyone, I’m Jax Calder. You will never guess my favorite thing about the facility. The hotdog stands on 3…” His words fade away as he makes his way towards the stadium, no doubt to eat a mango dog while on camera.

Thank fuck he was watching, because that motherfucker just saved me.

I collapse on the floor a few feet from the studio and pull my knees to my chest, resting my arms over them. My mind is completely void—except for what I just witnessed, replaying over and over in a never ending loop.

A few minutes later, Tatum and Rafael come walking out of the studio like they weren’t just fucking for the whole world to see. I watch the comfort behind his touch as his hand rests on the small of her back and the way her body leans into his as they walk out of the studio.

Tatum’s eyes widen when she notices me, and then they dart between me and Rafael.

She opens her mouth to speak, but I cut in before she has the chance.

Realizing this has been going on behind my back for who knows how long, something inside me shifts, and the hurt turns to pure hatred.

“Let me save you the dramatics, T,” I rise slowly, and clench my hands into fists at my side, trying like fucking hell not to beat the shit out of Rafael.

Clearly she was enjoying herself, so I have no reason to be more pissed at him than I am at her.

“I just saw the little routine you two were rehearsing in there.” I emphasize the word “little” as I look Rafael up and down for effect.

“Not quite made for the main stage, looked a little sloppy, but I’m sure the fans will love it,” I flash a snaky smile in their direction before heading up the hallway in the direction Jax went.

“Only the ratings will te—” I begin to say, but Horner, our owner, the fun, free spirited mastermind behind Mango Ball, is walking towards us with a death glare in Tatum and Rafael’s direction.

I look back at them before he can say a word, “Oh, this might be a good time to tell you, when I walked in on your rehearsal, I was on BK Chronicles with Sloan Barrett and 2 million of her closest followers. Unlucky for you, mirrors are everywhere in there, and those fuckers hold no secrets.”

They both stare at me mouths agape.

I might have had the last, well only, word, but that doesn’t stop the hurt from creeping back in.

I was going to marry her. Not today, not even this year, but I swore she had the midnight blue gaze of my future babies.

Suddenly, questions I don’t want the answers to start coming at me in rapid fire and my steps quicken to keep up with the whirling thoughts.

How fucking long?

Why?

Why there?

He’s not hung, I saw it.

My thoughts are interrupted as Jax meets me at the bottom of the stairs leading to level 3 with a giant mango dog in his hand, sauce dripping down his fingers.

“How the fuck do you eat that shit?” I ask in disgust.

“You and a few million other people just walked in on your girl getting railed by one of our best friends, and that’s the first thing out of your mouth?” He takes another bite. “Are you ok? No, fuck that, of course you’re not ok. What do you need?”

I stare at him for a minute contemplating his question.

What do I need? It’s been a long fucking time since I actually thought about that.

I’m usually consumed with making every one of Tatum’s desires a reality.

Going out of my way to bring her coffee, taking her car to the wash, walking her dog, massaging her back, even giving her multiple orgasms when we have sex, always making sure she finishes first.

I take a deep breath, as if the air itself could gather the scattered pieces of my heart and hold them gently in place. Right now, they feel like tiny little strings dancing around in the wind with no direction. No purpose.

“Cold beer, a hot pussy, and the pain of fresh ink,” I reply with no expression.

Jax quirks a brow, grabs his phone and shoots off a text to the group, not giving a fuck that Rafael is in it.

When my phone pings with the incoming message, I pull it out and smile.

Jax: What do we do when one of our own turns out to be a filthy bag of dicks? We get our man laid. Ruby’s at 8:00.

Jax, my man, always comes through. He gives me a pat on the shoulder and walks towards the stairs.

My mask stays up until he is out of sight, and then, it’s too much.

All the adrenaline from the last 30 minutes or so leaves my body and I stand there unable to breathe, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and heat burning behind my eyes as I try to hold in the tears threatening to break free.

One of the concession stand workers walks by and gives me a sympathetic smile, and I can’t even form words to respond to them.

I just stand there, frozen, until the click of the concession door snaps my resolve, and I rush over to the trash can a few feet away and lose all the food I’ve consumed today.

How did I not see this coming?