Chapter 6
TEAGAN
He’s towering.
I’m guessing he’s six foot twenty.
No wonder Adrian terrifies opposing batters. He has eyes like ice. They’re crystal blue, and they’re stunning.
I have no doubt he’s going to go for a million pretty pennies. Yet he has nothing on Ransom.
The man next to me is simply . . . delicious.
Even more so after our chat on the way over.
And I know how badly Ransom wants to beat these guys. Hell, I want him to. If we do, we can raise even more money for his chosen charity.
The look in Ransom’s eyes—fiery—tells me he wants me to play along with the whole we pretend to hate each other pretense.
But I decide to have a little fun with these guys.
I shake Adrian’s hand, answering his question. “I’m Teagan King, and I happen to be a big fan of hideous beasts.” Then I take Ransom’s arm. “And he’s the most hideous one of all,” I say, in a way that makes it clear he’s the complete opposite of grotesque.
“Oh, I love it when you call me names, dollface,” Ransom says with a twinkle in his eyes.
I give an over-the-top pout, tapping my finger against his nose. “You adore everything I do, my beast.”
He smiles all lovey-dovey. “I so do.”
Adrian furrows his brow, pointing from Ransom to me and back. “Hey, Puck Boy, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend till I saw you walk in with this belleza. How the hell is that possible?”
I flick my gaze to Ransom, and he shoots one back at me. A look that says, Go along with it.
Because that’s what these guys do. They one-up each other. That’s their hobby.
I squeeze Ransom a little tighter. “What can I say? He’s irresistible, and that’s why I came here tonight. Can’t let any other woman get her claws in this guy, can I now?”
“I don’t think anyone would want to,” Adrian says, but then he flashes me a grin. “Now tell me, Teagan. Are you honestly a fan of the world’s dullest sport?”
“Yes, are you a fan of long, dull games played on baseball diamonds, Teagan?” Ransom asks pointedly. “Inquiring minds want to know.”
I smile at Martinez, giving a my bad laugh. “Oh, when you said ‘dullest sport,’ I thought you meant auto racing.”
The Yankee chuckles and points at me. “She’s a keeper, Ransom. Don’t let this one get away.”
Ransom shoots me a sweet smile, then shrugs. “I won’t.”
A waiter circles by.
“Want to grab some drinks?” Martinez asks.
“See? I knew you guys were friends,” I say.
Martinez narrows his eyes.
Ransom hisses.
I roll my eyes. “You can’t fool me. But I can go along with this whole frenemies thing if you want.”
“Good answer, Teagan,” Ransom says as he snags three flutes and thanks the server.
With champagne in hand, Martinez looks my way.
“Moment of truth—what is your favorite sport, Teagan? But if you hate sports, please lie because that would devastate us.” He smacks Ransom on the shoulder, and I love that too—the little signs that these guys really are buddies, even though they pretend they’re not.
“I actually love baseball,” I say truthfully.
Ransom jerks his gaze to me, blinking. “Blasphemy.”
“What can I say? My dad was a huge fan, and we had season tickets for the Yankees,” I tell them. “He took me to a ton of games back in the heyday of Jeter and Williams, Posada and Rivera.”
Martinez brings his hand to his heart. “Those guys are my heroes. I watched them all late at night growing up across Europe, when I could get the games on satellite in Spain, Italy, sometimes in France. But wherever I was, one thing remained the same — Mariano Rivera is the greatest ever.”
“He’s the best. No one has ever been better.”
“No question. I look up to him, to Posada—to all those greats. It is an honor to play on the same team as the men I admired from across the ocean.” Martinez turns to Ransom. “And I take back everything I’ve ever said about you because your girlfriend is an angel.”
Ransom drapes an arm around me. “She’s pretty awesome, isn’t she?”
Martinez again looks from Ransom to me and back.
Something seems to spark in the cool blue eyes of the closer.
“May the best man win tonight.” He downs some of his drink, then looks at his watch.
“I should go freshen up before I have to strut onstage and crush your sorry ass. Carnale and I have our own side bet about the auction.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s it for?”
Martinez tips his chin at me. “When we saw you come in, Carnale laid a grand on the charity of your choice that your girlfriend won’t kiss you backstage if you win. I said she would. Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
He winks, claps Ransom on the shoulder, and strolls away.
In slow motion, Ransom turns to me, and when our eyes lock, neither one of us seems to know what to say.
I don’t know if I can speak.
All I can do is wonder.
I wonder what that kiss with him would be like.
When his eyes darken, flaring with something that looks like heat, I wonder how much he wants to know too.
A few hours later, when Ransom heads backstage, I make a beeline for the women’s room. Peeing, obvs. Then washing my hands. Double obvs. I touch up my gloss, check my hair, and take a breath.
I’m a little nervous, and I’m not a nervous person. So, I turn to my person.
Bryn.
I take out my phone and send a quick text. She’s my de facto family, my best friend. We met a few years ago in a grief support group. We’d both lost our parents. We were both alone. We needed each other. Our friendship was born from the ashes of others’ lives.
Teagan: Your crazy friend is ready to bid on your other crazy friend. Gah.
Bryn: Did you bring your piggy bank?
Teagan: Yes, and a hammer to smash it open. It’ll be like performance art right in the middle of an auction.
Bryn: Never a dull moment with you, girl. But I have to ask—are you okay?
Teagan: Of course. Why?
Bryn: The gah. You always say “gah” when you’re . . .
My phone trills in my hand, and I answer immediately. “Hey, girlie girl,” I say, keeping it light.
“That’s yet another giveaway.” Bryn really does know me too well.
“Ugh. I hate you and your mind-reader ways,” I say with a huff, leaning against the wall.
“What’s wrong? Why are you nervous? Do you feel like we pushed you guys together?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re always pushing us together.”
“Yes, because you two are the perfect couple,” she says, like it’s as factual as Newton’s Law of Universal Gravitation.
“I don’t belong with anyone, and you know that,” I say, sharp but clear. Because I’m not a one-person-or-bust kind of girl.
She sighs. “I know. I know. But maybe someday.”
“Doubtful.”
“So, why are you out of sorts?”
I roll my shoulders, trying to let go of the worries skating through me. “Eh, it’s just momentary nerves. Ransom is so competitive, and he wants to win this, and I want to win this. For the foundation, for his fundraising. That’s all.”
She’s quiet at first, then she asks, “Are you sure it’s not for any other reason?”
A reason like I really dig the guy? Yes, I’m sure that’s the reason. I’m positive. I’m damn positive, especially after that kiss comment, because I want to lay one on him and kiss him all night long. And maybe, just maybe, he wants that too. But then what would happen tomorrow?
“Just momentary nerves. Silly little things. Bye-bye, nerves.”
“Let me know how it goes.”
“I promise. Love you.”
“Love you.”
I end the call. Good thing she reached out. Talking to her reminds me what matters most.
My friends. Our friends. The whole family we’ve made in this city. These fluttery feelings aren’t worth jeopardizing that.
So, I leave them all behind and head into the auction.
It’s time.
I’m in the ballroom with hundreds of other dolled-up women and some spiffy men too. The Yankees shortstop is one of a few openly gay major league baseball players, and he’s notoriously single too, so I’m not surprised the men are lining up to bid on him.
I survey the crowd, assessing the competition, trying to glean an idea of who might be vying for Ransom tonight.
Maybe that brunette in the red dress? She’s studying a program for the night, and from where I sit, it looks like the page is open to the hockey players—three from Ransom’s team.
Or the blonde with her hair in a sexy-messy bun? It looks like she has hockey sticks as nail art, which shows some serious commitment.
Nerves skitter across my skin, but I try to rid them with a healthy dose of determination.
I draw a breath, steeling myself.
It could be anyone. Could be a guy too. But whoever is gunning for the forward, I’m going to run the table.
That’s the plan.
I’m going to get my man.
I’ll make the biggest bid for Ransom. I have no control over what anyone else goes for, but I can do my damnedest to win him for a kiss.
I mean, for a cause.
Win him for the cause.
I repeat that over and over in my head.
Don’t want to forget why I’m here.
The hostess—a polished and poised sports reporter from Las Vegas—strides across the stage.
“What a thrill to see so many of you here ready to bid on New York’s finest men!
I’m Lily Nichols, and I couldn’t be more honored to host this year’s charity auction,” she says in a voice I know from her on-air reports.
“We have quite a lineup tonight, so let’s get started with some of the New York Giants. ”
She introduces the running back from the team, who strides onstage, flashing a smoldering smile and filling out a suit quite nicely.
The audience hoots and hollers for the man as Lily rattles off Leon’s attributes.
“Leon loves to sing in the shower, spend time with his grandparents, and try new cuisines. Let the bidding begin.”
After some heated back-and-forth bidding, Leon goes for four digits, and some of the other football stars net a bigger payday before Lily segues to the NBA.
After she works her way through a handful of hoops players, she’s on to the Yankees, talking up Jose Carnale.
I tap my toe, wishing the hockey guys were next.