The Right One - Felice Stevens Page 0,19

for Cantrell to make up his mind, Leo unmuted the television, and the sounds of the ball game filled the apartment.

“Are you sure you’re not running a nightclub with all that stuff?”

“I used to bartend in college. I was known for Sex on the Beach.” Leo picked up the bottle of vodka.

Cantrell’s jaw dropped. “What?”

Leo snickered. “Mind out of the gutter, 5C. The drink. It’s sweet but packs a punch.”

“Like you?” Cantrell shot back, then realizing what he said, clapped a hand over his mouth. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

Well, now.

Leo mixed the drink and brought it over to him. Their fingers brushed when Cantrell took the glass.

“I’m not that sweet. And I don’t hit people.” Leo smirked and raised his beer. “Cheers.”

He watched Cantrell take a sip and lick his lips. Desire rocketed through Leo, but he tamped it down. He wasn’t about to dip his wick where he lived, and especially not with a guy like Cantrell. If anyone screamed forever, it was Morgan Cantrell, and Leo knew if they fucked, he’d expect hearts and flowers. Leo wasn’t the right one for that.

“Let’s watch the game,” he blurted roughly as Cantrell took another swallow. “These bastards need to keep their winning streak of one going.”

“Yeah, their pitching sucks. They need better arms if they’re going to make a run for the series.”

Leo’s jaw dropped. “You like baseball?”

A crooked smile tipped up one corner of Cantrell’s mouth. “Duh. My father and I used to go to every opening game when I was a kid. We’d take the train to the city and make a night of it.” He gazed into his glass. “I miss those days. Everything was easier then.”

“Tell me about it,” Leo muttered. His stomach growled, and without thinking, he picked up his phone. “You wanna order a pizza?”

What the fuck?

Cantrell seemed just as surprised. “I wasn’t inviting myself over for dinner.”

“Didn’t think you were. I’m hungry, and you’re here. If you want a slice when it comes, feel free.” He placed the order. “I got cookies for dessert, remember.”

Cantrell stared at him over the rim of his glass, his lips quirked in that same crooked smile. “Yeah. Okay. I guess.” He drained his glass. “I don’t drink hard liquor much, but this was really good.”

He’d already figured out Cantrell was one of the good guys. A get-up-in-the-morning, brush-his-teeth, eat-his-bowl-of-cereal type, because breakfast was the most important meal of the day. The kind of guy who’d never send his meal back in a restaurant because he wouldn’t want to make waves. A maker of cookies because he didn’t want someone mad at him. A guy who always played by the rules.

Unlike Leo.

Leo didn’t like rules, and he wanted to see Morgan Cantrell loosen up.

“Have another.” He plucked the glass off the coffee table before Cantrell could answer, and made him a second, stronger drink. “You don’t have work tomorrow, right? You’re a teacher, and it’s summer.” He handed the glass over. “Have a little fun.”

“I don’t usually drink anything but wine, and even that, no more than a couple of glasses.” Doubt still clouded his eyes, but he took the glass and sipped. Leo finished his beer, and they watched the game.

“That was a great pitch. Oh, wow. He’s got them swinging. I bet he ends up leading them in strikeouts this season.”

Cantrell’s chattiness should’ve grated on Leo. He liked his silence. Occasionally Peter would come over to hang out when his wife went to New Jersey to drop the kids off at her mother’s and have a girls’ day with her sister, but aside from him, Leo didn’t have people over. Not since he and Diego broke up.

“He struck him out on three pitches. I knew it!” Cantrell cheered and drank down half his Sex on the Beach. “Wasn’t that amazing?”

“Fucking fabulous.” The buzzer sounded, and Leo hurried over to the intercom. “Yeah?”

“Delivery.”

He turned to Cantrell, who lounged in the chair, twisting a strand of silky hair in his fingers, full bottom lip caught between his teeth. Long legs dusted with dark hair splayed in front of him. Leo always liked the long, lean, muscled type, and Cantrell had that nice whip-tight body. Taut and firm in all the right places. Lust punched him in the stomach, and his vision blurred.

“Gonna get the pizza.”

God, he needed to get out of there, and without waiting for an answer, raced out of the apartment and to the front door. The delivery guy handed him the hot box, and for a