Winning With Him (Men of Summer #2) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,21

head out of my apartment to catch the subway to the ballpark. As the train rumbles out of the station on its way to the Bronx, my phone buzzes with an incoming text.

My dad’s name appears on the screen.

Bracing myself for bad news, I click open the thread.

* * *

Dad: Look at this beauty! Our truck is so spiffy!

* * *

A photo follows—a shot of his new tow truck with the logo of Two Cousins Towing emblazoned on the side.

A small smile pulls on my lips.

I don’t usually smile when my dad’s involved, but a quick scan of our text thread from the last few months is the reason I do now.

Like this one from a month ago.

* * *

Dad: I got my one-month chip. Thank you.

* * *

It’s the tenth time he’s earned a one-month chip. Or maybe the fifteenth. I don’t know. Still, maybe this time it’ll stick.

Then there’s this message from earlier in the summer.

* * *

Dad: Thank you, thank you, thank you. You saved our business. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Also, that was a helluva game last night. You do me proud on the field. And off the field.

* * *

As I look at the latest picture of the truck, I have plenty of questions and doubts. Is he better? Will he stay sober this time? Will his business make it? I wish I knew.

But all I know is the last five months have been peaceful enough, giving me plenty of time to think.

Plenty of time to consider everything I could have done differently.

Sighing, I write back to my father.

* * *

Declan: It’s a beauty, all right.

* * *

Then I close the thread and picture how I want today to go.

11

Grant

As the plane taxis along the runway in San Francisco, ready to fly to New York, I send a text to River.

* * *

Grant: Dude, we are in playoff contention. Let me say that again—we are in playoff contention.

* * *

River: And that is exactly why your game will be on the big screen tomorrow at The Lazy Hammock. Though, confession: I would play it anyway. Of all the major sports, baseball uniforms are my fave.

* * *

Grant: Understandable. Too much padding with hockey and football. Not to mention helmets.

* * *

River: You know me so well.

* * *

Grant: But what about basketball? Isn’t that kind of the least amount of clothes? Wouldn’t that be your favorite?

* * *

River: Hun, my fav is . . . wait for it . . . swimming! Hello, itty-bitty bathing suits. Come to River.

* * *

I laugh as I type out a reply.

* * *

Grant: Of course Speedos are your favorite.

* * *

River: Yours too. Just admit it. You love watching swimming.

* * *

Grant: Honestly, I like hockey for the strategy.

* * *

River: Said no one ever. Anyhoo, keep me posted on how it goes seeing Mr. Tall, Dark and Totally History. Also, strike his ass out.

* * *

I grin as I read his last text, loving the sentiment, loving that he’s in my corner.

* * *

Grant: That’s up to the pitchers, but I’ll do my part.

* * *

River: I have no doubt you will. And I’ll see you soon. I’m heading back to SF later in the fall to visit family. We’ll have to check out the best gay bars in the city. I insist. It’s research. Wink, wink.

* * *

Grant: Right. It’s only for research.

* * *

River: Fine, fine. Research and hookups. I can totally multitask. What about you?

* * *

Grant: I’ll let you know when I’m ready.

* * *

I turn off the phone as the plane takes off, soaring into the sky.

Will I be ready then? Who knows—I haven’t hooked up with anyone since spring training.

Maybe that’s for the best. My stats certainly seem to think so. We’re well into September, and I’ve already hit more than thirty home runs. Plus, my batting average is more than .300. I have zero complaints.

Once we reach our cruising altitude, Crosby unhooks his seatbelt, strolling down the aisle to my row. “Rookie,” he says, his voice gruff, like he’s the commander initiating an inquisition on a submarine. “How are your socks?”

“My socks?”

Crosby stares sharply at me. “Yes. Your socks.”

“My socks are just fine.” I tug up the bottom of my jeans to show him my purple socks with zebra print. They’re a gift from my sister—purple is her favorite color, and zebras were her favorite animal growing up. Giving each other silly socks is a long-running