Winning With Him (Men of Summer #2) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,40

him down on me so I can feel his full glorious weight stretched on top of me.

So I can let him in.

“Me neither. I’ve never been in love either,” I say, and then, because I’m dying to let him in, I kiss him.

It’s hot and wild.

And all kinds of dangerous.

Sparks ignite the sky as I scramble to get under him, to pull him on top of me. To feel him.

Declan’s on me in a heartbeat, knocking my legs open, giving himself room, covering me.

“Oh fuck . . .” I moan. It’s too much, too good, too everything.

I need to stop this.

I have to stop this.

But he feels too right.

Then we are grinding together, pressing, pushing. His hands clasp my head. Mine grab his firm ass. I jerk him closer, and we don’t stop.

We moan and grind and rub, and it’s like the first time we combusted in the back of his car and, at the same time, it’s so much more. Because it feels like he could be the big love of my life.

All I want is to get as close to him as possible, so I kiss him that way. Frenzied, frantic, putting all my emotions into a white-hot kiss as we devour each other’s lips.

As we slam our bodies together.

As our hard cocks line up, seeking each other.

Nothing in my life has ever felt this true. This real.

Except . . . baseball.

And something else too, which I learned tonight at the award ceremony.

Making a difference.

As I kiss Declan like it’s a prelude to fucking, I’m acutely aware of what I only suspected when I walked into his apartment.

I can’t have it all. I’m not strong enough. I can’t withstand the consuming intensity of how I feel for him. It’s going to destroy me—chew me up and spit me out. And I half want to let it, even though I won’t survive it.

That’s the problem.

Somehow, I wrench my mouth from his. “We have to stop.”

His breath shudders in a harsh pant, but he listens without hesitation.

Pulling away.

Sitting up.

Smoothing his wrinkled shirt then offering me a hand.

I take it, sitting up too.

Then, I say the words I might regret for the rest of my life. “I want to be with you, but I can’t.”

19

Grant

His brown eyes are broken—as devastated as mine, I suspect.

“You can’t be with me?” he asks, like my words don’t compute. Hell, they certainly don’t align with my actions tonight. Kissing him in the kitchen. Kissing him like I want to fuck him in the living room. Kissing him like there’s no tomorrow. But that right there is the problem. “I can’t, and maybe this sounds crazy, and maybe it is, but I’m too in love with you to be with you.”

He furrows his brow, shakes his head. “I don’t get it.”

“There’s no halfway for me, Deck. I can’t be just your off-season boyfriend.”

“That wasn’t what I was asking you for.”

“Are you ready, then?” I push because he has to see what this would mean. “Ready to be that exposed? For people to talk about our relationship instead of the game? We’d go from ballplayers to boyfriends.”

“I’m ready,” he says, and it’s almost like he’s digging his heels in. Like this is a come-hell-or-high-water pitch.

“But what if it doesn’t work out? You want to know what happens then?” I tap my chest. “Then I’m the guy whose heart was broken, and everyone knows it. I don’t mean everyone knows that two queer guys who used to be teammates fell in love. I mean the attention, the microscope, the way we’d be seen for that rather than for being good at the game.” I take a beat to drive the hardest point home. “And if you break my heart again, that’s all I’ll be.”

“What do you mean that’s all you’ll be?” Declan asks.

I stab my finger against my sternum. “I’ll be the guy who got dumped. You’ve been playing baseball for five years. I’ve got one year. One amazing year, but that’s it. I have to prove I’m not a fluke, that I’m not a flash in the pan. I have to play harder next year. Put up better stats.”

“And you will,” he says emphatically.

That’s the issue, though. The flashing red warning light. “But if I’m with you, I don’t know that I can. Want to know why?” I ask, laying my big, fat feelings for him on the line.

“I do. I really do.”

“Because,” I begin after a steadying breath, “I don’t know how to be with you