Winning With Him (Men of Summer #2) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,44
Vegas with some friends.”
My heart sinks. “And?”
“Lost a few thousand at the slots. Lost his sobriety. Lost his wife again,” he says heavily.
“Sorry, man. How are you doing with all that?”
He jerks his gaze to meet mine, as if no one else has ever asked him that before. Maybe no one has. Maybe he hasn’t ever told anyone the details. “Managing,” he says. “I’m managing.”
“Good to hear.”
Crosby’s voice cuts in as the rest of the guys return to the pool table. “Another round?”
We play a few more games, and I go home alone.
Later in the fall, when I’m out with River at the competition, as he calls it, he makes a declaration. “I want to move back to San Francisco. Officially. I miss my family a lot. Dad, and Mom, and Echo. All my cousins. And my college friends—like Owen. He’s in the city, and he’s just one of a ton of friends I have here.”
“Owen? The one you vowed never to sleep with?” I ask with a lift of a brow. River’s mentioned his friend plenty of times, as well as the friends don’t bang friends pact they struck in college.
“Don’t say that so doubtfully,” he chides.
“Pretty sure there’s no other way to say it.”
“Anyway, I found a location for the bar, and I’m lining up the loans. I have a great manager to run the Phoenix bar, so I’m going to do it.”
“A most excellent gay bar in every city,” I say, tipping my beer bottle against his.
“You know I’m using that as the slogan,” he says.
“I already told you it was yours.” I go to take a drink, but before the beer touches my lips, I set it down. An idea has sprung into my head, fully formed. “You want a business partner? Someone to help with the financing?”
“Um . . . sure? Who do you have in mind? Adam Lambert? Because yes, yes, yes.”
I laugh. “Or me.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious.”
He jerks his gaze back. “You want to go into business together?”
I sweep my arm out to indicate the bar behind us, teeming with men. “Dude, I love gay bars. They make the sex lives of queer men ten thousand times easier than Grindr. No one on Grindr ever looks like their pic. So, yes, I would love to go into business with you.”
He arches a wry brow. “You want to go into business together to support everyone’s sex life?”
“I am sex positive. Why? Is that such a bad reason?”
“Hell no!” He grins and sticks out his hand. “Hun, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Six months later, Miguel gets married in the Presidio with a view of the Pacific Ocean, and I see Declan at the wedding. He looks so fucking good in a suit, and I half wish I could dance with him.
Maybe more than half.
Instead, we talk about baseball and wish our friend well.
The next week, River opens The Lazy Hammock in SoMa with me as a backer. It’s fantastic, but I don’t pick up any men there. The Lazy Hammock will always remind me of just one guy.
A guy I’m determined to fall out of love with.
It’s been nearly two years since I met Declan, and every day I’m closer to that goal.
The next season, my batting average goes up a point. We make it to the playoffs, but not the World Series.
I sign a new contract and get another tattoo. Rodriguez retires, and we throw him a party, wishing him well.
I do a series of videos for the Alliance, which kicks off a spate of volunteer speaking opportunities with queer teen athletes at various groups around the country. I ask Crosby and Chance if they want to help out now and then through some of the Alliance’s Be A Better Ally projects and, happily, they do.
The guys and I become closer friends. Our bar debates ramp up, and Chance and I rib Crosby for his terrible taste in women—the man has a thing for very bad girls who want to take advantage of him. Chance and Crosby mock me for my swagger. They start teasing that when I order DoorDash, I’m really getting a blow job from a hookup. I just laugh, and let them think that, because it amuses me. And because they don’t need to know.
From our friendship off the field, our volunteer work together, and most of all, how we play, the three of us become the three musketeers. The media starts referring to us as the Cougars Trio, calling us the