Winning With Him (Men of Summer #2) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,55

forever. “We did, Deck. We definitely did.”

We could break more, I want to say.

But now isn’t the time to steer us in that direction. “I’m glad you told him. I think,” I add with a laugh.

Grant chuckles too. “I’m glad I told him. He’s easy to talk to.”

“Seems like it.”

“Your mom is for you? Easy to talk to?”

I give a light shrug. “You know talking was never my strong suit. But I’ve been getting better at it.”

“Have you now?” His lips curve in a grin, like I’ve said the best thing ever.

I nod, drumming my fingers on the table. “About things that matter, yes. I mean, I can talk all day about nothing. But important things? I’m learning how to talk about them.”

“Good.” Then his voice dips even lower, a wisp of sound in the space between us. “I noticed you were chatty when you called after the World Series.”

“I was. I could have talked to you all day,” I murmur.

“We almost did. Then we almost did again on Christmas.”

“That was a good call too.” My fingers itch to touch him. Hell, my whole body is humming. But I can’t be this close to him in public when I’m not sure I can hide what I want.

I want time with him. Time alone.

To talk.

To touch.

To explore.

His expression shifts, his eyes darting to the press of bodies. All around is the soundtrack of chatter, glasses clinking, and tasteful background music.

It won’t be long before someone commands our attention. That’s how it goes at these events. You never get more than a few minutes to catch up with anyone.

It’s the span of an at-bat. When you see your pitch, you have to swing.

I’m about to go for it—to ask what he’s up to tomorrow—when Grant clears his throat. He turns his back to the crowd, his body language signaling don’t talk to us.

“Listen,” he starts roughly, and I tense.

Listen is one of those roadblock words.

A warning sign.

Stop. Do not pass Go.

Listen could slay me.

But if I’ve learned anything in the last nine months of therapy, it’s that not only do I need to talk about shit, I also need to know when to shut up.

24

Declan

Listening pays off.

His next words are an invitation.

“I have a thing tonight with one of my sponsors. And my grandpa’s in town, staying the night at my house,” he says, barely audible.

Even next to him, I have to strain to hear. “Keep going,” I say. I definitely want to hear what’s next.

“But are you around tomorrow?”

My lips quirk in a grin. “I can be.”

“Is that so?” He’s all flirty undertone again, and I dig it.

“Yes. What do you have in mind?”

His eyes lock with mine. He licks his lips, then mouths, “Meet me for that . . . not-drink?”

The whole world slows to this second. The earth narrows to the two of us. This feels like the start of something entirely new.

Something so different from the past.

We’re different. I know I’ve been changing in all sorts of ways—putting myself out there more, facing hard truths, expanding my mind along with my heart.

Grant isn’t the same either. He’s not that wide-eyed rookie covered in ketchup and laughter, the eager newbie looking up to his idols on the field. At twenty-seven, he’s one of the best players in the majors, a clutch performer, a businessman—and more than that, he’s an activist.

A leader in all the ways he hoped to be.

I don’t know that I deserve him. But I know this—I want to deserve him. I want to be worthy.

I’m almost ready, I can hear myself saying to Carla in our most recent session.

But I’m not letting this chance—if that’s what it is—pass me by. “I’ll be there. Text me a time and a place, okay?”

“I will. Let’s say six.”

I tap my temple. “It’s locked in.”

He names a place too, tells me he’ll make a reservation. I want to pump a fist because I don’t even have to wait for the text.

We’ve done it. We’ve made plans.

I’ll see him alone in less than twenty-four hours.

Grant parts his lips like he’s about to say something, but then he shakes his head, seeming to think the better of it.

“Good seeing you, man,” he says in his regular voice, and claps me on the back.

A bro clap on the back.

But it doesn’t faze me. I know I’m not just one of the guys to him. No more than he is to me.

Well into that night’s ceremony, Nadia takes to the stage to present what