Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“Thank you,” I say, and then, regretfully add, “I should have been smarter.”
Christine faces me, full of wrath on my behalf. “Rafe, there’s nothing you could have done differently. Stop beating yourself up over that twat Lucas,” she says, then pays for our drinks and we grab them. We head out into the morning, continuing along the bay. “So, this other guy . . . will you see him again?”
I sip my Earl Grey, savoring the burn. Then I smirk. “As a matter of fact, I have a plan. I just need to put it in motion.”
“I want a report,” she says.
And I want to have one worth giving her.
I work on my scheme over the next day, and on Monday at work, I’m about to call the Dragons PR department and set things into motion when Theresa raps on the door. “Good morning, Rafe. Do you want a debrief before the marketing meeting, or were you able to review the market reports I sent yesterday?”
I give her a look of exaggerated disbelief. “Who do you take me for? Of course I read them.” I never go into a meeting unprepared. I would never insult my employees or partners like that even if it meant working on a weekend.
Which I regularly do.
“I like to keep you on your toes,” she says with a cheeky grin.
“And I hope marketing can keep me on my toes too,” I say.
I table the phone call to the Dragons and head to the conference room where the marketing department pitches me on new concepts for our upcoming lines. Some are good, some are duds, but one intrigues me.
Matthew Wong, an enthusiastic and insightful man in glasses, pitches me on what he calls the “you do you” concept. It’s got cheek as well as confidence, and I like it a lot.
Theresa and I meet with him one-on-one later to discuss what it would take to run with the idea.
“I’ll work up some details and show them to Theresa,” Matthew says, sounding excited to dive in.
“Perfect,” I say.
Then I return to my office and shut the door, breathe deeply, and click through my contacts until I find Marlow Winters. She’s the new owner of the Dragons, and we met at a charity fundraiser a few months ago.
I ring her up and the executive assistant passes me right through.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my boyfriend’s favorite underwear designer,” Marlow says when she answers.
“Your guy wears my designs? Color me impressed,” I say.
“You make hot briefs, Rafe. Women buy them for their men, and men buy them for their men,” she says.
My goal has been for men of all orientations to embrace my fashion, so that pleases me to no end. “World domination in underthings has been a dream since I was a lad.”
She laughs. “And mine was to own a baseball team. Look at us.”
“Indeed. In any case, I have a favor to ask. Something I’d love to do at your ballpark later this week.”
I make my request, and Marlow sounds delighted to make it happen. “My suite will be ready for you,” she promises, and as we ring off, I picture how I want the next time I see Gunnar to unfold. It’s an elaborate plan, but it’s not a date. By no means is it a date.
It’s a seduction.
10
SEX CHESS
Gunnar
I have the strangest feeling during Wednesday night’s home game.
It’s an extra electric tingle when I clobber a double into left field in my first at-bat. The sense there’s a spotlight aimed at third base as I field a scorching line drive the next inning. A roar in my ears as I cross home plate and score another run later in the game then find myself craning my neck to search the stands.
I have the sense someone is watching me.
Of course, there are a lot of people watching me. The ballpark is packed with fans letting loose the signature “Dragon roar” when prompted by the scoreboard.
But this is different. I can feel the attention of someone out there. Someone who wants me.
At the top of the ninth, I scan the crowd as I take the field. It’s impossible to make out individual faces, let alone expressions. But . . . what if?
Except, that’s fucking ridiculous. Rafe is not going to randomly show up at one of my games. Why should I think he plans to pursue this attraction?
Technically, he hasn’t pursued anything since the night we danced at Edge. All he’s done is flirt over text and a little over the phone.
Maybe he only likes games.
I’m the one who said Why don’t you surprise me? and then hung up.
There’s no reason he should take me up on it. He got what he wanted—a hot solo on his phone.
Dammit.
Maybe the video and the “shoot from the hip” challenge was too much, too soon. I only figured out I was bi a year or two ago so I barely have experience with guys at all, let alone with smooth, alpha, elegant billionaires who know exactly what they’re doing.