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)
On the diamond, I take no prisoners. I calculate, and then I go for it, muscling and hustling out plays. There, the team depends on me.
Walking away from Rafe is an act of self-preservation.
I swear I’m about to pull it off when I hear leather soles slapping the concrete—wingtips, unless I miss my guess, and I won’t—coming closer. With a heavy sigh, I hunt for a plan B. At the corner, though, Rafe darts out his arm and grabs mine, tugging me to a stop.
“Where are you going?”
I don’t turn around. “Just walking home,” I mutter.
“You’re lying.” He says it like it costs him something to control his temper.
I scoff. “I live in Hayes Valley,” I say, gesturing in that direction. “I’m literally walking home.”
“That’s easily four miles away.”
He doesn’t loosen the grip on my wrist. Maybe I don’t want him to. Maybe some part of me wanted him to chase me.
I shrug, still not facing him. “I like exercise.”
“So do I. But you’re not walking home for exercise. You’re running away from me.”
This man is no bullshit. I can’t get away with anything with him. He has X-ray vision, and it’s terrifying.
I face him at last, head up, man to man. “Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. The private suite, the club tonight. The dinner, the limo—everything. But I do like to walk, and you don’t have to take me home.”
He sighs, annoyed, and shakes his head. “Gunnar, I’m not going to keep chasing you.”
Yup. X-ray glasses. Dammit.
I sigh, shoulders slumping. “Look, I don’t want to take advantage of your generosity.” That is true. I don’t want to get caught up in him, and his generosity is part of what makes him so appealing.
“You’re not,” he says. “I wanted to take you there. I want to take you home.” His exhale is too sharp to call a sigh. “But if you’re going to keep running off into the night, I’m done.”
I blink. I didn’t expect him to be so blunt, but I shouldn’t be shocked. Rafe has always laid out the choice and said take me or leave me.
But the choice is still open. I might as well take the second chance.
“If you insist.” I flash a smile, laying on the charm and hoping it lessens his irritation.
It does not.
He rolls his eyes. “Get in the fucking car. And if you keep this up, I will tie you up and smack your ass,” he murmurs.
And just like that, I’ve got another fantasy to add to my list. “Seems like we’d both win then.”
“Yes, we would. That’s my point, Gunnar. We can both win. Now, let’s go.”
A minute later, we’re in his limo again. As soon as Barrett shuts the door, I apologize to Rafe.
With deeds, not words.
I climb onto his lap and kiss him. A little deep, a lot passionate. Then I slide off his lap, watching his expression. “Thanks for the ride.”
A knowing flicker of mischief in his eyes acknowledges my apology. “Anytime.”
We’re both quiet for a few minutes as the car cruises through the darkened city. I realize I don’t know if he meant mine or his when he said he’d take me home.
I bite my lip to keep from saying, “Can I go home with you?” Someone who wants a relationship might ask that, but that’s not me. Besides, I made a bet with the guys, and I don’t want to cough up one hundred grand, even for charity.
I made that bet figuring there was no chance in hell I’d lose. To lose, I’d have to fall, and that won’t happen.
I turn to Rafe. “Do you need my—?”
“I have a question for you.”
We blink in sync, just like we’d started our questions, and that makes me laugh. He laughs too. It’s the first time I’ve seen him even slightly flustered. It’s fucking adorable, the crinkle around his eyes, the sweetness in his smile. And it’s a relief after my attempted getaway.
Rafe gestures toward me. “You go first.”
I shake my head. “No way. You.”
He raises his chin, once more serious and polite. “Do you have a car at the ballpark?”
I wither a little inside. I had hoped for an invitation to his home. Some ravenous, greedy part of me was craving another round with him. But I shrug that off, acting casual. “Nope. I took a Lyft.”
“I’ll give you a ride to your home then.” After a pause, he asks, “Or would you prefer I not know your address? Is that the issue?” He says it gently, offering me that boundary as if it wouldn’t bother him in the least.
Maybe nothing hurts him.
Maybe he is made of steel—his cock and his heart.
“No, it’s fine.” I’m overreacting—feeling too much, wanting too much, hoping for too much.
Hope is a dangerous thing. Feral, really.
I give him my address as if it barely matters, and the car heads that way. As we whoosh through each green light, the limo’s clock seems to tick louder. The end of the night is crashing into us.