Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
“As if either one of us would deny that,” I say.
“And, Declan, she’d also like to get a short bite for social on you and Grant as a couple. She’s great, though, so I expect you’ll get a direct how is it going and is it serious type of question. Are you good with that?”
“As long as she also asks Holden how things are going with the coach’s daughter,” I say, giving my teammate the side-eye.
“Bring it on.” Holden says. “Reese is fucking awesome. And it’s serious with us too.”
As Holden and Owen walk a few feet ahead, I noodle on how to answer Erin’s expected relationship-status questions.
Are Grant and I serious?
That’s a question I would have answered only one way until the dance club.
Fuck, yes.
But now, there’s the issue of our differences, and it’s nagging at me. What if we have different visions for the life we want?
The contrast between our public lives and our private one is starker than I thought.
I understand why Grant does the hard work of living by example—he makes it possible for men like us to be media darlings rather than a circus sideshow. But I want a quieter life. He wants a bigger one.
Do we want the same things for our future?
I know precisely what I want for us. I’ve known it since I moved in with him. It becomes clearer every day.
I want to marry him.
I want to spend the rest of my life with Grant Blackwood.
But I also want to be able to make him happy for the rest of our lives, and I’m not entirely convinced I can anymore.
When we reach the locker room, Erin waits outside, her mic and camera set up, her brown hair falling neatly along her shoulders. She says hello to the three of us and checks that we’re ready to shoot, then turns on a mic and positions herself in front of her tripod-mounted camera. “I’m here with Declan Steele and Holden Kingsley, who both joined the Dragons earlier this year. After the team’s World Series wins were tainted by the signal-stealing scandal, the Dragons continue to rebuild, and these two players are key. Do you feel you’ve helped turn things around?”
She offers the mic to Holden first.
“It’s been a good run so far this year, and we need to keep playing well and playing honestly the rest of the season.”
“And your thoughts, Declan, as the newest Dragon?”
“What he said,” I say with a wiseass smile.
Erin laughs.
“But seriously,” I add, “we have a great manager, terrific new talent, and every man on the team is looking ahead rather than behind.”
She fires off a few more questions about our upcoming series against the New York Minotaurs once the All-Star game is over, then she asks Holden about Reese. He answers as he’d said he would—without the f-bomb but with love in his eyes and sincerity in his tone.
It’s my turn next. “Declan, how is everything going with Grant Blackwood? Is it serious with the two of you?”
Yeah.
I want to marry him.
But I’m not going to say that to the camera before even I tell the man I love.
With those thoughts swirling in my mind, I give Erin an answer that’s true enough. “We’re living together, so I’d say it’s serious.”
And I seriously hope I’m not off-base thinking Grant wants the same thing.
10
Declan
The next day, Grant and I head to the ballpark early for the game itself, walking through the concourse to our respective locker rooms. “So, you’re calling for a slider in my first at-bat, right?”
“You wish,” he says.
“Great. Fastball then,” I deadpan. “Thanks for the tip.”
“Dude, I’m never sharing strategies with you. We’re going to strike you out, and your cocky attitude only makes me want to defeat you harder. You’re getting the personal Grant Blackwood guarantee on that.”
Glancing behind us, I make sure the coast is clear, then I shoot him a sly grin. “Can I get the Grant Blackwood guarantee of hardness?”
With a roll of his eyes, he grabs his crotch. “You always get that guarantee. Now, get the fuck away from me—you’re the enemy.”
“Bye, sweetheart,” I tease, then blow him a ridiculous air kiss. “See you in five days.”
“Hate to break it to you, but I’ll see you post-game. Pretty sure we’re heading to the airport together tonight for our flights, dickhead.”
“I love it when you use affectionate nicknames. Be sure to have a pot roast waiting for me when I return home at the end of a tough week on the road, honey-pie.”
“You can roast this . . . Mister Steele,” he says, giving me a salacious wink as he drags out the dirtiness in my last name.
One last look around, then I whisper to him, “We should order a limo to the airport instead of taking a Lyft. Want to? We can mess around in the back seat.”