“I’m sorry I can’t make it to your game.”
I shove him away playfully. “No, you’re not.” I pull my keys out of my pocket and unlock my car. “But you can make it up to me.”
I wink, and he shakes his head at me, but he’s grinning from ear to ear. “Lead the way.”
I hop into my car and do just that, leading him to his place.
We don’t have much in common. I know he’d rather eat glass than go to my baseball game. And I’ll never understand the hell he went through when he was younger.
But when we’re together, wrapped up in the sheets of his bed later that evening, sweaty and breathless after him owning my ass—literally—and finally being deep inside of me again, none of that matters. I lay my head on his naked chest and listen to his heartbeat.
I just wish we could stay like this forever and the rest of the world didn’t matter.
Only us.
THIRTY-ONE
“Okay. Tell me why the hell we’re spending our Friday night here, of all places,” Fletch whines as we walk through the parking lot full of cars toward the baseball fields.
“As if you had so many other important plans,” I joke, trying not to run back to Bree’s car. What the hell am I doing here?
“Oh, I did. I had a plan with my textbooks. Finals are coming up.”
Bree rolls her eyes, kicking a rogue rock off the pavement to the side. “You can afford one night off, genius boy.”
I grin at her. She always has my back, even though I know she doesn’t want to be here either.
“Some of us care about our academic careers,” he singsongs and wraps his meaty arms around her small shoulder.
“Someone needs to get laid,” she teases before she elbows him playfully when he doesn’t release her.
“Oh yeah, Bree Bree? You’re one to talk,” he jokes back.
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling because it feels like old times with them. We give each other shit. It’s what we do. But the truth is none of us know how to connect with other people long enough to date.
We don’t date. We don’t trust. We just don’t.
Until now.
My eyes move slowly to the baseball dugout and instantly zone in on Grayson’s big body as he stretches with a bat in his hand. The game has already started and is in the third inning, according to the scoreboard, with the away team up by two.
Grayson looks calm, though, as he approaches the plate. I wish my eyes weren’t glued to the sinful way his baseball pants hug that delectable ass I’ve been inside, but they are. They so fucking are. I can’t look away.
“Seriously though.” Fletcher nudges me, pulling my hungry gaze from Grayson and back to him and Bree. “Why the hell are we here?”
Bree’s eyes meet mine, but they don’t seem to pressure me to tell him. Still, Fletcher might as well be my brother, and even though I don’t really understand what’s going on with Grayson and me, I know I want to keep doing it. And that means I don’t want to hide it from the most important people in my life.
I meet his confused gaze. “I’m kind of fooling around with one of the players.”
He doesn’t look too surprised as he looks toward the field just as we hear the clink of the bat when Grayson smashes the ball way out into the outfield. The crowd loses their shit around us, hollering at a deafening volume.
Fletch turns back to me. “Fooling around?”
I nod, waiting for him to say more and feeling a nervous tingle in my gut about what he might say. I shouldn’t worry. I know he’s a good person.
“Which one?” He turns to watch Grayson round the bases and then turns back to me, his eyes wide. “You’re fucking Grayson Lancaster the third? Are you kidding me?”
“Or is he fucking you?” Bree teases with a grin.
“I’m glad we can be mature about this,” I deadpan, keeping my eyes on Grayson as his feet land on home plate.
He sees me, and his shit-eating grin is bright and telling. He’s going to give me so much shit for showing up tonight, but I can tell he’s glad I’m here.
“But really? Grayson?” Fletch demands my attention again, and I nod.
“Yeah. Is that a problem?”
His brows furrow as he thinks it over. I know it has nothing to do with Grayson being a guy and everything to do with the way we grew up—despising privileged people with money.
“You really like him?”
I nod my head once. “Yeah. I do.” I clear my throat and straighten my shoulders. “He’s not at all who I thought he was. He’s good, Fletch.”
His eyebrows furrow closer together as his forehead wrinkles deep in thought. “He’s a third. He comes from more money than we could ever imagine. He’s had brand new cars handed to him at every birthday and every Christmas. Like, no joke, the fucker gets a new car nearly every month.”
That’s an exaggeration, but point taken. “He can’t help that he comes from money any more than we can help that we don’t. And I believe your car is pretty damn shiny and new.”
He folds his arms over his wide chest. “He’s a jock.”
“So?”
He looks back over at the baseball field, and so do I as another hitter comes up to the plate. “This really does it for you? The tight pants and the goofy-ass hats?”
Bree bites her bottom lip and nods in appreciation as she watches the guys dressed in the same baseball uniforms. “Oh yeah. I can see that.”
“What?” I laugh and look at her. “Tell me you don’t have a newfound jock fetish.”
She cackles and then shrugs. “Maybe. I tried the broody artist thing, but it didn’t quite work out.” She leans against me, and I hug her to me.
“Sounds like he was an idiot.”
Fletcher lights up now. “Oh good. We can finally joke about this? Because I have some really good ones.”
“No,” both Bree and I say, and he laughs.
His eyes drift back to Grayson, who’s busy talking shit with another player in the dugout. “Grayson Lancaster.”
I shake my head. “I know, it’s weird. But yeah.”
He shrugs his big shoulders and huffs out a sigh. “Okay. He better not pull any of his macho bullshit.”
“Grayson’s not like that, man. He’s a good guy. He even volunteers down at the mission with me.”
“That’s real? I thought he was just fucking around.” He looks surprised.
“Nah, he goes with me every time. He cares about the kids.”
Bree and Fletcher share a look, and I know they both feel guilty because they can’t bring themselves to volunteer at the mission, but I’ll never hold it against them. I get it. “Okay.” He places a hand on my shoulder and grips it tight. “If you like him, I’ll tolerate him.”
I snort a laugh because that’s as good as it’s going to get with Fletcher. “Thanks.” I remember my conversation with Grayson and quickly add, “You can’t tell anyone though, okay? It has to stay here.” I gesture between the three of us, and his eyes darken.
“Why?”
“Because I’m asking you not to tell anyone.”
“For you? Or for him? What the fuck? Are you his dirty little secret, Rhett?”