Winning With Him (Men of Summer 2)

The trouble is the shoes clicking our way across the tiled floor. Out of the corner of my eye, the waitress comes into view, mere feet away.

When the petite brunette reaches our table, she shoots us a wide smile. “Hello! Can I interest you gentlemen in some tapas? Some drinks? We have terrific cocktails, including our signature spicy margarita with a hint of jalapeño. They’re so delish,” she says, then drops her voice to a playful whisper. “They just taste great on your lips.”

I laugh lightly. “How can I resist then? Any chance you can make me a virgin spicy margarita?”

“Of course I can.” She turns to Declan. “And for you?”

“I’ll have the same.”

“Anything to eat?” She arches a brow and starts rattling off some appetizers that sound incredible, but I’m not taking any chances with food tonight. I shake my head and my date does the same.

Yup.

He’s my date. It feels like our first one.

Warmth flows through my veins, like a delicious buzzing across my skin.

I love every second of being here with him. No idea where we’re going or how we’re going to navigate the road, but at the moment, I don’t care. I’m living in the here and the now, and I’m loving it.

When she leaves, his eyes stray to my hands on the table.

A laugh bursts from his chest and he gestures dramatically to my left hand. “Are you fucking kidding me? Did you have to wear that tonight?”

I snicker as I scratch my jaw. “What? Is the light from my World Series ring in your eyes?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Want a closer look? Maybe take a picture?”

“Oh yes. That’s exactly what I want.”

“Is it blinding you? The shine from all the diamonds?” I waggle my fingers.

“Yeah, because they look like rhinestones,” he scoffs.

I crack up, then beckon him closer. “Secret time. They are.”

“Who the fuck makes World Series rings with rhinestones?”

“They’re just temporary. The owner was so stoked about the win, he made these for us in November so we’d all have temporary rings. The real ones are being made by Tiffany’s with four-carat diamonds or something and we’ll get them in a pre-game ceremony on Opening Day at home.”

“Awww. I’m so sorry you don’t have a real one to wear yet,” he says, mocking me.

“Do you want to wear it? Like it’s my letterman jacket. You can. Just for tonight,” I tease. “But you gotta give it back in the morning.”

He shakes his head, grinning. “Sure, wise ass. And then I’ll make you kiss the ring.”

“Like, make me get down on my knees and kiss it?”

His smile burns off. In its place is heat and fire on his lips. “You on your knees . . .”

A zing of pleasure skims down my back. “You like that image?”

“I like all the images going through my mind right now, Grant,” Declan says, his voice hot and rough at the same time.

“Gonna keep those to yourself or maybe share?”

Declan parks an elbow on the table, stares at me with those deep brown eyes that can read all my lust, all my desire. “Let’s see. I’ve got a long list of images. Of wishes. Starting with—I want to get all your clothes off. Get my mouth all over you. My lips. My tongue. Want to taste you. Everywhere. Find out if you’re as sweet and dirty as I remember. Learn if you have any new ink. Lick it. Kiss it. Tug on your nipple piercing with my teeth,” he says, his eyes straying down to the outline of the metal under my shirt. “And yes, I noticed that the second I walked in, and you better have worn a shirt that tight to wind me up.”

I barely have time to rasp out a yes before he continues doling out a dirty dream list.

“And I really want to discover if I can still drive you insane with my mouth, my fingers, my hands, my cock. My entire body. I want to get naked with you. So. Damn. Soon.”

And I incinerate. I’m a volcano as his hot gaze rolls over me like a scorching summer day on the equator.

A flush races up the back of my neck, and I’m not sure I can talk again. But it’s important to me to be the one to ask. Just like I asked him to drinks, I want to be the one to ask for the next thing too. This is me being ready. Being who I am.

My voice is dry as a husk, but I manage simple and clear words. “Spend the night with me,” I say, my gaze pinning his.

Declan hums appreciatively, inching the slightest bit closer before he stops himself, maybe remembering we’re in public. But then he slides a hand under the table, and on my thigh.

I. Die.

The gasp that falls from my lips is the most carnal sound I’ve made in my life, and I really hope no one can hear it but him.