All In With Him (Men of Summer 3)

“What did he wear for his first Halloween, Cyndi?”

She snaps her fingers, her brown eyes lighting up. “Oh, I nearly forgot the irony of this.”

I knit my brow. “Why is my childhood Halloween costume ironic?”

“Not ironic. Wrong word choice. More like an omen,” she says.

Grant’s blue eyes lock with hers. “I need to know. What was he?”

Lifting a finger, she reaches for her phone. “One second.” She clicks on a folder, slides her thumb across the screen a few times, then shows the image to Grant.

He bursts into laughter, then slugs my shoulder. “You were a dragon. When you were one-year-old, you were a stinking dragon. Omen, indeed.”

I roll my eyes at the shot of me in a green costume with red spines. “An omen is a bad thing.”

“Well, if the shoe fits,” Grant says.

I shoot him a harsh stare. “If you keep up this sass, I will send you back to bed. You are on the injured list. Also, the Dragons have a better record than the Cougars this year, so maybe harbinger is the word you want, since a harbinger brings good things.”

“Look at you, trotting out your fancy words,” Grant says as he picks up his fork and dives back into the chicken and quinoa bowl I ordered for lunch. “Also, I’m only on the seven-day injured list. And only because they had to. I’m not really injured.”

“And harbinger is not really a fancy word,” I say, returning to my meal too.

“It kind of is. Why don’t we put the dragon shot of you up on your Insta and see who knows the meaning of the word?”

“I am not putting baby pics on my Insta,” I say, but as my gaze shifts from Mom to Grant and back, a better idea pops into my head. “How about one of the three of us having lunch on our deck?”

Grant beams like I’ve made his month. “Yeah? You’d do that?”

“Sure,” I say, especially since this seems to make him even happier than going to the club. “The fans will be glad to see you feeling better too.”

“Let’s do it. You in, Cyndi?” Grant asks Mom.

“Of course.” She stretches out her arm, and snaps a shot, then shows it to us.

“First shot, Cyn!” Grant gives a fist pump and Mom blows on her fingers before she sends it to us.

Later, after we say goodbye to Mom, I shoo my man up the stairs. “Nap time for you, babe.”

Grant pouts. “Can we watch a movie in bed?”

I shake my head, holding my ground. “You’re not playing hooky. You’re supposed to be taking it easy but you’re acting like a kid who faked a cough to stay home from school.”

“Trust me. I was not so skilled in high school that I could fake a cough to spend a day with the school hottie. Also, I was the school hottie.”

I crack up. “No doubt.”

“And you’re the school hottie now, so get in bed with me, hot stuff.”

I huff like I’m annoyed, though I’m not in the least. “I’m only doing it to get you to rest,” I say.

Grant winks at me. “I approve of your strategy.”

We fall into bed in the middle of the day, the sun streaming through the window. Grant grabs his phone, asking, “Cool with you if I post the pic now?”

“We’re posting it on my Insta,” I remind him, giving him my phone. “But can you write it up? You’re better with that.”

“I got you,” Grant says, dropping his phone and taking mine. He opens my feed, drafts a post, and shows me.

Rolling my eyes, I crack up. “We are not posting—I have the hottest BF evah.”

“Fine, fine,” he says, then tries again and shows me. “Lunch with two of my favorite people. Yes, the Cougars’ catcher is feeling better. Thanks for all the well wishes.”

I smile, feeling a little like he can see inside my soul. “I was thinking that at lunch. You are two of my favorite people. But you’re my favorite,” I say, kissing his forehead, then his hair. I draw a deep lungful of Grant’s shampoo, then his neck, letting him fill my mind, that barbershop scent I crave. “You can post it.”

Grant hits post, then sets down my phone. “You’re sexy when you let me handle your social media.”

“I had a feeling you’d be into that,” I murmur.

“Is that why you said yes?”

“Maybe. I want to make you happy. Is that such a bad thing?”

Grant shakes his head. “Nope. It’s a good thing.”

Speaking of good things . . .

Running my hand through his soft hair, I tell him I’ve been researching vacation spots for us. “You want to go to someplace else in November other than Miami? Miami feels a little . . .”

“Jinxed?”

“You took the word right out of my mouth,” I say, glad he’s on the same page. “It’ll be our first vacation together, so I want to go someplace with no history for us. What do you think of Hawaii?”