Grand Slam (The Boys of Summer 3)

“That since we had been together, I would help?”

“Yes, but not in the way you’re making it sound. I was hoping, since we were drinking at your place so heavily, you wouldn’t mind making a phone call.”

“But I told you I was busy?”

“Yeah, and that was the end of it.”

“Shit.” I’m such a fucking dick. All I had to do was call Irvin and save her all of this pain. “Wait—what about dinner the other night? And the hockey game?”

She shakes her head. “I wasn’t allowed to go to dinner but did anyway because I didn’t want to tell you. The hockey game was business.”

Saylor covers her face with her hands and groans. My fingers wrap around her wrist to pull them away so I can see her. “Does Jeffrey know about us? About that night?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Or if he does, he has never said anything.”

“I’m really torn up on the inside about this, Saylor. I had no fucking idea. And here I am pressuring you to come clean because it saves me, but it can destroy you. There has to be a happy medium here.”

I look away and focus on her fireplace. I’m so torn and don’t know what to do. I want this investigation to stop, and Saylor could help. But she’s right—I’m a risk, and one she’s not willing to take.

“Fuck, Saylor, I’m sorry. I’m going to make it better,” I say as I get up and start pacing around her living room. The lights from her Christmas tree twinkle, and I absentmindedly rub one of the branches between my fingers. Her ornaments have a homey feel to them, not like the celebrity trees you see where everything matches. A few of them look handmade by Lucy, and there’s a series of them that mark each of Lucy’s Christmases.

“You have a beautiful tree.” I have to change the subject because I’m starting to overthink how I could save her. Right now, the only thing I can come up with is to put money in her bank account, but that only helps so much if she’s unemployed or in prison.

“Thank you. Have you put one up yet?” She comes over and stands next to me, straightening out an ornament that only twists back around.

“Nah. I never do. I usually spend Christmas out in the middle of the ocean with my parents. They live on a yacht and are constantly sailing.”

“But not this year?”

I shake my head. “I thought I wanted to stay here and experience winter, but well…anyway, I can’t leave until everything is squared away, which I’m hoping is soon.”

“It will be,” she says, placing her arm on my bicep.

I pull her into my arms and hold her. I feel her body sag against mine and know that she’s comfortable. Hell, I’m comfortable. Every time I’m near her, I’m at ease and not afraid to be myself. Saylor sees a whole other side of me that even the guys on the team don’t see.

“Can I ask you a question?” I say. We both pull back so we can look into each other’s eyes.

“Of course.”

I break eye contact to push her hair behind her ear, exposing her neck to me. She swallows hard and shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

“If you didn’t work for my manager and have to put up with me, knowing what you know about me, would you want to be with me?”

I look into her eyes and wait for her answer. Her grip around my waist becomes tighter, and her chest slightly heaves. “Yes,” she says breathlessly.

My hand cups her cheek while my thumb brushes across her lips. They part, and I take that as my invitation to kiss them. I move slowly, testing her reaction, until I feel her fingers push into my hair and pull me closer.

She wants me, probably not as much as I want her, but the feelings are there, and I’m going to take every little bit until she tells me otherwise.

The second our lips touch, the surge I feel is indescribable. This kiss is different from before. The longing is greater, as is the feeling that we could be together if our situations were to change.

We move in sync, and my hand now cradles her head, angling her perfectly to me while her hands roam freely over my chest, into my hair, and onto my waist. Her fingers inch under my shirt and graze my stomach.

I want to lift her up and take her to her bedroom. I want to worship her and make promises that I know I’ll have to work hard in order to keep. She deserves someone better than me, but I want the pureness that she brings into my chaotic world.

Breaking away from her lips, I taste her neck as she whimpers, tilting her head to the side to give me better access. Her hands trail down my arms until her fingers are lifting the hem of my shirt and I have no choice but to stop kissing her and help her pull my shirt over my head.

Saylor looks up at me as her fingers dance over my skin, tracing the outline of my abs and my tattoo. She places an openmouthed kiss on my chest, sending me into overdrive. I scoop her up and head toward her room.