“Do I, though?” It’s not that I want to quit. I want to quit on my own terms.

  “Do you want to retire, Deck?” Grant asks, his tone serious. “Because if you’re falling out of love with baseball, that’s one thing. Then, we should talk about that. If you’re just in a funk, then I will keep cheering you on till you’re out of it.”

  I shift to my side, sigh heavily, and voice my deepest professional fear. “What if baseball is falling out of love with me?”

  Grant shakes his head. “Nope. Baseball loves you. I love you. And I will keep rooting for you.” He smiles. “But I’m not giving you hitting tips on any pitchers.”

  I laugh, feeling a little better, then motion for him to join me on my chair. He obliges, and we lie together in the sun.

  I feel a lot better months later—at thirty-six, I’m having a season for the ages. Buoyed by Grant’s confidence and encouragement, I kick ass every day, and I rack up stats that any player would kill to have.

  At the end of September, I finish with a career high in home runs, and the highest batting average in my league.

  But, more importantly, the Dragons make it past the divisionals, march through the championship round, and advance to the World Series.

  Against the Cougars.

  It’s a Bay Area match-up, pitting two husbands against each other. The sports press goes wild. They milk the hell out of the story of Grant Blackwood and Declan Steele vying for one trophy.

  We trade leads over the series, with the Cougars starting hot and fast and winning game one. The Dragons win games two and three, but Grant’s team snags four and five. The Dragons win game six.

  When game seven rolls around, I have one mission, a single point of focus.

  Beat my husband’s team.

  Saturday night at the Dragons ballpark, the scoreboard is full of zeroes for five innings. The game moves quickly, and it’s a pitcher’s duel until I get on base in the sixth then attempt to steal second, sliding into the bag right as Grant throws hard to the infielder.

  But I arrive a nanosecond ahead of the ball.

  I wipe off the dirt on my uniform, enjoying an extra thrill at having stolen a base off my man. My blinders go back on, then, as Holden takes a swing at the next pitch, hitting a sharp single to center, and I move like I have wings, scoring the first run of the game.

  I don’t look at Grant as I cross the plate. Don’t want to make eye contact. Don’t want to get out of the zone.

  A few innings later, that’s still the only run in the game.

  At the top of the ninth, I run out to the infield, Holden by my side, and we knock gloves. “Let’s do this,” I say.

  “Let’s motherfucking do this,” Holden replies.

  Our closer takes the mound and strikes out the Cougars’ first baseman on four pitches. Next up is Miguel, the centerfielder. He ekes out a walk, trotting to first base.

  Through gritted teeth, I mutter, “C’mon, guys. Shut this down.”

  Crosby is next, and he looks dead set on sending Miguel home. But instead, he pops up to second on his first swing.

  One more out.

  That is all we need.

  We’re so damn close I can taste it.

  I want it badly. The only thing I’ve ever wanted more is Grant Blackwood.

  The man coming to the plate.

  My husband is the last man standing between me and my first World Series. I’m on high alert as I field my position, poised and ready. Grant works the count full, fouling ball after ball, staying alive. He’s determined to get on base, to knock a ball out of the park, to send his team to victory.

  I’m every bit as determined to do my part to end this game now.

  The pitcher goes into the windup, fires off a fastball, and Grant takes a big swing.

  The crack of the bat echoes throughout the park as he sends a scorching line-drive my way, hellbent on getting past me and onto the grass of the outfield.

  No fucking way, baseball.

  Not today.

  I leap higher than I ever have, my arm straight up, my leather high above my head. Time slows then speeds up again as I wrap my glove around the ball.

  The crowd goes wild.

  The cheers are deafening.

  The emotions are overwhelming and the thrill is electric.

  I caught the last out of a World Series win.

  My teammates mob me. We tumble into a pile of Dragons in the middle of the field, and I am flying above the stratosphere right now.

  I’m soaring to the stars.

  I’m higher than that when, after we untangle and separate, Grant Blackwood runs to me on the field, jumps in my arms, and hugs the hell out of me.

  “I’m so happy for you,” he says, with more joy than I think even I feel.

  “Me too,” I rasp, throat tight. Then I kiss my husband, and that makes everything even better.

  Grant makes everything in my life better. Every single day.

  Another Epilogue

  A few years later

  * * *

  Grant

  * * *

  After seventeen seasons, Declan Steele retires from the game he loves. But he doesn’t putter around the house or take up a hobby. He starts a new job as a play-by-play commentator, handling the Thursday to Sunday-night games for the Sports Network.

  He’s on the road a lot, but he’s not on the road too, which is all kinds of awesome, because he comes to my games, and that means I get to see him more.

  Declan and I go out to dinner when my day games end, and we have lunch before my night games, and we spend time together in hotel rooms and our home too.

  “I’m like a groupie now,” he says.

  “And you love it.”

  With a sly smile, he says, “I absolutely do.”

  Declan keeps busy in other ways as well. He volunteers with me at the Alliance, and he devotes time to a local foundation that helps teens avoid drug and alcohol abuse. He helps raise grant money, and when he exceeds his goals, I am so damn proud.

  And, he has time to research adoption.

  Oh, man, does he ever devote his time to that—so much time that when it’s my turn to hang up my cleats, we’re both ready.

  The day the adoption agency calls to say there’s a little girl for Declan and me is the happiest day of my life, and that’s saying something.

  When I hang up the phone, a lump takes over my whole throat. “Looks like our someday down the road is finally here,” I whisper to Declan, standing beside me.

  “And I’m ready,” he replies.

  Turns out, Declan’s a natural with our child. He loves taking care of people, so fatherhood comes easily to him. Sure, we both have our moments where we’re less than perfect dads, where we aren’t certain what to do, but we figure it out together.

  Two years later, we adopt a son, and then we are four.

  The Final Epilogue

  Years later

  * * *

  Grant

  * * *

  The Hawaii sun warms my shoulders. My daughter, Isabelle, does too—she’s perched on them. It’s her favorite vantage point.

  “Ooh, Daddy, there’s an ice cream shop down the block, and they have rainbow sherbet.” She points to the rainbow sign in the window of the shop on the main drag in Kauai.

  Declan laughs, shaking his head as he holds Caleb’s hand. “Pretty sure that’s not a sign for rainbow sherbet, sweetheart,” he says.

  “What’s it for, Dad?” Caleb asks, always inquisitive.

  “It’s a rainbow flag. And it means we’re going to have our ice cream there,” Declan says.

  “Well, I like it, then, since I like ice cream,” Isabelle says.

  “I like it more,” Caleb declares, then tosses a glance at his sister. “Race you there.”

  “No fair. I’m on Daddy’s shoulders,” she says.

  Reaching up, I grab her hips and swing her down to the sidewalk. “Go get ’em, tiger,” I say. She takes off, an auburn-haired speed demon tearing up the concrete and reaching the shop a few seconds before her blond little brother.

  “Kids,” I say, laughing as I take Declan’s hand.

  “Always horsing around.” He brings my knuckles to his lips and kisses them as our hellions head into the ice cream parlor.

  We follow them, order, and grab a booth.

  “What else do you want to do while we’re here?” I ask the little people who rule our lives.

  “Surf,” Caleb declares. “I definitely want to learn to surf.”

  “Ooh, me too,” Isabelle chimes in.

  That seems like an excellent way to spend the day, so that afternoon we take a family surfing lesson, exhausting ourselves in the water and the sun and the waves.

  Isabelle and Caleb crash early, and that’s how I like it. With the kids conked out, Declan and I curl up on a lounge chair under the stars, many years past our first spring training and still wildly in love.

  I sigh contentedly, running my fingers through his dark hair. “Kids are tiring.”

  Declan laughs softly, then yawns. “They sure are.”

  “But . . .” I slide a hand down his stomach, playing with his abs. “I’m not that tired.”

  “Mmm. I’m never that tired,” he murmurs, then curls a hand around my head and kisses me, soft and deep, under the stars.

  After a few minutes, we take it inside.

  We still want each other. I don’t think we’ll ever stop wanting each other. It’s been more than twenty years since I met him, and every day with Declan is a good one.

  I pull him down on top of me in bed, hold his face, and meet his dark gaze. “You and me.”

  “Me and you.”

  We come together like we did many years ago in Arizona, like we will many years from now, wherever we may happen to be.

  He’s mine, and I’m his, and that’s just the way our love story was always going to be.

  * * *

  THE END

  River and Owen’s story comes next in the sexy, flirty, snowed-in, friends-to-lovers novel THE BROMANCE ZONE… and you won’t believe what goes down one night in a cabin! Jason’s story comes in the sexy, emotional, rivals-to-lovers second chance romance THE BOYFRIEND COMEBACK, also available to order and with a teaser below! His story takes place when he’s twenty-six and a starting quarterback in the NFL in THE BOYFRIEND COMEBACK!

  * * *

  Jason

  * * *

  Three words that are always satisfying to hear—you were right.

  And I will be waiting for them from my bud when I head into the gym today. Yup, I’ll take a handful of I can’t believe I ever doubted you any second from Harlan. The wide receiver bet me that workout dates were no fun.

  When they are the best.

  I push open the door of the gym on Fillmore Street, spotting the regular crew at the weights. I head over to join Harlan and Cooper, setting down my water bottle with a satisfied grin.

  “Don’t look so pleased, kiddo,” Harlan says.

  I give an easy shrug as I stretch my quads. “Pleased? Me? Why ever would I look pleased?”

  Harlan pushes up from the weight bench. “Gee, I wonder. Let me get my wallet. I’ve got a Benjamin. I presume you take cash for your bets, duckling?”

  “Sure…if you don’t want to do Bitcoin.”

  Harlan rolls his eyes.

  Cooper hoots. “Oh man. Jason, you better watch it. You don’t want to piss off the king of the jungle.”

  Actually, he’s dead-on. I don’t want to tick off Harlan or Cooper. I like this pack of friends I’ve made in the NFL, and I damn well want to keep them. They’re good guys, and the world doesn’t have enough of those.

  “Actually, we’re all good,” I say to the receiver.

  Harlan laughs. “I always make good on my bets.” Then he inhales deep, squares his shoulders, and says, “You were right, Jason. Workout dates are awesome. I took my woman out on one and we had a great time. How was your workout date with your dude?"

  I just shrug, picturing the lukewarm date from the other night. "Eh, it was whatever. There was no spark. And that's vital."

  “Yes, it is,” Harlan says, then pays up. I pocket the dough, and the three of us lift weights.

  As we shoot the breeze, my mind wanders to that all-important spark.

  I’ve sparked with others in the past, especially with one other guy.

  A guy I can't figure out. A guy who’s back in town.

  But I probably won’t see Beck again, and that’s fine by me.

  After we finish working out, I’m getting ready to head to the Hawks training facility for practice when the door swings open to the gym.

  And Beck walks in.

  * * *

  Beck

  * * *

  It’s been five busy years since that night.

  Didn’t have much time to think about Jason.

  Or about that night…when I knew for sure who I was and what I wanted.

  And I’m not going to now either.

  This is just a gym. He’s just another pro baller.

  Who happens to be heading my direction.

  I stop at the treadmill, set down a towel on the bar, grab my AirPods from my pocket.

  Does he even know I’m here?

  But the answer comes in his eyes. They laser in on me, and in a heartbeat…my chest heats up.

  Don’t think about that night.

  And maybe while you’re at it, don’t think about how good he looks now, all that determination in his gaze. That focus he’s known for.

  The focus he lacked in the game the day after.

  When I destroyed his team on the field.

  Ah, that was a good day.

  “Of all the gin joints in San Francisco,” Jason says when he reaches me.

  “They serve gin here now? Who knew it was a full-service gym,” I say.

  “And who knew it was a full-service gym frequented by…your rivals,” he says, stretching out that multimillion dollar right arm to indicate the other guys here.

  What other guys? That arm is all I want to stare at. Better than college, more toned, stronger.

  Hotter.

  Bet both those arms would feel great wrapped around me again.

  “Huh. I had no idea,” I say, offhand.

  I knew. I totally knew.

  Jason's expression turns deadly serious. “Oh yeah, I’m sure. Since it’s so secret that my team works out here.”

  “Oh, does your team have a special fort here too?”

  He picks up the trash talk like we did on the field. “Yeah, we have a clubhouse. I’d invite you to hang out, but you’d have to have won your last few games.”

  I won't let on he’s under my skin. “So you’ve been watching my games.”

  “They’re…how to phrase it? Entertaining.” He lifts a brow, like a taunt.

  I can’t resist the bait. I take a step closer, lower my voice to a whisper. “Bet you liked what you saw.”

  “Your senses might need a tune-up, man. But then, they always kind of did.”

  Oh, that cuts deep.

  Best to dodge this one completely. “Pretty sure there’s room for both of us in this city. Unless you’re worried I’ll win the big one again.”

  I deliver the taunt, since it’s easier than telling him the truth.

  That it drives me crazy to be in the same city with him.

  That I can barely focus when he’s around.

  That I still think about him and that night.

  Jason doesn’t answer though. Just laughs, and even that looks good on him. Easygoing, open, vulnerable. Like he was the night I touched a man for the first time.

  Him.

  Don’t miss THE BOYFRIEND COMEBACK!

  * * *

  And don’t forget, Chance’s romance with Sierra is available in THE VIRGIN REPLAY!

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  Also by Lauren Blakely

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