Inside the suite, I find Rafe pacing by the glass window as he talks on his phone. He’s as polished and put together as he was when I first arrived.

  My pulse kicks up as I look at him, framed by the lights of San Francisco in the midnight sky. I feel more than desire. There’s still the knot of anger that formed when I learned about Lucas. But am I mad at Lucas for hurting Rafe? Or annoyed at Rafe for being in love?

  Rafe’s back is to me as he walks, allowing me to watch him. “Be sure to send that to me. I want to review it myself, Matthew,” he says into the phone. “That’ll be just fine. Send it over. I’ll be working late tonight.”

  My heart sinks with a thud like an anchor hitting the sea floor. Disappointment squashes any remaining anger. But what did I expect? Midnight fries and milkshakes at The Burger Shack?

  Get over yourself, Gunnar.

  Gut check—maybe I did think this hookup would turn into a date, that it would be more than a quick blow in the suite.

  But he’s going home to work.

  When he turns and spots me, his dark eyes find mine and he holds up a finger letting me know he’s almost done.

  “Yes. I’ll have an answer first thing in the morning. And Matthew . . .?” he says, adding one more thing. “Go to bed. Enjoy yourself and don’t call me again after-hours.” The words are stern, but his tone is kind as he says goodbye and hangs up, still holding my gaze.

  Without acknowledging the phone call, Rafe strides up the steps toward me, stopping a foot away. Then he tilts his head like he’s studying me, cataloging details. It’s unnerving. I’d rather stare down a lefty with a wild knuckleball.

  “So, you forgot your phone.” His honey and whiskey tone says this is an opening gambit, and it’s not about my cell.

  I dig in my heels. “I did.”

  He strokes his chin as if he’s adding up clues, his irises sparkling. “You were that excited to see me.”

  I bristle at the implication that I’m more into this than he is. “And you were so excited to see me that you got a suite,” I counter.

  Rafe lifts a brow, a slight grin curving his lips. “Touché.”

  “In fact, you sent me an invitation on monogrammed stationery.” Maybe he’s being coy, but I’m calling out his gamesmanship. “So, yeah. I’m busted. I forgot my phone because I wanted to get here as soon as I fucking could. Then I confessed how eager I was to get down on my knees and suck your cock.”

  He says nothing as I reach out to smooth a hand along the front of his expensive shirt. “You’re as affected as I am. That’s why you’re here, Rafe. You arranged the suite. You set up this private tryst so you could seduce me with your words, and your voice, and your desire for me.” I spread my fingers firmly over his pecs, and he shivers at my touch. “We’re both in this. Wanting each other.”

  He exhales hard and regards me like he’s not sure what to make of me. Hell, I’m not sure what to make of me either, but I needed to tell him he can play games with my body, but not my mind.

  Rafe licks his lips, then speaks softly. “I do want you, Gunnar. So much that I got this suite for you. I had plans for you. I wanted to spend the night with you.” He inches closer, lays a hand over mine, then peels my fingers off his chest. “So, why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

  15

  GROUND RULES

  Rafe

  I detest lies. Perhaps Gunnar didn’t technically lie, but he didn’t tell me the truth.

  I have zero problems with virginity. Everyone’s a virgin once . . . until they’re not.

  But I would’ve gone easier on him. I wouldn’t have been so fucking aggressive. I was rough, and it’s eating me alive.

  I’m also still buzzing from what he did to me. I drink in his all-American good looks, his cocky grin, and those deep blue eyes, and I’m torn between pressing the point that lies have no place with me—and the heady, delicious rush of knowing I’m his first.

  When I responded to his thirst trap, through all the flirting, sexting, and more, I thought I could keep it physical. Keep my distance. But I can’t resist learning more about him.

  I slide my hand along his jaw, firmly cup his face. He’s an inch or two taller than I am. He’s certainly broader—and bigger—but he likes being manhandled. And if I’m going to handle him the way we both seem to want, we’ve got to establish some ground rules.

  Starting with trust. I run my thumb across his jawline and over to those lush, full lips that took me deep and made me see stars.

  “I have my limo. Let’s go for a ride, Gunnar.”

  The sexy baseball player inches up one brow. He turns his face into my hand and bites down on my thumb—

  And then he’s drawn back and crossing his arms. “Is it going to be an inquisition?”

  “Does it feel like one?” I don’t want that.

  Gunnar shrugs, casually, coolly. “A little, to be honest.”

  To be honest. Apt words.

  “The night we met at the club, you said people should be honest about desire,” I say.

  Gunnar lifts his chin defiantly. “And I have been. One hundred percent.”

  He’s made it clear that he’s only giving up control in the bedroom, and his fierceness intrigues me. Few people I’ve met hold their own with my sort of intensity. But he’s forcing me to lay my wishes on the line.

  “And I’ve been honest, too, about my desire for you. So let’s start with that. Are you amenable to a ride in my limo?” I ask again.

  With his jaw set and his eyes hard, he replies, “I’m amenable to getting out of here. I’m not amenable to an interrogation.”

  The power of his statement sends a charge through me. It’s also a reminder that I don’t always get to make the rules. “It won’t be.”

  I turn off the light in the suite and shut the door, leaving it as neat and orderly as I found it, without a hint of what went down here on a Wednesday night in September.

  As Gunnar and I head toward the elevator, I’m tempted to put a hand on his lower back. We’re alone, but the impulse is strong. But I don’t know Gunnar’s rules, so I don’t touch him on the way down. Not in the elevator, nor in the corridor as we pass maintenance crews cleaning up.

  A man in a nylon Dragons sweat suit pushes a cart full of towels, smiling when he sees the ballplayer. “Hey, Gun,” he says. “Good game tonight.”

  I’m curious how Gunnar will react to being seen with me at this hour at his place of work. I’m not worried that he’s closeted, of course. He danced with me at Edge the night I met him, and we kissed ravenously in the crowd. Before we took it to the DMs, he flirted with me on Instagram like he could teach an expert class in it. But tonight it’s late, and Gunnar’s not coming from the locker room as one might expect.

  Still, he’s relaxed, casually giving the man a chin nod. “Thanks, Teddy. Appreciate you.”

  “Anytime,” the man says with a smile as we pass.

  There’s my answer. Gunnar acts the same in public as he is does in private. I file that tidbit away.

  My driver waits near the ballpark’s main entrance. The stadium sits at the edge of the bay, on the curve in a major road. I imagine that earlier tonight, the crowd thronged past, full of excited chatter. But at this hour, our main company is the glow of a few streetlights as San Francisco shuts down for the evening.

  Well, some of it. I know all about after-dark San Francisco.

  We make our way to my limo, but before we reach it, a voice calls, “Gunnar! Did you get my message?”

  Gunnar whips around, then his surprise clears as he recognizes the handsome man trotting up to us in his Clark Kent glasses.

  “Hey, O.” The ballplayer gives the guy a fist bump. “What’s up?”

  “I got this wild call from a dating app. Apparently Boyfriend Material liked your kiss for the crowd last Friday. They want to feature the video. The info’s in your email, but we can talk before the flight on Friday.”

  Gunnar spreads his arms wide as if boasting for a crowd. “Famous for blowing a kiss after a home run. That’s me, gentlemen.” Then he turns to the guy in the specs. “Thanks, Owen. I’ll read it over.”

  Ah, that’s Owen. The PR guy. Marlow said she’d have him bring my invitation to Gunnar.

  After he blows Owen a showy kiss, Gunnar turns and jogs back to me. I tilt my head and give him a look. “Owen gets kisses now?”

  “Don’t be jealous. You know who the kiss after the homer was for.” The edge is back in his voice. So this garrulous side of him is for Owen and Teddy, people he likes. I’ll have to earn my way back into his fan club.

  Fair enough. I’ll use this time wisely.

  We reach the sleek black limo and my driver gets out, coming around the front to open the passenger door for us. “Here you go, sir.”

  “Thank you, Barrett.”

  “Thank you so much,” Gunnar tells the man who’s driven me around since I moved to California.

  Once we’re inside, the ballplayer slides across the soft leather seats, seeming to drink in the details—the console with scotch, champagne, tumblers, and ice; the blue lights that run along the roof of the car; the plush, U-shaped seats, perfect for so many of my favorite activities.

  Gunnar whistles approvingly. “It’s good to be the underwear king.”

  I smile as I sit on the same bench a foot away, enjoying his lighter mood. “It can be.”

  The car pulls onto the road, and Gunnar stares out the window for a while at the city drifting by. Then he turns back to me, his eyes intense. “Where are you taking me as you give me the third degree? A diner? A dance hall? A sex club?”

  There’s a hint of flirtation in that last suggestion. “Would you like that? A sex club?”

  His blue eyes flash with heat, and I know the answer is yes.

  “You would, wouldn’t you?”

  Gunnar meets my gaze, unflinching. “I don’t know, Rafe. Isn’t that the issue? That I don’t know?”

  His words come out stripped bare and vulnerable, putting me off-balance again. That’s what I want though—his openness. After the lies Lucas told, I crave truth like I need air.

  “Whatever this is”—I point from Gunnar to me—“it needs to be honest.” Then, I draw a deep breath and give a bit of myself. “I don’t like lies. I’ve experienced them in the past. You might think this is dramatic, but deceit tears away a little bit of my soul.”

  He gives a soft laugh. “That is dramatic—putting the details of my sexual inexperience on an equal level to your soul.”

  “I do,” I say, not mincing words. “Because the kind of sex I want to have with you should be soul-shattering.”

  He blinks, swallows roughly, and fans himself. “Point to the Brit. Well played.”

  I laugh lightly, then resume my serious tone. “That’s my point. What you shared tonight is something huge.”

  “It definitely wasn’t a little thing,” he says under his breath.

  I stare at him sharply. “No bullshit right now, Gunnar.”

  “Why?” he asks defiantly. “Why is it such a big deal that I’ve never had sex? Explain it to me.”

  Does he really not know? I’m shocked he doesn’t get it. “Because I fucked your mouth like a savage. I told you to take me deep. I made you choke.” I hiss the words. “I could have hurt you.”

  He leans forward, getting in my face. “And I liked it. So I’m not seeing the problem, Rafe.”

  That’s a fair point, but regret overwhelms me. “Had I known, I would’ve gone easier on you.”

  Gunnar doesn’t give an inch. “I don’t want you to go easy on me.”

  “You don’t know that,” I say.

  “You’re acting like I can’t possibly know what I want because I’ve never had sex before.” He taps his temple. “I know what I want. It’s all up here.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” I try to sort through my strange feelings as the limo swings up Columbus Avenue, turning through North Beach.

  “Where are we going?” Gunnar asks. “If you’re just going to interrogate me, then thanks but no thanks. This has been fun but I’m done. I’ll walk.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever been given an ultimatum like that before. And I have no doubt he’d follow through. For the first time in a long time, I’m unsure how to handle someone. How to handle a man.

  This is not what I expected when I met him at the dance club, nor when I sent him dirty directions. And this is nothing that I anticipated when I secured the owner’s suite for tonight.

  The car slows at a light then stops. Gunnar reaches for the handle, and I’m sure he’ll leave. I have to decide how much of my past I am willing to share in order to spend more time with this man. And with his hand already on the door, I’d better decide really fucking soon.

  16

  A MAN WITH SPECIFIC DESIRES

  Rafe

  As we idle at the stoplight, I picture Gunnar exiting the limo and walking into the night, and I have my answer. It’s in the spike of my pulse and the surge of my blood, instant and electric. Everything in me rebels against him leaving.

  “Don’t go.” It’s a plea. I can’t pretend otherwise. I have to rein in my constant need for control because I don’t want Gunnar to leave.

  “Are you sure about that?” he asks, making me work for it. The funny thing is, I do want to work for it.

  I want to work for him.

  “I’m positive,” I say. Gunnar holds all the cards now. He turns everything in me upside down.

  “Good,” he says. “You should want me to stay. Because I really fucking want to.”

  When he juts out his chin and goes all swaggery, that feels like a true part of him—the athlete ready to step up to the plate. His confidence intoxicates me.

  I stay sober as best I can. “Have you ever been with a man?” I ask plainly.

  “No, not until tonight. All I’d ever done before was kiss,” he says with the same forthrightness as before. Take me or leave me.

  I haul in a breath—being his first is a privilege. “Tell me honestly. Did I hurt you?”

  He scoffs. “No.”

  I’m a man with specific desires—to fuck rough and hard. “The truth, Gunnar,” I implore him.

  He coughs a bit dramatically. “I mean, I might need some throat lozenges. Your cock scraped the back of my throat.”

  I laugh, loud and deep. Then I stop. “I grabbed your hair. I shoved your face on my cock. I need to know if that was okay.”

  He shakes his head and scrubs a hand across the back of his neck. “Let me tell you something, Rafe. I’ve been nailed in the elbow with a fastball from the fiercest closer in the Major Leagues. Pummeled in the thigh with a bat. Bruised my knee sliding. I’ve had massive men try to plow me down on third base. Trust me, you fucking my throat like a beast didn’t hurt. It hurt good,” he says, ending on a sexy whisper.

  I let that reassure me and relieve some of my guilt. “I don’t ever want to hurt you . . . unless you want to be hurt,” I add, slow and deliberate in my meaning.

  “I don’t mind a little pain,” he whispers in a smoky voice. “I can handle it.”

  “Good. That’s what I wanted to talk about. I don’t ever want to push your limits.”

  He tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “But Rafe, don’t you know I want you to push my limits?”

  The question sends a hot spark down my body. The night we met at the club, I sensed his willingness to be taken, to be led. “Then I would like to. But I want to know something.”

  “Hit me up.”

  “Is there a reason you haven’t been with a man?”

  “Yeah, a good one. I didn’t know I was bi until a little while ago.”

  I’m always fascinated with how people discover their truths. “Were you only into girls growing up?”

  “I liked girls. I still like women. And because I was involved in sports, I suppose I didn’t want to spend too much time thinking about men like that. I saw them as teammates. Plus, I was all baseball, all the time. That was all that mattered. Then I was drafted, and when I got to the majors, I finally made enough money to take care of my brother and sister. Paying for their college and stuff. But I also had a bit of breathing room where I could look around and see what I really wanted. Bodies are beautiful. I like all bodies. All people, all humans.”

  “People figure out who they are on different timelines—some when they’re younger, some much later in life. But I’m really glad you figured it out before you met me,” I say with a smile, then ask for the next thing I want. More of him. “Can you spend more time with me tonight?”

  He tilts his head, studying me, maybe questioning my offer. “Don’t you have a report that you have to get to somebody? You were so businesslike when I returned to the suite,” he says, as if daring me to say I’ll ditch work for him.

  “I do need to send off a report,” I tease, faux pensively, as if there’s any real debate between whether I should spend the night with my laptop or this sexy man. Then I cut to the chase. “I’m not done with the conversation. There’s a lot more that I want to discuss.”

  “I’d love to chitchat too, Rafe, but . . .” With a cocky grin, he shrugs. “Sometimes baseball makes me hungry, and sometimes it makes me tired. I’m going to call it a night, babes. But if you still want to have this convo tomorrow night, come by after my game ends. I’ll let you take me out for a late dinner.”

  I simmer at the way he’s turned the tables, but I take it on the chin and play by his rules for now. “Then I’ll be outside the ballpark waiting for you when your game is over,” I say.

  “Good. You do that,” he says.

  I take him back to the ballpark, and then start the countdown to tomorrow.

  17

  HIGHLY MOTIVATED

  Rafe

  All day, I count the hours—as I run at dawn with Christine, as I work the global expansion with Theresa, as I make business calls before lunch.