by Nicole Dykes
Contents
Foreword
playlist
Prologue
1. Ryan
2. Grady
3. Ryan
4. Grady
5. Ryan
6. Grady
7. Ryan
8. Ryan
9. Grady
10. Ryan
11. Grady
12. Ryan
13. Grady
14. Ryan
15. Grady
16. Ryan
17. Ryan
18. Grady
19. Ryan
20. Grady
21. Ryan
22. Grady
23. Ryan
24. Grady
25. Ryan
26. Grady
27. Ryan
28. Ryan
29. Grady
30. Ryan
31. Grady
32. Ryan
33. Ryan
34. Grady
35. Ryan
36. Grady
37. Ryan
38. Grady
39. Ryan
40. Grady
41. Ryan
Note from the Author
Foreword
Love whoever you want to love. Be free. Love hard always. And when you’re lucky enough to find your person, hold on tight and scream it out loud. Life’s too short to hate or to worry about being hated for who you love.
Your Song
Ellie Goulding
I Will Buy You a New Life
Everclear
Little By Little
Oasis
Love of My Life
Queen
Angels & Demons
jxdn
Champagne Supernova
Oasis
Smile Like You Mean It
The Killers
High Hopes
Panic! At The Disco
“What are you doing over here by yourself, loser?”
Grady fucking Bell.
I smile at the sound of my best friend’s voice coming from behind me while I sit on the dock, staring at the rippling water in the moonlight. I’m holding onto the neck of a whiskey bottle resting between my legs, but I haven’t had much to drink tonight. It’s graduation night. I should be happy. I am happy.
My dreams are about to come true. So are his.
But those dreams are sending us in completely different directions.
I feel his body crowd mine as he takes a seat on the end of the dock with me, his sneakers dangling just above the water like my own. “There’s an epic party going on right back there.” He extends his lanky arm behind us, that bigass grin with his bright, white teeth visible in the night.
“Aren’t you tired of partying yet, Grady?”
He laughs at that, effortless and contagious. Grady is larger than life. He was even when we were in second grade, never caring what anyone thought about him. He can hit a home run effortlessly. Get an A on a test without even studying. Sing any song in existence acapella while bringing the biggest badass out there to tears. Score the winning touchdown in the last few seconds of a game. Play a song on his guitar perfectly after only hearing it once.
Grady Bell is a goddamn legend in this town, and now he’s leaving.
“We’re just getting started, Bailey.”
I roll my eyes at the use of my last name but still smile because it’s something he’s always done. Bell and Bailey. In a small town like ours, that meant we were always paired together. School. Sports. Newspaper achievements.
Always.
“Seems to me, Bell, that we were just getting started, but then you had to go and sign with a record label.”
He gives me a sly grin and steals the whiskey bottle from between my thighs, even though I can smell the booze on him already. “You want me to tell them to fuck off?” I turn to look at him and that intoxicating grin on his face. “Because I fucking will.”
I laugh and look out at the lake water again. We both had baseball scholarships to the same college. That was the plan. It’s always been my plan, decided for me before I was even born by a father with the same dream for himself.
Unfortunately, my mom got pregnant in an “oops” situation during their senior year of high school, and my dad proposed, then immediately went to trade school to learn to be a welder. I think it was then he decided I would be the baseball player.
And I’m not half bad.
Grady, the talented motherfucker, is good at all he does and, of course, excelled at baseball along with everything else. So, we decided that was our ticket out of this town. The major leagues. We’d play for the big boys, party like crazy, buy our moms houses, and never come back to this small town.
But instead, he had to go and get signed with a record label who wants him to immediately go to LA and lay tracks for an album. I’m happy for him. Music has always been his favorite talent, but I’m a selfish asshole, feeling lost and abandoned.
“No.” I turn to look at Grady, his black hair just a little overgrown and blowing in the wind, and even though I can’t see his dark green eyes, I know they’re sparkling with mischief. “I want you to go and blow their fucking minds.”
His grin widens. “You know I will. And you?”
I shrug and swallow hard, still facing him. “Me?”
“You’re going to kill it in college sports, and then you’re going to the MLB. You’re going to the big leagues, and they won’t even know what hit them.”
How can I do that without Grady?
What’s a catcher without his pitcher?
I don’t recognize my own voice as I shift my body so I’m facing him directly, pulling my legs up on the dock and tucking them under me awkwardly. “What if I fail?”
He places the whiskey bottle next to him and then turns his body, mimicking my position. His large hands grip my face, not letting me look away. “Ryan, when have you ever failed in your life?”
When hasn’t he been there to back me up? It’s what I want to ask, but I don’t. I just shake my head, taking his hands with me as I do. “I’m scared.”
I hate making this admission. Men don’t get scared. And if we do, we sure as hell don’t admit it. In a small town like this in Kansas, men are still supposed to be “tough.” We don’t show weakness. “Me too.”
I’m shocked when he readily admits this. Grady isn’t afraid of anything. “You’ll be fine.”
“I’m going to California, Ry. This is all I’ve ever known.” He doesn’t release me, but he looks around the lake. No one is around us, but I hear the music coming from the shabby cabin our class rented for the weekend, and I can see the bonfire they’ve lit close to it.
“You’ll be great.”
His eyes meet mine, and I feel that familiar feeling stirring low in my belly. One I’ve been trying to ignore for years. One I’ve tried to drink away. I’ve tried my best to get lost in the girls in our class and out on the baseball field. I’ve thrown myself into everything else, trying like hell to ignore the one thing I know deep down I want.
Him.
“So will you.”
“Chances of going pro are slim,” I say lamely, my eyes transfixed on his full lips. No wonder he has such a reputation for being a good kisser. With lips like those, how could he not be?
Of course, that’s only with girls.
Every fucking girl in our school.
Grady is, no doubt, straight. And I . . . I have no idea what I am.
Lost.
That seems about right.
He cups the back of my neck with one of his hands and pulls me close, resting his forehead against mine in a gesture he’s done a lot when I’ve doubted myself. “Not for you. You’re Ryan fucking Bailey. You’re going to go far. You were destined for this.”
A shiver runs th
rough me from the intensity of his eyes on mine. “You’re always so sure.”
“About you? Of course, I am.”
I want to lean in even closer. I breathe him in and hope like hell it’s not noticeable, but I can’t resist. He smells like whiskey and the lake from swimming earlier. And him. Just fucking him.
“Grady?” My voice is full of gravel as he pulls back enough to look into my eyes. His breathing seems rapid, but maybe it’s my imagination.
“Yeah?”
I swear his gaze drops to my lips, but I try to shake that thought away. I’ve wanted him for years, but there’s no way he feels the same. “I don’t know what I was going to say,” I admit.
“You think too much, Bailey. You always have.” His thumb on his free hand—the other is still cupping the back of my neck—runs over my bottom lip, and I think I stopped breathing.
When he leans closer to me, I’m almost certain I’m dreaming. Or maybe I fell into the lake and am drowning. Hell, maybe I’m dead.
But when his firm lips press against mine, I couldn’t give a fuck if I’m actually dead because this is my heaven.
His hand around the back of my neck grips me tighter and pulls me closer as a growl escapes my throat, and I don’t think . . . I just attack his mouth with mine. Taking everything I’ve wanted for so damn long.
My hands move to his thick, soft hair, threading my fingers through it and pulling him to me, not able to get close enough. His mouth opens for me as my tongue darts inside, tasting Grady. Finally.
God, he tastes good.
Our moans mingle as he shoves me onto my back on the dock, and I think this is it. This is when he’ll wake up from his drunken daze and punch me right in the face.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, his body covers mine, settling between my legs, and I know he can feel how hard I am. But what really fucking shocks me to my core, something I’ll never forget for as long as I live, is the erection that’s not mine. His hard dick is pressed against mine as our lips meet again, and we grind against each other. Groaning and moaning with need as we kiss and writhe on the old wooden dock. My body is larger than his—both in pure muscle mass and in height—but he has no problem taking control, grabbing both my hands and pinning them above my head as our clothed cocks rub against each other, and I’m about to lose my mind.
“Grady,” I gasp, close to coming in my jeans.
He pulls back enough to look down into my eyes, not releasing his hold on me. “Yeah?”
“What are we doing?”
I could kick myself for stopping this, but this is Grady. He doesn’t make out with guys. I can’t be a drunken mistake. Not to him.
“Celebrating?” His right eyebrow kicks up along with a cocky grin spreading on his too handsome face.
I’m shocked he isn’t flipping the fuck out. But again, this is Grady. He doesn’t freak out. He’s calm, cool, and collected. Always. It’s why he’s a fucking fantastic pitcher. Nothing rattles him. “Like this?” I rasp as I feel his body on top of mine while I pant and plead with him silently to come back to me.
The spell broken, he sits up, letting go of my wrists and kneeling between my legs. “Maybe not the best idea.”
It’s like a knife plunging into my heart, but deep down I know he’s right. There are so many things I want to say to him. I want to pull him back to me, kiss the fuck out of him, and tell him I’m an idiot for saying anything. To get lost with me.
But I don’t. Instead, I take his hand when he stands and then pulls me up, ruffling my hair in the casual, easy way that’s just Grady.
He isn’t freaking out that he kissed a guy. His thoughts aren’t swirling around in his head that’s moving far away while I’m staying in the same state where we grew up. He doesn’t worry about any of that.
“Come on, fucker. This is our last night before the real world comes calling and we make it our bitch.”
I follow, but it’s on shaky, uncertain legs.
Because now, I’ve had a fucking taste. And I have no idea how I’m going to come back from that.
7 Years Later
Fuck, what did I do last night?
I reluctantly open my eyes and groan when I see a hand on my chest. A neatly trimmed and manicured nails on a dainty but masculine hand. “Well, hey.” The blond guy smiles up at me with a sparkling smile I’m pretty sure attracted to me to him last night.
“Hey.” I stretch my arms upward, and the guy takes the opportunity to scoot higher, lying nearly flat against my bare chest.
He traces the tattoo on my bicep. “Lordy, these muscles.” He drags his tongue over said muscles, and I try my best not to pull away.
“Yeah?”
“I could stay here and lick them all . . .” he moves down to my pecs, “day . . .” and then the ridges of my sculped abs, “long.”
Christ, that thought should make me happy. Or horny. But really, all I want is to get this guy out of my bed. “As fun as that sounds, I have some things to take care of today.”
He pouts, pushing his pink bottom lip out as he looks at me with sad, puppy dog eyes. I could break the guy in two. He’s thin and wiry but, if I recall, has a mouth like a fucking hoover. And there’s no denying he’s a good-looking man. “I suppose you might. But maybe I’ll be your good-luck charm.”
He winks as I sit up in my bed, pushing him back gently enough to give myself some space. The sheet covers my lap, but that doesn’t stop his gaze from going there. “We might need it.”
He shakes his head, leaning in to kiss me, but I turn my head because I’m a fucking asshole. He pouts again but quickly recovers. “Game seven is going to be epic. Did you hear who they nabbed for the national anthem?”
That grabs my attention as I climb out of the bed, tugging on a pair of gray sweatpants and turning back to the stranger. “No. Who?”
I don’t pay much attention to the entertainment. My mind is on the game. My first World Series. And fuck, if the series hasn’t gone all the way to the final game to see who’s going to take home the win.
“Immoral. Well, I guess just the lead singer, but it’s still pretty damn cool if you ask me.” He stands up with no shame at his nakedness, not that he should have any. He tugs on his tight pants from last night and finds his shirt.
“Immoral?”
I sit down on the bed, my legs suddenly too weak to hold me up. “Yeah. Well, Grady Bell.”
Fuck.
Me.
Of course, he’ll be there. Because why the fuck not? It’s only the most important game of my professional career, and I haven’t seen him since graduation night seven years ago. But sure, perfect time for a reunion.
“Are you sure? I thought they were on tour.”
He grabs his phone, typing away before he shows me an article stating that Grady is back in his “hometown” to finish out the World Series. Fuck. Kansas City isn’t even our hometown.
We’re from a really small town about eighty miles south of Kansas City on the Kansas side, but facts aren’t really all that important, right? Not when you’re trying to sell something.
“I think their tour ended a couple of weeks ago. Anyway, pretty cool. You’re from here too. Do you guys know each other?”
Okay, I’m done with the small talk. “I’m sorry. I really have shit to do. This was fun though.”
The guy—for the life of me, I can’t remember his name—approaches me, pulling on the waist of my joggers, tugging me closer to him. “Don’t be a stranger. I mean, I know I can’t say anything about this, but I may have left my name and number in your phone if you’re up for more fun.”
He kisses me and then tosses me a wink before bouncing out of my room.
Thank God for NDAs. My agent would fucking kill me for last night, but I did get him to sign the NDA before bringing him home and avoided all pictures at the crowded club. And because the World Series happened to be in the town where my house is located, I didn’t have to stay in a hotel, so the guy does have my
actual address.
Risky. Maybe. But I’m not worried.
Sue me. I was celebrating my team making it to the final game.
But you see, I’m an athlete. And as liberal and accommodating as the sports world tries to seem these days, there are some things that just aren’t done as my agent, Jenny, has explained to me many, many times.
My phone rings next to my bed, and I groan, walking over to answer it without even looking. I know who it is this early in the morning. “Hey, Ma.”
“Well, hello, Mr. Bigshot World Series Guy.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help the smile on my face as I take a seat on my bed. My parents are pretty okay even if they may be a little ignorant. But they love me. They always have. They stuck together through the teen pregnancy and managed to have three boys, all baseball players. But I’m the only one that’s gone pro so far. Although my youngest brother is well on his way.
“Good morning.”
“Did you get enough rest last night?”
I glance at my crumpled sheets and shrug even if she can’t see me. “Sure.”
“Uh-huh. Well, your father and I are so excited. You know we’ll be there in the stands screaming louder than anyone else.”
“It’s like ninety degrees. Why won’t you use your VIP seats? There’s air conditioning.”
I can actually hear her waving me off. “Please. That’s not a real experience. Oh, and did you hear Grady will be there? What ever happened to you two boys? You were so close.”
Well, Mom. He kissed my fucking brains out. And then I couldn’t handle being in love with a straight guy, so I ditched town early without saying goodbye, and now I’m sure he hates me.
