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LEVI

I had a love-hate relationship with baseball. As an agent, I represented quite a few players. Watching them flourish never ceased to amaze me. Plus, they kept me busy during the part of the sport I hated: Barrett being gone ninety percent of the time.

He'd been at spring training for six weeks, and I had another thirty-two hours and twenty-four minutes before he got home.

But who was counting?

When Barrett got drafted to New York, I’d offered to move. He refused. It was one of the biggest fights we’d ever had. At the time, I couldn’t imagine being away from him for weeks at a time, but Barrett was a Georgia boy at heart. He said he couldn’t imagine giving up his home for something as temporary as a contract. The unpredictability of the sport was enough for him to stand firm in his decision.

Ten years later, he was one of the best players in the league. Everyone knew the name Barrett Swindon. To go with that, the name Levi Grant. If only they knew my name for more than the scandal that came along with it.

With a groan, I tossed my book onto the table with a loud thump .

I had to get out of this damn house.

After so long, you think I’d be adjusted to the quiet, but it was the exact opposite. The house wasn’t the same without Barrett dancing around the kitchen with no shame in the world. Or bringing me a spoonful of his latest recipe to taste. Damn, the man could cook.

I swapped my sweats out for the jeans and t-shirt I’d abandoned earlier, replacing my old Hellbenders cap on my head.

As I sat in the back of the Uber, I let my mind drift away from my absent partner. Specifically, to the boy I’d seen earlier that day. The sports community—hell, the entire state —had been buzzing with his name. “Hometown Hero” Stetson Holloway had been drafted to the Thrashers. I’d seen him play his senior year, but another agent snatched him up before I could even blink. He’d dominated his way through college ball, easily winning the collegiate World Series title for his university.

I’d gone to the field that day to keep an eye on a few of my problematic players but instead, I spent my time there watching every move Stetson made.

I swore I’d walk away, but then the man had to go and take his damn shirt off. That idea swiftly went out the window.

The sun hammered onto the field that day. I was melting in the shaded dugout, so I knew the players had to be miserable. I watched intently as Stetson whipped his shirt off, adding it to the pile with the others. He’d looked delectable . I’d resisted the urge to lick my lips. His broad shoulders and the hint of abs teasing his flat stomach hit a spot that, outside of Barrett, no other man had touched.

We’d spent quite a few years searching for a third to bring into our relationship. I’d been head-over-heels for Barrett since the day we met but I had a special interest that Barrett didn’t share, and I couldn’t fault him for that.

I was a Daddy, and every Daddy needed his boy. Even I could realize that Barrett was nobody’s boy . In fact, Barrett was the only person who had any power to boss me around. There had been a few prospects over the years, but none that fit.

However, when I noticed Stetson on the field with his bright blue eyes, dirty blond hair, and smile that could kill, something seemed to click into place. But I needed to calm myself down. If I came on too strong, I was sure to screw it up. Besides, I needed Barrett to meet him first.

I let myself daydream about Stetson until I arrived at my favorite dive bar. The door swung open as someone went in ahead of me, and a cacophony of noises filtered out of the place. I made my way to the counter, ordered a drink, and sought out the main source of the chaos. Then I smiled.

Half of the Atlanta Thrashers were packed into a corner, surrounding a very drunk Stetson, who had a shot in one hand and a mixed drink in the other. I chuckled to myself and shook my head, taking an empty stool to watch the show. Normally I’d intervene, but could drop the agent hat for a night.

I sat back and nursed my drink while Stetson knocked back four tequila shots. Who knows how many he’d had before I showed up? I barely contained my laughter as he climbed onto the table on a dare, belting out a drunken rendition of “I Want It That Way.” I nearly choked on a mouthful of my drink and tears gathered in the corners of my eyes.

“For the love of God, will someone shut him up?”

Uh-oh.

I searched for the voice, but Stetson was faster. Before I knew it, he was jumping off the table and wobbling on unsteady legs. His teammates caught him, but they weren’t strong enough—or sober enough—to hold him back. With every thunderous step, I wondered when it would be appropriate to step in. When he came face to face with the guy who’d shouted at him, I leapt out of my seat.

Between the music, the two of them shouting in each other’s faces, and the copious amounts of alcohol they’d each consumed, I couldn’t make out a single word. Both faces were red, spit disgustingly flying between them, and then Stetson drew his fist back. I captured it with impressive speed and stepped close, leaning in to speak in his ear .

“You and me, outside. Now.”

“Fuck off,” he slurred in return. He tried to wrench out of my grasp, but the booze slowed him down.

“That wasn’t a request, Holloway. Move .”

I pulled my head back to Stetson’s icy blue eyes snapping to mine. His jaw was clenched so tightly, I was surprised I couldn’t hear his teeth grinding. My body was very aware of his proximity, and I took a step back to avoid him noticing. Something in his eyes shifted. Was that obedience ?

I banished the flicker of hope sparking in my belly.

When I felt confident that he wouldn’t swing, I loosened my grip. He lowered his arm, and I let out a sigh of relief. “Take him home,” I barked to the heckler’s friend.

I didn’t wait around for a response before dragging Stetson out of the bar, ignoring his protests. His teammates were suspiciously quiet, pretending not to see me.

We’d barely stepped out into the sticky Georgia night before Stetson tried to wrench out of my grasp, but it didn’t work. I guided him around the building and to the alley, where we’d have at least some semblance of privacy. I shoved him into a corner, slightly enjoying the grunt he made as he hit the bricks and I boxed him in. I planted my feet and crossed my arms over my chest. “What were you thinking back there, Stetson?”

He swayed on his feet. “How do you know my name?”

“The whole state of Georgia knows who you are.” That made him smile, the cocky little shit. “Which brings me back to my original question: What were you thinking? You could have screwed everything up.”

“He started it!”

“And a single punch could end your career. Was he worth that?”

Stetson peered over my shoulder, eyes unfocused. He couldn’t even stand straight, and I was prepared to grab him at any second. I clenched my hands into fists, trying not to touch him without an excuse.

“That’s what I thought. You need to get it together or you’ll never have any hope in making it in the majors.” I gave him a squeeze on the shoulder. “Come on, I’ll get you home.”

Coughing stopped me in my tracks. I should have seen it coming: Stetson doubled over, expelling the contents of his stomach. The caregiver in me kicked in. Where someone else might have left him to it, I put a comforting hand on his shoulder and waited until he was finished.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” I whispered.

He nodded, using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth off before leaning against me.

I managed to keep him upright until we climbed into the backseat of the car. I’d been out of the house less than an hour. Stetson squirmed next to me, whining about needing to pee before lying on my shoulder. My stomach fluttered.

“You’re a big boy,” I laughed. “You can hold it.”

He was snoring before we turned the corner. The driver kindly offered assistance in getting the boy inside but I politely declined, also tamping down my “Daddy” tendency to offer help when I directed him to the bathroom. Once he was passed out in the guest bed, I left a bottle of water on the nightstand.

As I kicked my bedroom door shut, hands covered my eyes and panic spiked in my chest. “Guess who?”

“If you’re not my boyfriend you’re about to find out what I keep in my nightstand!”

The hands fell away, and I whirled on the intruder. Barrett had his hands on his hips, eyeing me skeptically. “A bottle of lube and your dildo?”

“A criminal doesn’t know that,” I groused.

“Good thing I’m not here to burgle you of your favorite vibrator.” Barrett’s hazel eyes sparkled as he stepped forward to cup my cheeks in his hands. Our lips met, and I was swept up into the familiarity of him. I moaned into a kiss that ended way too early.

“I thought you weren’t getting in until Sunday.”

“I caught an earlier flight. I needed to see you.” I reached forward to tuck a strand of his chin-length dirty blond hair behind his ear. Chad Michael Murray eat your heart out. His hands left my neck, brushing over my chest and snaking around my waist before clenching hard on my ass. “But I wasn’t expecting you to come home with someone. Is he?—”

“Drunk off his ass and sleeping it off in the guest room? Yes. I’ll get him home in the morning.”

“He’s okay?”

“He’ll be fine.” I kissed my partner again. “Now show me how much you missed me.”