Page 60 of Stetson

Barrett sobered, the blood draining from his face. “Don’t you dare!”

My lip quirked. “Want to try me, sweetheart?”

Stetson’s attention ping-ponged between the two of us, fork poised halfway to his mouth. I don’t think he’d ever seen Barrett drink. Likely because he hadn’t picked up a bottle since that fateful night. “Wait! Now Ihaveto hear it!”

“No you don’t,” Barrett argued.

I sat back in my seat, amused. It wasn’t often that Barrett let things get under his skin, and seeing him nervous was fucking adorable. “What if I let you punish our boy for that age comment?”

Barrett took a bite of his dinner, narrowing his eyes as he weighed the risk. Truth be told, the night in question wasn’tthatbad, but it was definitely out of character for Barrett. Everyonelovedit, but when he woke up and saw the evidence the next morning—not to mention the horrific hangover he nursed for days—he swore off alcohol.

Stetson piped up, ignoring my offer to Barrett. “Was it better or worse than belting out nineties music and puking your guts out in an alley?”

“Worse,” Barrett and I both said in unison.

“He threw up all overme,” I continued.

“You did not!”

“Levi! Oh, my God.” Barrett groaned and hid his face in his hands.

I took that as permission to launch into the story. Despite every weird twist and disgusting turn, Stetson latched onto it like a kid at story time. Barrett turned a deeper shade of red as the minutes passed. He tried to distract himself with his food, but eventually shoved his plate away.

I met Barrett when he was a college player, and he was a bit of an underdog. I was warned left and right not to sign him. He wasn’t on anyone’s radar, his stats weren’t good enough, he wasn’tdeterminedenough. At least, that’s what some said. Everyone seemed to have their opinions on why he wasn’t good enough for the majors.

But he was perfect for me.

I took a chance and offered to represent him. He graduated college, and the Hellbenders took interest. He’d be the first to admit that his rookie year was a struggle, but he made it. He proved himself and soon enough, he was their star player. “The D'usse Incident,” as we would come to know it, happened once he finished that first year. It mortified him to even think about that night, but I could pinpoint the precise moment I started to fall in love with him.

It was the first time I saw the rookie nerves fade away, and the true Barrett emerged into the spotlight. As I talked, I studied the ink winding over his arms and around his wrists. Those weren’t there when I met him but by the end of that night, he would have his first tattoo.

* * *

We hadn’t intended on going out together that night. I didn’t even realize he was in town. Most pro athletes relocated to their team’s state, even in the off season. I was meeting a coworker for drinks, and Barrett happened to be in the same place. After a few, my coworker left to go home to his family. With nothing better to do, I ordered another and, feeling emboldened, sent Barrett one as well. When the bartender set a large shot glass in front of him and filled it to the top with cognac, I was impressed. I didn’t know many cognac drinkers, much less ones who drank it by the shot. But Barrett met my eyes over his shoulder, winked, and threw it back like it was nothing.

He slammed the glass back down on the counter, wiped his mouth, and pushed off the stool. I barely had time to process what was happening before he plopped down across from me and blurted, “I’m into you.”

Stunned, all I could offer was. “Excuse me?”

The cocky little shit crooked a brow at me. “Am I not speaking English?”

In the grand scheme of things, eight years wasn’t all that much of an age difference but back then, it felt four times as drastic. Desperate to have the attention off me, I changed the subject. “How many have you had?”

He scoffed. “Irrelevant. I was attracted to you the moment we met. You want to get out of here?”

My face was on fire. I’d met some confident men in my life, but I could honestly say I’d never been propositioned so… openly. And from a client at that. I cleared my throat and spun my drink around on the table. “Um, Barrett, I’m flattered but I’m your agent.”

“So?” He slid his chair around the table and moved in close. Our thighs brushed and he dipped a hand between my legs to tease at the seam in my jeans. Heat trailed behind his finger, lighting up my nerve endings like the Fourth of July.

Damn, he was not making this easy. I shot a hand down, stopping his fingers before they found my very evident erection. Gently, I placed his hand back in his own lap, as much as it pained me to do so. “Let me clarify,” I told him. “This isn’t me saying I don’t find you attractive, or that I don’t want to. I’m your agent, and any sort of intimate relationship between us would be inappropriate. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything by sending you that drink and if I did, I apologize. Do you understand?”

Bleary, hazel eyes searched mine. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip and damn it if my gaze didn’t snap right down to watch. I felt pressure on my hand, and it was then that I realized I was still holding his in his lap, dangerously close to his— “I understand,” he finally said, releasing my hand and getting to his feet. “But don’t think I didn’t see that. I’ll have you before you know it, Levi Grant.”

I was too shocked to respond. Instead, I dipped my gaze into my drink. I definitely wasn’t watching his ass as he strutted away from the table.

* * *

“I got a call about an hour later from the owner of a tattoo studio.”

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