Page 59 of Sliding into Love
I don't let myself finish the thought.
I also ignore the buzzing of my phone as I drive. It’s all through text, which means it’s probably Gillies demanding thosedetails from earlier. He didn’t stop at two home runs during the game. The man made it to four, beating his previous record.
That asshole.
After parking in my assigned spot, I pull up the thread with his messages. Sure enough, he’s being a demanding little shit about the bet.
Gillies: Guess who hit those home runs? THIS GUY!
Gillies: That means you’ve got to give me the deets. And I do mean alllll of them.
Gillies: Did it go well? Did they seem shocked? Did you go straight for the kiss?
Gillies: Of course you did. Why am I even asking that? Was it a good kiss!!??
Gillies: I mean, we’ve never made out, but you seem like a decent guy. Surely, you know a thing or two. As long as you didn’t have onions or anything right before you’re solid.
Gillies: You’re not answering me. WTF, dude. Get back here.
Gillies: Oh, wait. Are you with them now?? Is that why you won’t answer? You sly dog.
I reply, if only for the fact that I don’t need my phone buzzing all night. My focus is going to be on Royce only.
Kenneth: The details will have to wait. Royce is on the way to my place. All I’ll say is this - BEST KISS EVER.
He sends back a string of lewd emojis, following it quickly with a mix of heart eye faces and crying ones. I know that’s his way of saying he’s happy for me. With him handled, I go inside to wait.
My condo is downtown, a modern space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. I moved here when I took over the team, wanting a place that felt like mine rather than anything my family had a hand in. It's sleek and minimal, all clean lines and neutral colors.
Now, looking around, I wonder if it's too impersonal. Should I have more… stuff? Do I need to put on music? Light candles? What the hell is the protocol here?
I end up pacing, checking my phone every thirty seconds, straightening things that don't need to be straightened. I change my shirt twice before deciding the first one was fine. I'm acting like a teenager before prom and it's ridiculous.
My phone buzzes.
Royce: On my way. Be there in 10.
Ten minutes. I can handle ten minutes.
I pour myself a glass of water, then pour it out because my hands are shaking too much. I sit on the couch, then immediately stand up again. I'm a mess.
The knock on the door comes exactly nine minutes later.
I take a breath, trying to compose myself, then open it.
Royce is standing there, still in their suit from the game, and they look absolutely incredible. Their hair is slightly mussed, their shirt partially unbuttoned, and when they look at me, their eyes are dark with want—but also a sharper edge. Like they're still deciding whether to trust this, to trust me.
"Hi," they say, their tone carefully neutral.
"Hi." I step back to let them in, and as they pass me, I catch their scent, which I'm already addicted to.
They walk into the living room, looking around with an appraising eye. "Nice place," they say, but it sounds almost like a criticism. Like they're looking for flaws, for reasons to keep their guard up.
"Thanks." I close the door, then just stand there, suddenly unsure. We were so desperate for each other earlier, but now that we're here, alone, the weight of everything between us feels heavier.
Royce turns to face me, and the look in their eyes is complicated—want mixed with wariness, heat mixed with hardness.
"So," they say. "Are we going to talk about this or…"
