Page 84 of The Play

Maybe even more insane, Grant thought, but worth it.

If he could really have this, without destroying his life—and the lives of everyone who depended on him—while preserving the Condors’ and Deacon’s reputation, too?

Wouldn’t he do just about anything to have it all?

He would.

“I love you,” Grant said, which was a much shorter, simpler way of saying, I’d do just about anything to have it all: you and the rest, too.

Deacon dropped a short, quick kiss on his upturned mouth. It was like they’d already been doing this for years. Like they’d said goodbye just this way a hundred times already, even though it was actually the first time.

“I love you too,” he murmured. “I’d better go.”

“You don’t want to stay for coffee?” Grant asked. Because if he wasn’t going to have sex as a wake-up mechanism, he really needed coffee.

“And have Darcy ogling me over her cappuccino? No, I’m good, thanks. I’m sure she’s going to want to hear the full rundown, anyway, and it’ll be easier for you to accurately judge my technique if you’re not doing it in front of me.” The corner of Deacon’s mouth quirked upwards.

Like his technique hadn’t been perfectly mind-blowing.

Grant rolled his eyes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Deacon said, looking delighted at Grant’s response to that.

“Yes,” Grant said. “I’ll text you.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll be talking before tomorrow,” Deacon said, as they headed out of the bedroom into the main living space.

“Yes,” Grant said, trying very hard not to sound like an eager sixteen-year-old, making a phone date with his crush.

He might’ve just embraced it but Darcy was standing in the kitchen, eyes seemingly glued to her tablet as she drank her coffee. He wasn’t necessarily embarrassed to do it in front of her, but it did mean the amount of shit she’d give him would be exponentially more.

After Deacon had said goodbye one more time, giving Darcy a brief wave, and the door had closed behind him, she turned to Grant, a knowing gleam in her eye.

“So,” she said.

“So,” Grant repeated, heading towards the coffee machine, setting it up for a double latte.

He pulled a mug down from the shelf and watched as the frother warmed the milk.

“You could’ve texted,” Darcy said.

“I could’ve, but I was . . .uh . . .a bit busy,” Grant admitted.

“Last thing I heard was you were heading to that bar to deal with that fight mess Carter messaged you about.”

“Yes. I handled things at the Pirate’s Booty,” Grant said trying to keep a straight face as he said the name.

But Darcy was smiling. “Booty, huh? You becoming a buccaneer in this scenario? Or was that Deacon?”

Grant’s espresso finally finished dripping into his mug and he poured the milk over. Took a long bracing sip. “I don’t know if I’d characterize either of us in that manner,” he said.

“Uh-huh.” Darcy didn’t sound convinced. And okay, maybe Deacon had definitely shivered his timbers last night. Twice, even.

“But yes, you can report back to Cheryl that the fight was a non-issue. Some drunk guys said some shit, Deacon took exception to it, but everyone saw reason once they sobered up.”

“Or because you showed up looking all owner-y,” Darcy said knowingly.

“Something like that,” Grant said bashfully.

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