And wasn’t that a wakeup call?
He hadn’t forgotten how his attention had been caught by those long legs and that cotton-candy hair. If he let himself think about it, his fingers still itched with the desire to feel how soft it’d be. But that wasn’t going to happen. There were a million reasons he could never, ever, go there. The least of which being his desires were better left to the professionals.
He’d made the mistake once. It had been unsettling and unsatisfying. From then on, he’d kept his sexual encounters to a minimum. He’d been too busy anyway. From the moment he accepted the first loan from Lockwood, Rafe had been locked in a perpetual cycle of study, work, study, work, study, work.
Time to get his head back in the game—he couldn’t spend the rest of the day in shadows. He needed to get the Sassy Boyz back, and the best way to do that was standing right in front of him. Rafe stepped into the store. It wasn’t hard to find the door to the display area. It was wide open in invitation.
Rafe walked through and into a different world.
Hop looked up from what he was doing, his eyes wide in surprise. God, they were blue. So fucking blue, like the sea, deep and swirling with something Rafe recognized on an instinctual level. He cleared his throat and shut the door behind him. It was one thing to be in a fishbowl for anyone walking by to see clear as day. It was another for people to overhear their conversation.
“Listen to me.” His tone was insistent.
Hop crossed his arms but didn’t answer. He was trapped and they both knew it, the only thing he could do was hear Rafe out.
“I made a mistake,” Rafe tried.
A pucker appeared between Hop’s brows.
“I know it’s not an excuse, but you took me by surprise. I didn’t deal with it well. If I could do it over again—”
“What? You wouldn’t fire us? You wouldn’t growl at me? You wouldn’t let your fear of my father overrule your logic?”
Rafe took off his gloves. “Yeah, pretty much all of that.”
Hop scoffed. “You’ve got some nerve, you know?”
“I do. But I need the Sassy Boyz back on my stage.”
“That’s true. They certainly classed up the joint.”
Rafe smiled a little, but he didn’t reply.
“I’ve been trying to convince them to go back, but they’re being absurdly loyal.” He tucked his pink hair behind his ear in an insecure gesture.
He’d known that without Hop there’d be no way to win them over so he wasn’t surprised. “Loyalty is good.”
“Sure, except that means there’ll be no convincing them.” He actually seemed apologetic, which tickled the piece of Rafe that craved compliance.
“I think you’ve misunderstood. I need all the Sassy Boyz, including you.”
Time had flipped the tables on him. After years of rescuing Hop from himself, Rafe needed to be saved.
And only Hop could do it.
* * *
“But, Roland?” Hop managed to get the words out through his surprise. The last thing he’d expected was for Rafe to ask for him to come back. The Sassy Boyz, yeah, sure, Rafe would be an idiot if he didn’t try to persuade them to return, but Hop?
What happened to never seeing him again?
What happened to wanting him to disappear for good?
What happened to being Roland’s puppet?
“What he doesn’t know...” Rafe said with wariness in his eyes that belied his overconfidence. He might be willing to secretly disobey his mentor, but he still wasn’t ready to cut all ties.
“That’s convenient,” Hop said under his breath. But honestly, he couldn’t blame him. That kind of money moved mountains.
“So, will you come back?”
Hop twisted the mannequin’s felt scarf in his hands as he stared at Rafe, his stomach doing somersaults at the sight of him, at the nearness of him—but mostly at the intensity of his eyes.
That pull hadn’t gone away. There was an undercurrent of danger there, and it licked at all his secret desires. How could he still be stupid enough to feel like this after everything he’d gone through? He hated Rafe. Right? It’d been Rafe’s fault. Hadn’t it?
Hop had to look away, pulling his sass around him like an invisibility cloak. “I should tell you to bite me.” But the boys deserved to dance, and if he could convince them, he wouldn’t have to feel guilty any longer.
Rafe took a step closer. “Are you?” Damn, but his voice was a low rumble that vibrated Hop’s bones.
Was it getting hotter? He finished wrapping the scarf and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
Rafe’s loyal discipline had turned into a potent confidence from which it was impossible to hide. He dominated the space. This small display area was no match for an energy so commanding. It made Hop want to bend to his will. What would it be like to have that control focused solely on him—on the goal of bringing him pleasure?
Hop sucked in an annoyed breath. No. Not happening.
Avoiding Rafe’s eyes, he picked up the matching hat and slid it on the mannequin’s head. The gloves went on next, then he maneuvered the snowboard into place.
He didn’t hear Rafe move but he felt him. The heat at his back increased by a thousand percent and Hop froze in place, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.
Big palms cupped his shoulders and turned him until he faced Rafe. “Hop, what do I have to do?”
Hop should be reveling in this change of events, but this wasn’t how things were supposed to be. He didn’t enjoy having the choice. It was so much easier to give in, to not make decisions.
“I—I don’t know.”
“I’m asking for your help, as a friend.”
A friend? “Are you kidding me?” He pulled himself out of Rafe’s burning grip and moved so the extra props were between them. “Friends? That’s a joke, right? We were never friends.”
“I’m not your enemy.” Rafe’s nostrils flared and the deepness of his dark eyes sucked Hop in.
He fought the pull with everything he had. “No? If you say so. I guess we’re just a couple of strangers who share some memories.” Hard memories. Painful memories. Memories Hop would kill to forget.
“Hopkins—”
Hop squeezed both hands into fists.
“Hop.” Rafe extended both hands palm forward. “Sorry, it’s hard to get used to. You’re not the same kid, I get it. I’m not the same guy either.”
That was true. Rafe was harder, darker, and even more impressive.
He was just like Roland. Aloof. Selfish. Manipulative. But Rafe was even worse because he made you feel like he cared. Rafe pretended to give a fuck. Then he left you high and dry when you needed him most. Why was that getting harder to remember?
He pushed aside the stupid lust that kept drawing him toward Rafe. He shoved at the pesky compassion that wanted to see the man as a human being with flaws. He bricked the weakness up behind all the disappointment and contempt he’d wallowed in for so many years.
With the cockiest, sassiest, bitchiest attitude he could muster, Hop said, “You almost had me, but there’s one thing you taught me that I’ll never forget. People don’t change. They just get better at lying.”
* * *
Hop walked to rehearsal after work. He needed the fresh air even if the wind chill might cause frostbite before he arrived. The freezing temperature helped cool some of the residual anger he’d been hanging onto since Rafe’s unexpected appearance at the store.
It was harder to let go of the regret, though.
This time his foolishly naive feelings for his unwilling savior could end up costing him more than a few weeks in the hospital. It’d already hurt his best friends.
He’d had the chance to get the Sassy Boyz back where they belonged but he’d let his ego get in the way. How could he face them?
; Worse? He had a sinking feeling that Rafe wasn’t going to give up. Whatever had motivated him to seek Hop out, to practically beg, it must be important. And one thing Hop knew for sure, Rafe wasn’t the type to give up on something once he’d set his mind to it. He wanted the Sassy Boyz back and he wouldn’t stop until they were. If he couldn’t convince Hop, Rafe would likely go straight to the top.
Ansel.
Knowing he couldn’t keep the encounter to himself, Hop pushed into the studio.
“You’re late,” Z said. He sat on the floor legs spread wide, stretching.
“Better late than ugly,” Hop replied.
Z snorted, a smile stretching his lips. “Bitch, please, your birth certificate is an apology letter from the condom factory.”
“It’s a war of the salty sluts up in here.” Ansel tossed his bag to the floor as he came into the room.
“More like a battle of wits, but poor Hop came unprepared.” Z rolled his hips until he was flat on his stomach, legs in a split.
“If you ran like your mouth, you’d be in great shape.” Hop pulled off his layers and dropped them in a pile near the mirrored wall.
“Lame.” Z tsked. “You lose.”
Hop laughed. “I’ll get you next time, you evil genius.”
“In your dreams. I’m the queen of bitchatude, nobody can snatch my crown.” Z finished his stretches and rolled to his feet. “I’ll let you be my minion, though.” He kissed Hop’s cheek, then sat on one of the metal folding chairs.
Tam turned from the stereo equipment in the corner. “I want to polish the ‘S&M’ set. I don’t have anything new today.”
“Before we get started, um, Rafe came to see me at work today.”
“Motherfucker.” Z stood and flicked a towel. “I should have threatened him with an NYPD crackdown like I wanted to.”
“Wait, what?” He darted a look at the others. They all avoided his eyes, even Jae.
Tam spoke up first. “He called all of us.”
Something slimy made his stomach squirm. “Oh.” Rafe had contacted everyone else first. Why did that make him feel so fucking awful? “When?”
“Saturday,” Ansel said.
“We wanted to tell you, but we didn’t want to make the situation worse.” Yeah, because that made sense.
“I get it.” He didn’t.
Rafe had contacted everyone on Saturday. That must have been what they were talking about in the conversation he’d overheard on Sunday night.
“We told him to go fuck himself.” Z squeezed Hop’s shoulder. Even though it was supposed to be a supportive gesture all it did was piss him off.
“Sorry, but that’s bullshit.”
“We were protecting you.”
“I don’t need your protection, especially from him. He’s never hurt me. We have history, sure, but it has nothing to do with you. Isn’t it my choice?”
“You want to forgive him?” Z sounded skeptical.
And, okay, he had a right. Because yeah, Hop was struggling. And no, he absolutely did not forgive Rafe. But he also couldn’t stand by and watch while his friends gave up on something so amazing because of him. The guilt had been eating at him for days and he didn’t want to live with that for the rest of his life. What if they never found another club to hire them? What if they ended up splitting apart, never dancing again?
Hop couldn’t let that happen.
So, he lied.
“Yeah, I forgive him.”
Chapter Nine
Rafe snapped a pencil in half as Lockwood’s secretary’s voice played over his answering service.
“Mr. Lockwood will expect you at his residence on Thursday at six o’clock. You will stay for dinner after the budget meeting. Dress is semiformal, as usual. Bring wine; red, aged at least ten years, from a Southern European vineyard.” She hung up without any of the customary salutations, leaving Rafe fuming.
Fifteen years of this bullshit. God, he couldn’t wait to be through with it all.
For that, he needed Hop.
He reclined in his office chair picturing Hop’s smile, the ease of it, the confident way he’d handled his work, the way his eyes had widened when Rafe appeared. The quickness of his breathing.
The warmth that had seeped into Rafe even through layers of clothes. The way Hop had frozen when Rafe had touched him, how his muscles had gone soft under Rafe’s palms, almost like Rafe’s firm hand had helped him relax.
The idea was driving Rafe insane.
Had Hop always been so easy to mold or was this new? Rafe tried to remember, but it was so long ago and his memories were tainted.
Desire pooled low in Rafe’s belly, but he credited it to his long dry spell. He wasn’t attracted to Hopkins, he was attracted to the challenge he presented. Of course Rafe would ache to see such a willful personality finally yield. Right? The idea of it shot adrenaline through his blood and straight to his cock.
It was just that, not those eyes.
Not the memory of Hop’s vulnerability.
He didn’t like labels, but many would call him a Dom. It fit. He definitely got off on supplication and it didn’t matter who was submitting most of the time.
He’d played with men before, especially in the beginning before he’d gained a reputation to be trusted. Still, this was Hopkins, the one who couldn’t stop testing boundaries. It didn’t matter that the poor kid had only been trying to have a relationship with his father.
Rafe could not—would not—see Hopkins on his knees. Better to wipe that idea right out of his mind and refocus on the dilemma in his way.
Should he try calling Ansel Becke again? He mentally cringed, but flipped through the papers on his desk until he found the contact sheet. He picked up his phone and dialed the first number.
As it rang, a knock came from his office door. He waited for Mark to enter, but when he didn’t, Rafe called, “What?”
The door swung open and his cotton-candy fantasy walked in. Hop, dressed in iridescent pink pants so low they exposed his sharp hipbones beneath a baby-blue crop top with Hello Boys in swirly font. His tantalizing hair looked like silk as it fell in waves and curled around his ears—from the left hung a blue heart earring with a lightning bolt. His face was painted with muted pastel tones accentuating his natural androgynous features. And the best part? He wore a pair of stunning metallic gold heels that shone like the sun.
His crazy-Dom side was too close to the surface to handle Hop in the dazzling flesh right then.
He didn’t trust himself to speak, to move, to breathe. Luckily, Hop didn’t seem to notice. He closed the door behind him, crossed the room like a fucking cat, all grace and attitude, then sat at one of the leather chairs in front of Rafe’s large metal desk.
A desk Rafe was obscenely grateful for in that moment for many reasons he didn’t want to analyze.
“So,” Hop began. “Let’s get some shit settled, shall we?”
Rafe had forgotten the phone in his hand until he heard the tinny distant rumble of Ansel’s voice and ended the call.
“How’d you get in here?” Rafe asked. The way to his office was private for a reason.
Hop rolled his eyes. “Please.”
“Keep rolling your eyes at me and I’ll put you over my knee.” Fucking hell. Had he said that out loud?
Yep.
Hop’s eyebrows were in his hairline, his eyes dilated, and a blush had exploded on his already rosy cheeks. And damn if that blush didn’t tempt Rafe to stupidity.
Maybe he’d been on the right track after all.
The image of Hop kneeling before him flashed in Rafe’s mind but this time he didn’t push it away as impossible because there was a sparkle of interest in Hop’s eyes.
“Don’t make promises you won’t keep.” Challenge for challenge, Hop crossed his legs with an intriguing
confidence.
Drawing on every ounce of his famous control, Rafe pulled his gaze away from Hop’s lap. “I thought you’d said everything you wanted to say this afternoon.”
Hop’s smirk was victorious. “Yeah, thought so. Easy to make threats, a whole ’nother monster to follow through, ain’t it?”
Rafe clenched his fists on his knees. He would not let Hop provoke him, no matter how this new side of his old charge lit his blood. Silence settled around them while they eyed each other. Rafe didn’t mind the quiet. It was a tactic that put him back in the driver’s seat in any situation, and with Hop he needed every weapon in his arsenal.
“I don’t like you,” Hop finally said. “But I like your club. More importantly, the Sassy Boyz deserve to dance on your stage.”
Rafe nodded. “Agreed.”
“The thing is, I don’t trust you or this sudden conscience of yours as far as I can spit. People like you don’t make apologies unless there’s something in it for them. I’m going to need something binding if I’m going to convince them to come back.”
Rafe had been prepared for this. He pulled out the new contract and handed it to Hop. “Increased pay, more shifts, more flexibility, and greater control.”
Hop barely glanced at it. “I’m not interested in contracts. You ripped the last one up, remember? Who’s to say you won’t do that again?”
“There’s a clause. It’s binding—”
Hop shook his head. “What is this really about?”
“I made a mistake. I’m trying to correct it the only way I know how.”
Hop stood with a disgusted look on his face. “I don’t even know why I came tonight. Fucking hell, are you even honest to yourself? Do you think I can’t see right through your bullshit? Roland may not have raised me, but he taught me a thing or two over the years. One of them is how to spot a liar.” He headed toward the door.
Rafe knew his last chance was about to disappear. There would be no convincing Ansel and the others if he let Hop walk away. Down to his bones, he understood that this was it. He had to lay it all out or fuck his dreams for good. Only Hop could help him now.
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