“It’s fine.” Shawn didn’t have the time to coddle White. And he was used to the man grabbing him, so no big deal. They’d work on it. “You don’t want to come, Bruiser. This isn’t your scene.”
“What isn’t?” White fisted his hands at his sides. “Please tell me what’s going on. You’re freaking me out.”
“White, you don’t want to know.”
“Shawn, tell me what the fuck—”
“I told you not to call me that.”
“And you told me our friendship was solid. You haven’t fucked me yet, Easy. Don’t cut me out.”
Fuck me! Shawn groaned as he rushed across the hall and yanked on his shoes. White had every right to demand that he share in the same way that he would have before the rules had been laid out, but he wasn’t sure he would have brought White along even then.
But how deep could he let White into his life if he hid things like this from him?
“Fine. You can come.” He jerked the front door open, too pissed off to play nice. “But don’t say I didn’t fucking warn you.”
Chapter 6
Ian didn’t drive anymore. For some messed up reason, he couldn’t force himself to get behind the wheel of a car. Pisch either drove him around, or he caught a lift from one of his teammates. Or called a cab.
Which meant he had no idea where they were going when he took shotgun in the new Mazda Pisch had upgraded to last month. The thing was red and sleek, even though Ian could picture a soccer mom sitting in the driver’s seat. Decent, but Pisch should be driving a big truck. Or at least a muscle car.
Or a tank. He pictured Pisch behind the wheel of a big hunk of metal that roared when he revved the engine. Wearing army greens.
And fuck, he got hard at the image. Usually, his fantasies involved chicks with big boobs, not wearing much of anything. But Pisch fully clothed did things to him. Things he’d never felt before he’d crashed through the very obvious, clear cut, boundaries.
No point in looking back though.
About twenty minutes later, they pulled up in front of a club on the edge of the city, rolling past the parking lot, into what looked like the lot where the employees and management probably parked their cars. He shot Pisch a questioning look, but the man was already getting out of the car. Ian followed quickly as Pisch cut across the pavement, taking the steps up to the back door two at a time.
Jaw tense, Ian took in their surroundings. It wasn’t even midnight, but the area was quiet, pitch black except for the small lights around the top of the plain, gray cement walls. The back door was heavy metal, knocking on it would be pointless, but Pisch immediately pressed a small buzzer Ian hadn’t even noticed.
He’s been here before.
Considering there was some kind of trouble, Ian couldn’t help worry about the fact that Pisch had never mentioned this place. Ian wasn’t a complete idiot, he knew Pisch hung out at gay clubs, but this one seemed different. Shady.
The door cracked open, and the silence was broken by the deep pulse of R&B music. The door swung wide, revealing a short, balding, middle-aged man who smiled broadly as he motioned Pisch and Ian inside. “Thanks for getting here so fast, Easy. I’m keeping him as safe as I can, but there’s only so much I can do.”
“I appreciate it, Skins.” Pisch gave the man a quick hug, glancing over at the door at the end of a short, gray hall. “He still on stage?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure if he’s drunk or just that fucking comfortable strutting his stuff. I’ll be honest, man.” Skins laughed and shook his head. “If you hadn’t put your boys off limits, I might have made a play for him myself. He’s one fine piece of ass.”
Pisch has ‘boys’? Ian shouldn’t be surprised. He knew his best friend got around. And for the longest time, he’d just told the man he didn’t want details. Which had probably been smart. His imagination was giving him more than enough to work with. Picturing Pisch with a ‘fine piece of ass’ sent a sharp pain straight into Ian’s chest. One that lingered as though he’d been stabbed with a wooden spear that left splinters behind even as the source of the wound was removed by cold logic. They’d agreed to keep things ‘open’.
No reason to get all worked up about Pisch still having other toys to play with.
Maybe not, but you sure you want to be one of them?
Folding his arms over his chest, Ian reminded himself he’d asked to come. He was here as Pischlar’s friend. In case he needed backup.
I really hope he needs backup.
A fight he could deal with. These stupid emotions? Not so much.
Pisch’s lips curved into a tight smile. “If he’s as popular as you implied in your text, you might have a few unhappy patrons when I drag him out of here.”
Skins nodded slowly. “I’m aware. Any way I can convince you to let him stay?”
Laughing, Pisch started across the hall. “I’ll let you know when I see the damage. If one person has their fucking phone out taking pictures, I’m done playing nice.”
Sidling past Ian, who was trying to stick close to Pisch, Skins made a low, irritated sound. “You know I don’t allow that, Easy.”
“Yes, but I also know you don’t allow pretty, barely legal boys up on stage.” Pisch’s knuckles turned white as he grabbed the doorknob. “If you were smart, you would have stopped him.”
“I’m a businessman, Easy.” Skins put his hand on Pisch’s forearm, jerking it away with his eyes wide when Pisch glared at him and Ian stepped forward. “He got up there with our regulars, and the crowd loved it. He’s got skills.”
“He does. Skills that belong on the ice, not on a stage cruddy with sweat and cum.” Pisch turned the doorknob and paused. Hesitated as he met Ian’s eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Is he serious? From the little Pisch had said, Ian had figured out it had to be one of their players out there. He wasn’t sure which one, but they were a team. If one of their guys was in trouble, he didn’t care that Pisch considered them one of his ‘boys’.
Ian would help. And, with any luck, get a chance to lay out anyone who’d messed with the kid.
Had to be one of the younger guys. He wasn’t looking forward to the fallout if it was someone like Carter or Vanek. They had solid relationships. What if one stupid mistake screwed up everything for them?
Hopefully he and Pisch had gotten there fast enough to prevent real damage.
He trailed after Pisch, his jaw clenched, hardly seeing the crowd pressing close to the stage. His mouth went dry as he caught who was up there. Not alone, there were five guys bumping and grinding as one song ended and another began.
But now he knew why Pisch had dropped everything to come. This was fucked up. The kid should not be here.
He probably wouldn’t be if he wasn’t so confused.
And Ian couldn’t help but feel partly responsible for that.
The buzz of too many beers, mixed with a few shots, had Ian stumbling a bit as he walked across the hotel room. He tugged at his tie, wanting to get it off. Fuck, it was hot. He wanted to head to his own room. Strip and pass out on his bed.
But he had to keep an eye on the rookie.
With a soft sigh, Richards dropped onto the bed, one arm covering his eyes. “I think that last shot was a mistake.”
“Yeah.” Ian sat on the edge of the bed. “You okay?”
“I guess.” Richards sighed again. “I just…fuck, I can’t do this anymore. I keep hanging out with Hunt, and I love the man, but he doesn’t get me.”
Ian’s head was really heavy. He dropped onto the bed beside Richards. “What do you mean?”
“I’m gay. Like, totally, completely, into guys.” Richards turned his head, biting his bottom lip as he looked at Ian. “Go if you want. I know I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Why? I don’t care who you fuck.” Ian pressed his eyes shut. “I’m straight. Or I think I am. I don’t know. It’s fucking confusing.”
“Is it? I don’t think I’ve ever been confused.�
�� Richards rose up on his elbow. “Like, I’ve tried stuff with girls, but just because I thought I should. But when me and Hunt fool around with chicks, they don’t get me hard. And that’s where it’s fucked up. We shared a chick once and…well, I was thinking about him the whole time. And I know he’d hate me if he knew.”
Ian wasn’t sure why Richards was telling him all this. But he wanted to help, so he slit his eyes opened and stared at the baby face above him. Damn, the kid was young. Ian couldn’t remember being that young. And he wasn’t exactly old.
“I don’t think he’d hate you, but…maybe you’re just into him? Like, maybe that happens? You’re into someone and everyone else just…isn’t them.” His brain wasn’t working right. So much had been going on lately, he was just damn tired. He should be having this conversation with Pisch. He loved Pisch. Not in a sex way…or, he didn’t think so. He was absolutely, almost one hundred percent sure he was straight.
And then he wasn’t and he could totally get why Richards was confused. Sometimes, you loved someone, and it didn’t make sense. And it blurred all the things you thought you knew.
“But you don’t have to be into someone for them to get you off?” Richards’s tone changed. He moved closer. “I don’t want to play with girls. I’m tired of pretending I do.”
“Then stop.” Simple enough, right? Ian watched Richards’ tongue flick over his bottom lip and his cock hardened. He’d only ever reacted that way to one other man giving him that look, but he’d buried all those crazy urges deep. Because some relationships meant more than getting off. More than sex.
“I want to stop. But…I’ve jerked off thinking of Hunt. And that was good, but nothing compared to fucking the one man I really want.” Richards slid his hand over Ian’s chest, jerking away when Ian sat up. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean I want you—”
“Okay, that’s good. Because you’re not fucking me, kid.” Ian rubbed a hand over his face, his blood pounding into his dick, so fucking turned on he couldn’t think straight. He wasn’t even seeing Richards anymore. He was seeing Pisch. And that was so very wrong.
If Pisch was here, he would give the man anything he wanted. Thankfully, he wasn’t. Ian wouldn’t ruin their friendship because he was horny.
He should head back to his own room. Because he was horny. Like, so fucking hard it hurt.
“I don’t want to fuck you, White.” Richards hand slid down over Ian’s rock hard cock. “But I want to suck your dick. I want to know I can do that without it meaning anything.”
“Fuck.” Ian’s hips rose as Richards continued to stroke him through his pants. “I wanna let you.”
“Why?”
“Because it not meaning anything sounds good. And that feels good. Maybe that’s all that matters. Maybe I’ll stop thinking so much if I just take what I can get.”
Richards’ hot mouth on his dick had felt good for a few seconds. But then he thought of Pisch, and shallow pleasure had his dick going soft. He stopped Richards and called for room service, recalling that a hot chick he’d seen earlier was working the night shift. The rest of the night was a blur. He thought Pisch was there for real at one point, but he wasn’t sure. He saw the man so often when he closed his eyes, nothing seemed real.
And Richards kinda enjoyed the girl—and her friend.
Neither of them talked much the next morning.
But Richards thanked him. Told him he was right. Sometimes, all that mattered was taking what you could get.
On that stage, Richards could get anything. Anyone.
Every man in the crowd wanted him.
And Ian wasn’t completely immune. His legs seemed to have turned to stone as he reached the edge of the stage. The other dancers retreated, leaving Richards in the spotlight. The rookie was wearing a mask, like the one the Lone Ranger wore. Not covering enough to really hide his identity, not to anyone who knew him. Like teammates. Or fans.
Or anyone into hockey.
The song that came on was familiar. Ian recognized it from the movie, Miami Vice. He was pretty sure it was older though, and this version was a cover. In the Air Tonight…hell, his blood had left his brain. He couldn’t remember the name of the guy who’d sung the original.
Then again, his own name might take him a minute to recall if someone asked right now.
Richards moved like his body belonged on a stage, bared to a crowd, tempting them to taste and touch everything he had to offer. In nothing but a pair of tight black boxers, he moved like a dancer trained to sell sex. Grinding down, dropping back, and bracing himself on one hand, he thrust his hips forward.
He glanced over the crowd without slowing, and Ian caught Richards’ lips thin a little before he threw himself into a spin on his knees. Richards ran his hand down the center of his bare chest, flicking his tongue out over his bottom lip before bringing his fingers to his lips to suck one.
The boy was fucking hot. Ian wouldn’t bother denying it. But if it got out to the media that he’d been stripping at a gay club—hell, stripping anywhere public—his career would be trashed. Little kids looked up to them; they were athletes and were supposed to set a good example. Not that they couldn’t make mistakes, but the wrong mistake could get you traded. Or sent down to the minors.
Or worse, completely blacklisted by the league.
Ian didn’t think Richards being exposed would lead to anything that extreme, but best not to take any chances. He looked over to Pisch, prepared to go drag the kid off the stage the second the man gave the signal.
Instead, Pisch was watching the crowd. Ian followed his gaze and spotted one of the cops he’d seen around the station when he’d been arrested for ‘assault’. Decent guy. He’d been a bit of a jerk when Richards had asked him about his stolen bike, but he’d probably been busy.
The cop finished his beer, rubbed a hand over his face, and strode out the front door.
Pisch sighed and folded his arms over his chest. “Not the reaction the kid wanted. Hopefully, he’ll drop the act now.”
Huh? Ian shook his head, not sure what he was missing. “Shouldn’t we—”
Holding one hand up, Pisch flashed him a stiff smile. “Not yet.”
Arms folded over his chest, Ian continued to watch Richards. The rookie hooked his thumbs to the waistband of his boxers, easing them down over his ass. He didn’t stop there. His hips rotated in time to the music as he got down on his hands and knees. Offering himself to the crowd.
A big, bald man in a leather vest vaulted onto the stage, coming up behind Richards.
Letting out a low growl, Ian took the steps up to the stage, two at a time, and jerked the man away from the rookie. The man was a fair match for him. He didn’t think twice before cracking the asshole in the jaw.
Bouncers rushed the stage. Richards had disappeared. Ian faced the man as he straightened, more than ready to spend a couple minutes teaching the fucker why even trying to mess with the kid had been a bad idea.
Hands latched on to his arms. The man took the opportunity to snap his fist into Ian’s nose.
Ian wrenched free. The bouncer that had grabbed him looped a thick arm around his neck.
Suddenly, Pisch was there, blocking a second punch from the dirty bastard the other bouncers still hadn’t restrained. Pisch caught a fist in the eye and went down to one knee.
Red flashed across Ian’s vision, and he drove his elbow back into the bouncer’s stomach. Once free, he tackled the man who’d hit Pisch, wrapping his hands around the man’s throat. He could fucking kill him. End him right fucking now.
“Bruiser, let him go.” A soft, deep voice broke through the deafening pulse of rage. “Ian, that’s enough.”
Inhaling slowly, Ian pushed away from the man. Heat spilled over his lips. He blinked as he turned to Pisch. “I think the fucker broke my nose.”
“You’ve had worse.” Pisch grinned, resting his arm over Ian’s shoulders and leading him off the stage. “You okay?”
“Yeah…” Ian squinte
d at Pisch as they hit the dark hallway. Richards was there. In one piece. He dismissed the kid as he tried to focus on Pisch’s face while both his eyes watered. “Are you?”
“I’m good.” Pisch squeezed his shoulder, then turned to Richards. “Kid, I don’t know what you were hoping to accomplish, but that was fucking stupid. You over trying to get him to notice you?”
Richards rubbed his hands over his boxers. Which were thankfully covering him fully. “He did notice me. I was hoping he’d be the one coming to get me. Didn’t mean for anyone to call you.”
“You’re lucky they did.” Pisch sighed. “How drunk are you?”
Flashing a toothy smile, Richards straightened. “I’m sober, man. Didn’t want him to think I was…” His smile faded. “That really was stupid. I met him here, you know? We had a good time, but he didn’t call the next day. I kinda wanted to prove I’m worth his time.”
Sympathy filled Pisch’s eyes. “I get you, buddy. But sometimes a good time is just that.”
Ian inhaled roughly. He felt bad for the kid. The asshole had used him.
Hitting a cop is bad, right? Might want to wait until I’m off probation.
After that, he and the cop would have a chat.
Groaning, Richards walked beside Pisch to one of the doors along the hall, stepping in and letting them pass. He started getting dressed. “I feel like such a loser. It was just sex.”
Folding his arms over his chest, Ian leaned against the wall by the door. “Did you know that when you went home with him?”
Pisch arched a brow at him, then tossed him a towel from the collection on a nearby shelf. “I doubt the man seduced the kid with promises of a long lasting relationship.”
Hey, fuck you, Easy. Ian ignored his best friend as he pressed the towel to his bloody nose. Richards was a sweet kid. He wouldn’t have fucked around with someone knowing they were gonna use him.
Richards blushed. “I was kinda shy my first time here. Still hiding who I am, you know? He bought me a drink and asked me if I’d just come out. Said I had that look.” He rubbed his arms, looking even younger now that he wasn’t half naked. “I admitted I wasn’t really ‘out’. That I didn’t have much experience. He was so easy to talk to. He kissed me and after that…fuck, I was willing to do anything. We went to his place, and he was…it’s not like he kicked me out in the morning, you know? He dropped me off at home and told me to take care.”
Line Brawl: The Dartmouth Cobras #8 Page 7
