Risking the Shot (Stick Side Book 4)

by Amy Aislin

  And that belt, all thick, black leather. Was there anything sexier than a man in a belt? Yes. When that belt was paired with a suit Dakota could’ve been born in.

  “Are you listening?”

  Tay dragged his gaze up from where it had lingered over the material of Dakota’s pants, stretched oh-so-enticingly over his privates. Unrepentant, he shrugged. “Sorry. Your face distracted me.”

  Dakota choked on his drink. Nabbing Tay’s water bottle, he swallowed back the last quarter. “You weren’t looking at my face.” His voice was gravelly. An effect of choking or something else? It was a little less rough when he added, “You’re very forward.”

  Why beat around the bush? “Well, I am a forward, so . . .”

  Pointing the empty water bottle at him, Dakota said, “That is a very bad joke.”

  “You’re laughing. Can’t be that bad.”

  “Don’t mistake this for humor. I’m just trying to make you feel better about yourself.”

  “I’m feeling pretty good, not gonna lie.”

  Dakota nodded at his stomach, which Tay was still rubbing. “Oh yeah?”

  “Totally the cake’s fault.”

  “That asshole.”

  Tay laughed, smile stretched so wide his face hurt. And then there they were, grinning at each other while sitting in a coatroom at a party, the music loud enough for them to hear but not so loud they had to yell at each other to be heard. The live band started a cover of “I Gotta Feeling,” which, yeah. Appropriate. Tonight was a good night.

  “Okay, tell me again.” Tay straightened a leg and prodded Dakota’s knee with the top of his foot. “How you got into cake decorating.”

  “Should I turn around so my face doesn’t distract you?”

  Tay winked at him. “I can multitask.” Maybe. Dakota’s face really was very distracting. Like an itch on the sole of your foot while you were driving. But nicer.

  “Uh-huh. Well, my brothers gave me—”

  “No, yeah. I got that part. The gag gift. But how did that one lesson turn into—” He removed the card Dakota had given him from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “—a business?” Once Upon a Time Cakes the card read, along with a phone number and email address.

  “It was something Calder and I started in high school. He’d bake and I’d decorate. For family stuff, mostly—birthdays, Sunday dinners, bake sales at my little brothers’ school. Until we started taking orders from friends and family, and then friends of friends. It sort of snowballed from there.”

  “Did you ever want to make it into a full-time thing?” It had to be hard, juggling a full-time job with the Foundation, a four-year-old, and a side gig.

  Dakota stared into his glass. “Once upon a time.”

  Tay ran his thumb over the raised lettering on the business card. Was that how the business had gotten its name?

  “But then life happened. I got married. Moved here. Had a kid. Got divorced. Making sure Andy had stability was the most important thing.”

  “Moved here from where?”

  “Halifax.”

  “Is that where you’re from?” Tay asked. “Is your family still there?”

  “Calder’s here and Owen’s in Vermont, but my parents and other brothers are still there, yes.”

  “Brothers? Plural?”

  “There’s five of us. I’m the eldest. And you? Any siblings?”

  Tay’s mouth pulled down. “Two older sisters.”

  A short pause where the music changed again. Dakota said, “You’re not close, I take it.”

  “Ah.” Tay jerked a shoulder in an awkward shrug and glanced away. “Not really.” He turned the business card around and around in his hand. “My sisters are . . .” Poised. Elegant. Intelligent. “Older.” Although they probably weren’t that much older than Dakota. “They don’t get me. And it created a wall between us. I don’t know, maybe it’s the age difference.”

  “Owen and I are eleven years apart, and of all of us, he’s the one I’m closest to.”

  “How come?”

  “Our entire family’s close.” Dakota scratched his jaw. Tay followed the movement of his hand, enjoying how the scratching sound of his evening scruff against his nails made his belly tingle. “When I got old enough to drive, I started taking him to games and practices. It gave us a lot of time together and we . . . I don’t know. Bonded, I guess. It helped me get to know him. Made me realize that because he was smaller and younger, it didn’t mean he didn’t know what he wanted. Because he did and it took him all the way to the NHL.”

  Had Tay’s sisters ever tried to get to know him instead of assuming they knew best what he needed? Not really. It was all “You should think about what you’re going to do after hockey, Tay. Here’s a university catalog.” And, “I don’t think you should get your own condo. What if you get traded?” And, “Are you sure you’re bisexual? You’ve only ever brought women home.”

  Family get-togethers were a study in patience.

  His parents were amazing. They’d always been behind him, one hundred percent, and constantly put a stop to his sisters’ teasing when he was a kid. Now that he was older, he’d expected their words not to affect him as much. Unfortunately, such was not the case. Why was it so hard for them to see him as an equal? Why didn’t they understand how hard he’d worked and how many sacrifices he’d made to get to the NHL? Maybe it was because they’d never played sports, focusing on academics instead.

  Shaking his head, he started to ask Dakota if he had plans to move back home, when the sight of Dakota’s lips closing over the rim of his glass caused his mind to flare and blank.

  So. Maybe not so good at multitasking then. At least not when it came to Dakota.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “What are you drinking?”

  “Oban 14. Scotch,” Dakota added at Tay’s questioning look.

  “Smells good.” The scent had been wafting in his direction since he first sat down, strong and vaguely smoky, peaty. It reminded him of Dakota for reasons he couldn’t name.

  Scooting forward on the bench, their knees touching, he said, “Can I try it?”

  Dakota’s gaze caught his, gray and shadowy and searching. Tay held it, refusing to break eye contact. Let Dakota see how attracted he was to him. Dakota must already know anyway. What was the point of holding back? Tay wanted Dakota and he wasn’t shying away from it.

  Without looking away, Dakota leaned forward, bringing their faces within inches of each other. Dakota’s soft breath whispered across Tay’s lips, making his own breath catch. Holding his glass out, Dakota still didn’t look away as Tay brought it to his mouth, placing his lips over the outline of Dakota’s on the glass.

  Dakota didn’t miss it, his smile turning knowing. The heat in Tay’s blood had nothing to do with the scotch.

  Which, in itself, was . . . “Holy fuck, this is good.” Strong and smoky, yes—even the taste reminded him of Dakota—with hints of fruits and honey.

  Dakota made a sound in the back of his throat, an acknowledgment that sounded like a groan. The heat in Tay’s blood spread outward, flushing his cheeks, dotting his temple with sweat. Fuck, it suddenly got very, very warm in this coatroom. Warmer still when Dakota’s gaze dipped down to Tay’s mouth.

  “See, Uncle Calder.” A child’s voice snapped them backward. Tay’s hand clenched on the glass, scotch splashing over the rim. “Told you Daddy’d be where’s quiet.”

  “Uh-huh.” While Andy clambered onto the bench between them, Calder stood next to it, acute gaze going from Dakota to Tay and back, his lips pressed together, unsuccessfully hiding a grin.

  “Hi, Mr. Cunningham, sir,” Andy said.

  Tay rearranged his suit jacket, hiding his semi from the four-year-old. “What did I tell you earlier? It’s just Tay.”

  Andy beamed, signed jersey clutched in both hands.

  Clearing his throat into his fist, Dakota turned, setting both feet on the ground and leaning forward to hide his own semi. Tay rubbed a hand o
ver his mouth to hide a smile.

  “Did you get everyone?” Dakota asked Andy.

  “Yup. ’Cept Chernyshevsky.”

  Tay’s eyebrows flew up. “Wow. Even I can’t say his name without stuttering. He’s just Cherny to the rest of us.”

  “Don’t be fooled,” Dakota said, arm going around Andy’s shoulders. “He can’t say umbrella.”

  “I can! Ballela.”

  “Nice.” Tay held his hand out for a fist bump. “Cherny couldn’t make it tonight.” To Dakota, he said, “Family thing. He’s away for the weekend. I can take that if you want, Andy. Have Cherny sign it. I’ll give it back to your dad this week.”

  Score one for him for thinking up an excuse on the fly to see Dakota again.

  Andy clutched the jersey to his chest. “But I wanna wear it to family skate tomorrow.”

  “Ah. Of course. What was I thinking? Keep it then.” Tay tickled Andy’s chin, making him giggle and squirm. “I’ll take it from you after the skate and get it signed this week.” He looked to Dakota to make sure that was okay, only to find Dakota’s attention already lasered on him.

  “Thank you.”

  A different kind of warmth this time, nothing to do with attraction and everything to do with mushy feelings. “No sweat.”

  Dakota stood and Tay followed suit, pleased, for some reason, that they were evenly matched in height. And if his gaze snuck down to check out the state of Dakota’s crotch again, well hey. He was a horny fucker.

  “Let’s go home, Andy.” Dakota took a tiny suit jacket from Calder and held it open for Andy.

  “Noooooo, Daddy.”

  “Yes.” Gently firm, Dakota helped Andy into the jacket, then pulled a four-year-old sized winter coat off a hanger. “It’s time for bed. Your eyes are drooping.”

  “No.” Andy forced his eyes comically wide. “I’m not tired.”

  Chuckling, Dakota handed a peacoat to Calder. “Sure you’re not.”

  “You.” From the entrance to the room, Xappa pointed a finger at Tay. “I knew you were hiding from me.”

  Tay scowled. “I wasn’t hiding.” He definitely was, but that was need-to-know. And Xappa didn’t need to know. He moved out of the narrow room to give Dakota, Calder, and Andy room to get dressed, deliberately brushing his shoulder against Dakota’s.

  Something else Dakota didn’t miss.

  “It’s my fault,” Dakota interjected smoothly, zipping up Andy’s coat. His words stopped Xappa with his mouth half-open for a rebuttal. Stopped Tay too, right in the doorway. “We were talking business.”

  “We were? We were.” Tay nodded—very convincingly—at Dakota’s side-eye.

  Dakota pulled on a three-quarter-length, wool coat the same hue as his eyes, shrugging to settle it on his shoulders.

  Tay swallowed hard. Fuck. He loved himself a well-dressed man.

  “That’s right,” Dakota said, pulling a red scarf off the hanger and draping it around his neck. “Tay’s agreed to be our signatory for our next direct mail appeal.”

  Say what now? What the hell was direct mail?

  “Oh yeah?” Xappa leaned against the doorjamb. “That’s real nice of you, Tay. I did it last year.”

  “Right. Nice. I’m a nice guy.”

  Dakota coughed to cover a laugh. He was last out of the room, following Calder and Andy, passing close enough to Tay that he saw the small beauty mark near Dakota’s ear. Deliberately close.

  Yeah, Tay didn’t miss things either. And he was half-convinced that the best feeling in the world was when attraction was returned.

  “See you tomorrow,” Dakota said, voice pitched low enough to tingle in Tay’s balls. Jesus fuck and all that was holy.

  “Bye, Tay,” Andy said.

  “Bye, Andy.” Tay watched them go, wishing Dakota’s coat didn’t cover his ass. When he turned back, Xappa had both eyebrows raised. “What?”

  Xappa shrugged. “Nothing. Just that you’re super obvious.”

  Good. He wanted Dakota to know he was attracted to him.

  “You’re lucky there’s no press around.”

  Opening his mouth to argue, Tay snapped it shut again. “Shit. You’re right.” He had to be more careful. Not that he expected the few bloggers and reporters in attendance to find him flirting with a guy in a coatroom, but still.

  “Tay!” Stanton ran up, eyes enormous even with his contacts instead of glasses. “Listen, listen.” Grabbing Tay’s shoulders, Stanton bounced on his feet. “Hear that?”

  Tay cocked his head. “Is that . . . the ‘Cha-Cha Slide’?”

  “Come dance with me.” Stanton pulled him along by the hand, Xappa following close behind with a muttered, “You’re both nerds.”

  Turning to grin at him, Stanton said, “You know you want to dance too.”

  “Maybe.”

  Hmm. Interesting. Xappa wouldn’t have agreed so readily had Tay been the one teasing him. Was there something else lurking underneath his dutiful best friend duties? Tay mentally added him to his secret list of Queer Brigade members.

  “But Tay owes me a drink first.”

  Dakota was pulling out the last of his supplies when a knock on the door preceded its opening.

  “Knock, knock,” Calder called out.

  “Kitchen.”

  The sound of shuffling from the front—Calder removing his winter gear—then muffled thumps on the wooden floor as he made his way to the back of the house on socked feet. He entered the kitchen wearing his Sunday morning best: holey black sweatpants and a stretched out, long-sleeved T-shirt faded to soft blue from too many washings. There was a hole in his sock.

  He placed a box on the counter from which he pulled out four cupcake carriers holding a dozen cupcakes each.

  “Lemon,” Calder said, pointing to the word scrawled on a piece of masking tape on the lid of one of the carriers. “Chocolate. Vanilla. Red velvet.”

  Dakota nodded. “Thanks. And thanks for bringing them over so early.”

  “What time’s the shower?”

  “One. I’ve got to drop these off by noon.” He checked the time. Barely seven. Four dozen cupcakes to decorate in five hours? He’d done more with less time before.

  Calder packed the carriers back into the box and set it on the table in the breakfast nook as the patter of little feet sounded from upstairs. Despite how late Andy had gone to bed last night—he’d still been hyped up when they’d arrived home from the Drake Hotel, refusing to fall asleep in the car—he was still up at his usual 7:00 a.m.

  “Don’t run on the stairs,” Dakota yelled.

  Andy, of course, chose not to listen. “Uncle Calder!” He burst into the kitchen at his usual hypersonic speed and flung himself at Calder’s legs.

  “Hey, kid. How’s my fake nephew?”

  Dakota snorted a laugh. Calder was his cousin, which made him Andy’s . . . second cousin? Cousin once removed? Little cousin? Whatever it was, “uncle” was simply easier. And given that Calder was a huge part of Andy’s life—him being the only other Cotton in the city—“uncle” was more appropriate.

  Dakota brought his supplies into the dining room. The limited kitchen counter space in his small bungalow didn’t allow enough maneuvering, so he always worked at the dining room table. He went back into the kitchen—where Calder lounged on the bench seat in the breakfast nook, Andy talking a mile a minute in his lap—grabbed the box of cupcakes, and brought it into the dining room too.

  That was pretty much everything.

  Their system of Calder baking and Dakota decorating had worked for years now. Most months they barely broke even, but they weren’t in it for the money. It was a fun side gig neither of them had expected to evolve out of high school or outside their circle of family and friends. If they’d once had dreams of opening their own bakery, well . . . it was like he’d told Tay—life happened. And here they were, in their mid-thirties, Dakota using his marketing and communications degree to raise funds from a very small pool of local donors, and Calder work
ing for a bakery franchise that didn’t let him experiment or create his own desserts.

  A high-pitched giggle from the kitchen drew his thoughts to a halt. He might not be making good on his once upon a time dreams, but he had a stable job working for a cool organization that did great things for kids. Steady income and 8:30 to 4:30 days meant he had a work-life balance most people would envy. It left him time for the most important thing in his life; nothing else mattered.

  As if on cue, there was another patter of little feet—this time on the kitchen’s tile floor—before a laughing Andy bounced into the dining room. “Daddy, Imma watch TV.”

  “Do you want breakfast?”

  “Not hungry yet,” Andy said, retreating across the hall to the family room.

  As Dakota reached for the icing sugar on the end of the table, Calder sat on the other side, rubbing a palm over his bearded jaw. “Let’s talk.”

  Dakota knew exactly what Calder wanted to talk about. The same thing he’d tried to bring up in the car last night before Dakota dropped him off at his apartment, but Andy kept interrupting with inane chatter about the party.

  Cautiously, he said, “About?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. How about how it looked like you and Taylor Cunningham were about to do the nasty in the coatroom when Andy and I found you last night?”

  Had they been in private, they probably would have done the nasty. More than once. As it was, Dakota had been seconds away from breaching those few inches between their lips when Andy and Calder had appeared. Good thing too—kissing one of the better-known players in public wasn’t a good idea.

  He’d wanted to ask about that last night, about Tay’s sexuality and who knew he was into men. But if the lack of privacy in a coatroom wasn’t a good place to kiss someone, it also wasn’t a good place for that particular conversation. Anyone could’ve walked in on them or been lingering in one of the adjoining rooms.