“I’m a bad influence.” White groaned, throwing back the shot and staring at his phone. “Fuck, why does everyone talk about me and Pisch so much? He’s my friend. That’s…that’s it.”
Braxton took his own shot, then shrugged. “If it makes you feel any better, I checked out some fanfic online and people fantasize about full out team gangbangs. I laughed at first, but then…not gonna lie, some of it was hot.”
“Really?” White brought the bottle to his lips, not even bothering with a glass anymore. “Where are they getting those ideas from, though? I mean, half the guys on the team are married.”
“Not quite half, but I don’t think it matters. Those teens are trying to see something that’s like them, you know?” Braxton gulped down his beer. Considered asking White for the whiskey, then settled on more beer. Which he was probably going to regret. “I used to look for that a lot.”
Shut up! What are you doing?
He wasn’t sure anymore. Watching White tug at his tie, he swallowed hard. All the times he’d been alone with White, he’d fought really hard to be cool. To say the right things. To act the right way. He didn’t need to think of all those muscles, all that strength. Didn’t need to wonder if White was interested, because he wasn’t. Obviously, he wasn’t.
But…but what if I’m wrong?
He pushed away from the table and went to the wonderful bed where he could sleep everything off and tomorrow things could go back to normal.
Normal like they’d been with Hunt before the man somehow figured out the chicks they hit on were doing nothing for him. Hunt must have noticed. Why else was he acting like a stranger? Braxton had figured out his crush wasn’t going anywhere, but things still weren’t completely okay. He had to fix that. He wanted his friend back.
You’re fucking wasted.
He flopped an arm over his eyes. “I think that last shot was a mistake.”
“Yeah.” Ian sat on the edge of the bed. “You okay?”
“I guess.” Braxton sighed, something inside him breaking open. He couldn’t hold back anymore. “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.”
White dropped onto the bed beside Richards. “What do you mean?”
“I’m gay. Like, totally, completely, into guys.” Richards’ stomach clenched as he turned his head, expecting White to tell him to get lost. He bit his bottom lip. “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, feeling a bit more comfortable opening up after White’s confession. “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.”
“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.”
Was White talking about him? Damn, that would be nice. Ryan had acted like Braxton shouldn’t make a big deal about sex. Maybe he was right. And maybe Braxton was finally getting an opportunity to see that what they’d have wasn’t a big deal. Ryan clearly saw it as nothing.
Him as nothing.
Just a warm body. And White was warm and close and just as drunk and confused as he was.
“But you don’t have to be into someone for them to get you off?” Braxton turned on his side and stared at the man beside him. A bit blurry, but he saw no judgment in his eyes. “I don’t want to play with girls. I’m tired of pretending I do.”
“Then stop.”
“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.” Braxton slid his hand over White’s chest, jerking away when he abruptly sat up. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean I want you—”
“Okay, that’s good.” White rubbed a hand over his face. “Because you’re not fucking me, kid.”
That White didn’t move away was a bit confusing. He didn’t stop Braxton from touching him again. His breaths quickened and he eased back against the pillows as Braxton’s fingers drifted down to his stomach.
“I don’t want to fuck you, White.” Braxton slid his hand over White’s rock hard cock. He was being way too bold. He needed to make sure there weren’t any misunderstandings. “But I want to suck your dick. I want to know I can do that without it meaning anything.”
“Fuck.” White’s hips rose as Braxton 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.”
Then we’re on the exact same page.
Braxton moved slowly, unzipping White’s pants and sliding down, groaning as White’s fingers tangled in his hair. Sex didn’t have to mean anything. He could make another man feel good. He wanted to. This was the first time since Ryan that he hadn’t felt like he was being smothered. White’s dick on his tongue was hot. Thick. The bit of precum on the tip made his mouth water.
Then White went soft. Braxton tried moving faster, tried letting his hand move with his lips with a bit of pressure from both, but White stopped him, cupping his cheek.
His words were slurred, but they got through to Braxton.
He wanted to get more food. Call that girl and her friends.
A knock at the door got him moving. Were the girls there already? That was fast. Maybe someone was here to complain about the music. He’d hardly noticed, but it was a bit loud. He opened the door, his face heating as the girls filled the room.
They smelled nice, but he knew what them being here meant. The same thing it did when he was with Hunt and there were girls and he had to play his part.
At least the girls knew what they wanted. There was no conversation. No confusion. He let one of the girls take off his clothes. His vision was so blurred he couldn’t even make out her face, but he heard the condom wrapper. Brushed her hand away and led her to White.
White wanted this.
He didn’t.
But he didn’t stop the second girl from dropping to her knees and sucking his dick. He focused on White as the man went down on one girl, while fucking another. The muscles of his ass moved rhythmically and Braxton couldn’t look away. The pressure on his dick felt good. He could do this. Get on that bed with White and enjoy himself in the heat and slick slide of skin on skin, feeding on the other man’s pleasure.
Pleasure he couldn’t give him, but did that matter anymore?
Another knock and he eased away from the girls. Grabbed a towel at the last minute to cover himself. Turned off the music which was way too loud.
He opened the door and tried to stand straight as Vanek stared at him. A few feet behind him, Pisch froze.
I don’t know what I did, but it was bad. I shouldn’t be here.
This was his room.
You’re fucked up and now everyone knows it.
He had to calm down. No one knew anything. Maybe they were here because they were bored.
“Hey, Vanek. Pischlar.” He gave them a jerky nod. “Umm…what’s up?”
Vanek moved away from the door. “Coach is looking for you. You might want to just call him though because you smell like a fucking brewery. You’re lucky we ain’t playing tomorrow.”
I do? Shit, this wasn’t good. But he was too gone to care too much. “Yeah, I—”
“Get your ass back in here, Braxton!” White shouted. The music came back on.
Braxton smiled at Vanek, hoping the man heard the apology in his tone. He couldn’t explain wh
at was happening. And didn’t really want to. “I’ll call him. Thanks for the message.”
Vanek and Pisch weren’t here for fun. They would judge him and he couldn’t deal with that. Not when he was already judging himself. He pushed the door shut and his racing mind went quiet.
Pretend everything is fine. White didn’t want you alone, but he wants you with him now.
That had to be enough, because he couldn’t have better.
He’d done this before. Played the part and things turned out okay. He just had to forget that one night when things were real. When he’d been able to be himself.
That wasn’t today. It wouldn’t be tomorrow. But right now…did that even matter?
White was hiding too. Braxton knew he was. The man probably wouldn’t look so blissed out if he’d known Pischlar knew what he was doing. But, for whatever reason, White was okay with what he could have. These women who expected nothing. A night with some pleasure.
Wanting more hurt, and Braxton didn’t want to hurt anymore.
Tonight, he didn’t have to.
Chapter 9
Life had been kicking Ryan’s ass for a while now and he needed a damn break. At least his sister was doing better, and whatever had gone down in her relationship—he didn’t get many details and wouldn’t ask, Laura was comfortable talking to him, but not about private matters between her and her Domme—seemed to have worked itself out. She was happy, back at work, and starting to turn her focus on how out of it he’d been.
As much as he loved her, he couldn’t tell her. Not when he didn’t really understand it himself. A dozen times over the past few months he’d been tempted to call Braxton, but he always talked himself out of it. Giving the kid false hope would be cruel.
The young man had pushed the boundaries the last time Ryan even considered giving him another chance.
But damn it, he’d fucked up Ryan’s ability to enjoy anyone else.
Every twink at the club that he’d once enjoyed reminded him of Braxton. Only, he kept his sessions short, made sure the eager submissives enjoyed themselves, then…ended things without claiming any satisfaction for himself. For a man who’d once had a very healthy sexual drive, his lack of interest was getting out of hand.
Just call him. Stop worrying about what he might want in the future. You don’t even know what you want now.
Very true, but that concerned him as well. Since when was he this indecisive?
Taking a look at the time on his phone he sighed and pushed off the couch. He had a few days off—and no say about it because the captain was worried he’d get himself shot with how many hours he was putting in and how tired he always was. Might as well put that time to good use and figure out what to do with the boy who’d gotten his hooks in him.
Calling past midnight might give the wrong impression, but showing up at the club where they’d first met and seeing if he was there? Good neutral territory. He’d have the option of making whatever happened a casual hookup or…maybe more.
I’ll know once I get there.
Less than twenty minutes later, he was regretting leaving the damn house. He ordered a beer from a waiter he didn’t recognize, taking a sip and hardly tasting it, his eyes never leaving the stage. As always, there were performers up there. Moving to the music, enticing the crowd.
Usually an enjoyable show to watch.
Except one of those men belonged to him.
Don’t even go there. You cut him loose.
Perhaps, but he’d done it for the boy’s own good, not to have him do whatever the fuck he was doing now. Stripping on stage? Damn it, Braxton was a professional hockey player. He was risking his career and for what? Was he that desperate for attention?
The little black mask he was wearing wouldn’t save him if anyone figured out who he was. The urge to storm onto the stage and drag him off became more than misplaced possessiveness. Someone needed to protect the boy from his own foolishness.
But when he caught Braxton’s gaze on him, he realized this wasn’t a young man simply being a little wild. Braxton began to move more provocatively. As though to tempt Ryan. As though to test his reactions.
How often had he come here and done this, hoping Ryan would show up? Couldn’t have been too often, Ryan would’ve heard something from his friends who worked here. Unless…Braxton wasn’t stupid. Terry or Gordon would’ve dragged him off the stage by his ear. The owner, however, probably enjoyed the additional eye candy.
Either way, if he was reading the situation right, Braxton was using this to get Ryan’s attention. He couldn’t encourage that. If he left now, hopefully Braxton would see his ridiculous plan was ineffective and maybe then they could have a real conversation.
He couldn’t make himself move though.
Part of him felt responsible for this. Granted, he hadn’t approved of Braxton’s pushy attempts to contact him before, but this was a whole different level. If the boy was his sub he’d—
But he’s not.
Not yet.
Ryan ground his teeth, taking another gulp of beer and considering his options. He could always speak to the owner and have Braxton barred from the club, but letting the man know he was interested in Braxton wasn’t ideal either. He liked his privacy and that kind of drama went against his every instinct. It could also put Braxton in danger. Some of Ryan’s high profile arrests had connections who’d pay good money to learn about any weaknesses Ryan might have.
Like it or not, Braxton had quickly become one of them. He’d never forgive himself if the boy became a target because of him. Which made the idea of seeing him again seem even worse, but now that he had, he couldn’t completely abandon the idea.
Movement from the edge of the stage caught his eye. He recognized two of the players from Braxton’s team, neither looking too thrilled. Another gulp of beer and Ryan caught Braxton’s eyes again. His muscles tensed as Braxton dropped to his knees, drawing cheers and whistles from the crowd. He was a damn good dancer. Fucking sexy as hell up there. From the gleam in his eyes between the slits of the mask, Ryan could tell Braxton had shut out everyone except Ryan. As though he was dancing for him alone.
Ryan rubbed a hand over his face, finished his beer, then stood.
For both their sakes, he had to ignore the temptation in those eyes. If he didn’t, he’d resent his hand being forced in such a reckless way. He’d have more reasons to convince himself keeping his distance was the smartest choice.
He’d see Braxton again. On his terms.
That in mind, he turned and walked out of the club without looking back. But at the sound of a fist hitting flesh, he smiled.
His boy had good friends. They’d take care of him.
At least until Ryan claimed that responsibility. Then Braxton’s safety, and his discipline, would be up to him.
Looks like you’ve made up your mind about what to do with him then, Hamilton.
He let out a soft laugh and shook his head as he hit the street and headed to his car.
Looks like.
Chapter 10
Ever since that morning with Pischlar, Braxton had been…off. He’d been enjoying the freedom of not giving a fuck about sex and who he fooled around with, but when he’d heard that door slam he knew he’d gone too far. Maybe it wasn’t hurting him, he’d shut himself off from being emotionally attached to anyone, but White was his friend.
White had fun fucking you.
Braxton slumped back on his bed and put his hands over his face. He wasn’t a complete fool, he’d figured out that White only played along after rescuing Braxton from his own stupidity because Pischlar was there. And White was in love with Pischlar.
He just hadn’t accepted it yet.
And Braxton had just made things so much more difficult for them both, simply by being there. By being the type of toy Pischlar liked playing with, while White was still confused and incapable of being that detached.
He really hoped they’d work it out and not end up like him, still tryin
g to get noticed by the man who’d tossed him aside months ago. How pathetic could Braxton be? Why couldn’t he just forget about Ryan? Why couldn’t he keep being as carefree as Pischlar?
Not that Pischlar’s attitude was working out for him. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet after White left. Still kind to Braxton, but there was no mistaking the subtle hints that he wanted him to leave. Days later and things still felt unsettled. The team needed Braxton to give his all, and he was, but off the ice the rest of his life was…on hold.
But maybe it didn’t have to be anymore. Ryan’s reaction had made things clearer than ever. He’d walked out. He didn’t care.
There was no point in chasing after that dream of who Ryan was anymore. He wasn’t interested. He’d never be interested. It would be best to leave him as a sweet memory, Braxton’s first real lover, his first connection.
His first heartbreak.
Rolling his eyes at that, Braxton sat up, then pushed off the bed. He was being pathetic. He’d been pathetic for a while, even though he’d made the effort to explore his options. If he’d fooled around with someone other than White, things wouldn’t have gotten so messed up.
His first clue should’ve been “I’m straight…I think.”
No more boys who were questioning. And sure as hell no more girls. That wasn’t fair to anyone.
He might not be ready to come out publicly, but he knew what he wanted, and it wasn’t to play a role anymore. He also couldn’t be acting out and getting on stage, or he’d lose the one thing he was sure of in his life.
His career.
But he was freaking restless and lonely and he couldn’t just mope around his apartment. He strode across his room, glancing in the mirror as he passed and making a face. He was a mess. His shirt and jeans looked slept in. Because they had been. If he had a game today he’d shower and shave and pull himself together, but the team was on a rare long stretch between games. Four days, two without even practice because Coach wanted them to rest up after their last road trip.
So whatever. He’d go out like this, keep his head down under a random ball cap, and grab a beer somewhere local. Maybe a few beers. He needed to find a way to unwind.
Neutral Zone Trap: The Dartmouth Cobras ~ An Off Ice Novel Page 7