Relay (Changing Lanes Book 1)

by Layla Reyne

  While their kiss was all about savoring, about renewing a lost connection, even if only for tonight, their lower bodies were all about release, keeping time with the up-tempo music, moving with increasing speed and desire. All too aware this could only be for tonight. Alex’s orgasm barreled toward him, and when Dane slipped a hand between them, cupping Alex through his jeans again, his desire nearly jumped the tracks. Alex tried to scoot back, to put a little separation between them, but Dane lowered his other hand, sneaking the tips of his fingers into the slit of Alex’s jeans and teasing the curve of his ass. Alex moaned, and Dane’s lips against his curved into a smile. Alex hauled him back in, trapping Dane’s other hand between them as Dane rubbed him off in earnest now. There were dark corners and bathrooms for this, but those seemed miles away and the bodies were packed so tightly on the dance floor, Alex doubted they were the only ones engaging in such public displays of affection. Or rather, indecency. And Dane seemed just as intent on reliving their past teenage glories, sticky jeans and all.

  They were fast approaching the point of no return, maybe past it already, but a last thread of responsibility wove through the haze of desire. Alex had to give Dane one more out. “You sure you won’t regret this in the morning?”

  Club glitter sparkled on Dane’s face, bringing out the lively sparkle in the thin ring of blue around his dark pupils. “The only thing I’d regret is walking away from you. Again.”

  The thread snapped, restraint vanished, and Alex arched into Dane’s hand. Alex offered Dane his finger again, and Dane curled a tongue around the tip, then sucked it down, as if it were Alex’s cock. The move had its intended effect. Alex’s cock swelled, on the edge of bursting, and Alex wanted nothing more than to get Dane there with him. Fast. And he remembered just how to do it.

  Withdrawing his finger, he pulled Dane into another kiss and snuck his damp finger under his shirttails, plunging beneath Dane’s waistbands and down his crack. Dane hissed, his hand around Alex’s cock squeezing. Both of them moved with renewed urgency, Dane’s upstroke matching each teasing swipe Alex made around his rim. At the edge, panting more than kissing, when Dane had stroked him to within a second of release, Alex whispered against his lips, “Say it.”

  “Fuck me,” Dane groaned, ravaged and tilting his ass back. “Please.”

  Alex pressed the tip of his finger past the tight rim, thrusting inside, and Dane jerked in his arms, ramming his cock so hard against Alex’s that Alex came with him, hips pumping as they spent together.

  Panting returned to breathing returned to languid kisses, and Dane smiled against his mouth once more. Alex knew if he pulled back, they’d both look somewhere between drugged and dopey, ridiculously in lo—

  He cut off the thought, dragging his mouth along Dane’s smooth jaw to his ear. “We’re a mess.”

  “I want to get messier.”

  Bad idea. But post-orgasm, post-incredible make-out with his first love improbably returned, against all better judgment, Alex’s brain played third chair to his dick and his heart. “Go hail us a cab out front. I’ll settle the tab.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” Dane captured his lips in another kiss, halfway between searing and sloppy, then stumbled toward the exit.

  Alex glanced around and found no one paying them the slightest bit of attention, thankfully. He readjusted the askew hat on his head and made his way to the bar, trying to prevent anyone brushing up against him and worsening the sticky, uncomfortable mess in his jeans. He paid the bartender, who slipped him a card like the bouncer’s, and contemplated a stop by the bathroom to clean up, but worry crept in at what trouble Dane could get up to out front, especially without his hat as a disguise.

  Hustling outside, Alex eyed the cab line, worry escalating to panic when he didn’t see Dane’s tall, broad frame or red hair anywhere near it.

  “Hey, Cowboy!”

  Alex turned toward the bouncer’s voice. “Horse done gave out on you,” Chrome-Dome said with a chuckle and jut of his chin over Alex’s shoulder. Alex whipped around, gaze landing on the side-exit stairs where Dane was sitting with his arms curled around the metal railing, dozing off. “Looks like you rode him too hard.”

  Alex laughed out loud. A perfectly ridiculous ending to a wildly ridiculous night, in the best possible way. “Time to put him to bed, I guess.”

  The bouncer, Burke, helped him get a deadweight Dane to his feet and into a waiting cab. Alex tipped him with a smile and handshake, then slid in next to Dane, giving the driver the address for their hotel in Northside.

  As soon as they were on their way, Dane scooted over like a heat-seeking missile, snaking his arms around Alex. “I missed you.”

  Alex caught the driver’s curious gaze in the rearview mirror. With Dane’s gel-darkened hair drying out and getting brighter by the minute, it was possible the driver recognized them, or at least Dane. Reality came screaming back, stifling the already suspect air in the cab. Alex took off the cowboy hat, placed it back on Dane’s head, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, curling him in toward his body to block the driver’s view.

  “Giving me your hat,” Dane mumbled. “You know what that means.”

  “It’s your hat.” Alex kissed the nape of his neck and inhaled deep, taking in the intoxicating mixture of sweat, sex, and swimmer while he still could.

  Dane, in turn, dropped a kiss at the hollow of his throat. “I know,” he said. “I gave my hat to the man I love.”

  Dane snuggled down, a snore rumbling out of him, before Alex could find his words, before he could decide whether that was the alcohol or Dane talking, and thankfully, before he could give his heart to the man he knew better than to love again.

  It was late morning by the time Alex dragged himself out of bed and to the training facility. While they technically had the day off, his body demanded at least a couple of hours’ work, be it in the pool or gym. He’d put on jammers under his track pants, favoring the pool over weights, not wanting to smell the alcohol he’d sweat out. And either option was better than sitting in his room, worrying over whether he’d done the right or wrong thing with Dane last night.

  Calling a truce was unquestionably the right thing. The team couldn’t handle another round of divisive drama, not when they needed to focus and come together. Whether that truce still held after he and Dane had come together in an entirely different sense was another question. But worry aside, it’d been a good thing for Alex, the relaxation and release sorely needed. He hadn’t slept a morning away in he couldn’t remember how long. But he’d have to wait to find out whether last night was a good or bad thing for Dane and the team, for better or worse.

  Following the sounds of SportsCenter to the athletes’ kitchen, he trudged inside and was met with a snapshot of worse, not related to him or Dane. At the counter, side by side, stood Jacob, bent half over, head pillowed on his folded arms, and Bas, dreadlocks loose, dressed in a tee and ink-stained jeans. Bas bobbled a hunk of ginger, saved it from hitting the floor like he would a hacky-sack, then added it to greens, blueberries, and bananas already in the blender. He topped the fruits and vegetables with a cup of almond milk, a container of yogurt, and a generous squirt of honey. The ingredients varied by availability, but Alex would recognize the “Bas Special” anywhere—an unholy concoction guaranteed to detox the most hungover of athletes. Like, say, Jacob.

  Or Dane, who staggered in with his USA Swimming tee on inside out and his untied sweatpants sagging so low Alex glimpsed an auburn trail leading down below. Dane cleared his throat, and Alex forced his gaze up. Face scrubbed clean of yesterday’s makeup and club-glitter, Dane’s skin was red too, sunburn glowing, and his washed hair was drying in a million different directions. Taken altogether, he looked like a tired, grumpy rooster.

  Thank fuck the facility was closed to visitors today.

  Bas glanced over his shoulder, caught sight of Dane, and mumbled an “Aw, hell,” no doubt seeing the same train wreck Alex did. He pulled more ingredients from the
fridge and nudged Jacob, who slowly came to life, unfolding and retrieving another glass from the overhead cabinet. As Bas revved the blender, Dane scrunched his eyes closed, forehead wrinkling as if in pain. The whirring, grinding noise was enough to drown out the TV and revive Alex’s own headache. He could only imagine the trolls chipping away inside Dane’s head. Taking pity, Alex grasped him by the elbow and led him over to a table.

  Splaying out in a chair, Dane laid a hand over his stomach and hung his head back, groaning.

  “Feeling that good, huh?” Alex said.

  Dane cracked open one eye and squinted up at him. “Ugh.”

  Chuckling, Alex lowered himself into the adjacent chair. “About what I figured.” What he couldn’t figure, though, was how Dane felt about him this morning. If Dane even remembered last night, which, by the looks of him, was a fifty-fifty shot.

  Before Alex could ask, or chicken out, behind them on the television, the coverage cut to yesterday’s press conference with Dane storming out, then to his father behind a pulpit this morning, preaching about forgiveness and self-acceptance through God.

  “Fucking hypocrite,” Dane groused, and Alex whipped his gaze back around. Dane carried on like he hadn’t just cursed, or just read Alex’s mind. “He was rehearsing in my room yesterday—preaching to himself in the mirror like he always does—about pride and team unity. Changed his tune pretty fast.”

  Perceptive despite his hangover, Jacob, bordering on sickly green from what must have been rapid movement, already had the remote in hand, changing the channel as he dropped into the seat across from them. A bandage peeked out from under the sleeve of his Shelby Cobra vanity tee.

  Alex grabbed onto the change of topic like a life preserver. “Show us the ink, Pup.”

  “Nuh-uh,” Jacob replied. “I spent an hour wrapping this.” He held out his arm and pushed up his sleeve, showing off the waterproof bandage and wrap above his biceps.

  “I spent ten minutes wrapping it.” Bas joined them, passing out the glasses of green goop. “Unwind it,” he said to Jacob. “I’ve got more watertights in the room.”

  Jacob, midswallow, inhaled sharply and choked. Rookie mistake. The key to a Bas Special was not to smell it, because again, unholy. Just guzzle. Alex gulped down two swallows while Jacob, still sputtering, unwound the wrap.

  Uncovered, the tattoo on his outside left shoulder was oily from lotion and red, but that did nothing to detract from Bas’s distinctive artwork—an abstract piece with intricate lines and curves, in the unmistakable shape of a Longhorn, the tip of its horns and its muzzle accented in burnt orange. It was the perfect design for the rising UT junior and Texas native.

  Sullen mood forgotten, Dane leaned forward for a closer look, his expression adorably awestruck. “This is amazing.”

  Alex agreed, shooting Bas an approving nod.

  “Think I could get one?” Dane asked, and Bas’s blond brows raced north. Alex laughed into his glass. “What, I’m serious!” Dane insisted.

  Bas reined in his surprise, grinning. “I usually design ones for my teams.” He walked Dane and Jacob through the various team tats on his colorful upper body.

  “I recognize that one.” Dane pointed to the memorial tat for the last Olympics.

  “That’s right,” Bas said. “Mo’s got it, on the back of his right shoulder. Did that one and his newborn’s initials on the other. Guessing I’m going to have to add two more for him.”

  “And me?” Dane asked, hopeful.

  Bas nodded. “We win, I’ll ink you.”

  Dane held up his glass, and Bas clicked his against it, sealing the deal. Alex’s heart soared much higher than it should. It was a small gesture, a promise he wasn’t sure Dane would even keep, since it’d mar that perfect skin, but the fact he showed interest, the fact Bas was including him, meant maybe Dane had turned a corner with the team. Maybe last night was for the better, in more than just the sticky-jeans kind of way.

  Of course, having Dane as part of the team meant he could join the gang-up on Alex as well. “Why don’t you have any ink, from USC or the last Games?” he asked.

  Alex floundered, surprised Dane had been paying that close attention to his body, and also not wanting to divulge his silly phobia.

  Bas covered for him. “He’s holding out for relay gold.”

  Smiling, Dane slouched back in his chair. “Get ready, then.”

  Alex shoved his shoulder. “Drink your shake, Ellis.” He was holding out for relay gold, but he was also terrified of needles, which was why Carla was on chemo duty with their mom instead of him. He could only make it as far as the hallway outside the treatment room. Carla could sit inside and keep her company, offering more than Alex could.

  Forcing back the influx of guilt and worry, Alex finished his shake while Bas, Jacob, and Dane talked animatedly over designs. As other teammates wandered in, there was a hilarious string of almost stumbles when the first few laid eyes on Dane at their table, but there were just as many tempered smiles and nods, Ryan’s the biggest of all.

  Alex didn’t think it was only the fact that Dane was sitting at their table. He’d made a stand yesterday at the press conference, cutting at least a few of his parents’ strings, and their teammates respected him for it. Perhaps for the first time respecting more than Dane’s sheer talent. But how was Dane feeling about that press conference a day later? Did he regret making that stand? Did he regret what it had led to between them?

  There was a hard slap on the door behind them, and Alex twisted in his chair. Coach’s eyes narrowed. “Boy, y’all are a motley crew today.”

  Bas held up his shake without turning around. “On it, Coach.”

  Hartl’s upper lip curled, and Alex laughed at his obvious disgust. “What part of day off didn’t you fools understand?”

  “Had to swim first, Coach,” Ryan said, voicing the dilemma most of them faced. They were all addicted to the water.

  “Then had to eat,” Kevin added from a table over, where he stood assembling sandwiches with Sean and Mike. “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s hot as hell out there,” Coach replied.

  “Welcome to Texas,” Jacob drawled to a room full of laughs.

  “All right then, I’m gonna go watch film. Any takers?”

  The scurry that followed was comical. Ryan didn’t bother making an excuse, just bolted with what was left of Bas’s shake mix, a “Bye, Coach” thrown over his shoulder.

  Kevin picked his sandwich up in a napkin and darted out. “Braving the heat for the Alamo.”

  Sean shoved the rest of the sandwich stuff back in the fridge, grabbed Mike by the sleeve, and followed Kevin. “We’re with him.” Not likely, but any excuse to avoid film.

  “What about you fools?” Coach said, glaring at Alex’s table.

  “We still have to hit the pool,” Alex said.

  Coach pointed at Jacob. “He’s not getting in the water with a fresh tattoo.”

  “Bas will rewrap it,” Jacob countered.

  “Not risking infection. You’re with me, Pup.”

  Jacob pushed out of his chair, the picture of abject misery. Bas rolled his eyes and rose beside him. “I got you into this mess. Can’t let you suffer alone.” Jacob brightened a little, though both men looked like they were facing execution as they followed Coach out.

  When it was just him and Dane left, Alex asked, “You going to be okay in the pool?”

  Dane tossed back the rest of his shake like a champ and slammed the glass down. “This shit’s disgusting but works like a charm.”

  “Had something like it before?”

  “Pretty sure Mo stole the recipe. Only thing I could keep down over spring break in Tahoe.”

  “Partied a little too hard?”

  Dane shook his head. “Altitude sickness.”

  “So that wasn’t your first bout of it in Colorado Springs?”

  “’Fraid not.”

  Alex felt a twinge of guilt at how smug he’d been that fi
rst day of practice, seeing Dane struggle. Then another sort of guilt walloped him when his phone vibrated with an incoming call from Carla.

  “Excuse me.” He pushed back from the table and moved to the other side of the room, phone to his ear. “What’s up, sis?”

  “You got a couple minutes? It’s been a rough few days for Mom.”

  He put a hand out, steadying himself on the counter. “Is she okay?”

  A chair scraped back, and Dane was at his side the next instant, hand sliding over his hip. Alex nearly dropped the phone, only Carla’s voice outweighing the shockingly casual, affectionate touch. “She’s fine, just tired after the week of treatments. I think a quick chat with you would perk her right up. Get her eating again.”

  “Mom’s not eating?”

  “Her last treatment was Friday, hermano. You know it takes her a few days to recover. I’m hoping by tonight. Now, can I put her on?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Alex rushed to say.

  Dane squeezed his hip, and Alex glanced up, meeting concerned, alert eyes. “Everything okay?” Dane mouthed.

  Alex swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. Dane gave his hip another squeeze, then moved off, gathering their glasses and taking them to the sink, leaving Alex to his conversation but not leaving him alone. It was a surprising comfort, having someone near as he dealt with the most troubling part of his life, the fear that welled up anytime he had to face his mom’s mortality. She sounded winded, tired at first, but midway through the conversation, her knitting needles started to click and her voice perked up, both good signs. After he finished telling her about the week ahead, and they said their goodbyes, Carla came back on the line.