Save The Date (Harrisburg Railers Book 9)

by RJ Scott

  We headed to the Ocean Golf Course on Kiawah Island, where it seemed Adler had booked a private afternoon for us, which was good because we were loud. Very loud. I swear golf was the funniest damn thing I’ve ever done, but most of that was because we were painfully bad.

  “The hole is that way,” Erik explained patiently to Stan, whose concept of golf seemed to be whacking the ball as if he was shooting a puck. Of course, this meant that there were divots in the grass, twenty-two lost balls at last count, and the rest of us bent over laughing so hard that Connor said he was going to be sick.

  I thought that was more to do with the giant pizzas we’d all consumed in the limos on the way over.

  “No much me laugh-ting,” Stan said, with concentration on his face, assumed the correct stance, and then at the last minute buried his club in the dirt, the ball rolling maybe an inch.

  That was it, cue the entire group on the grass laughing so hard that a manager came over.

  “Gentleman, I’d like to suggest you stop drinking.”

  “Not drink much,” Stan boomed. Given he was chopping at the hedge with his golf club, I’m not sure the manager believed him.

  “We’ve had a few complaints.”

  I could see the headlines, Gay hockey superstar with gay fiancé and gay team having a gay time on a straight golf course and getting gay drunk. I think Layton could see the same thing and stepped in to calm the situation. None of us had actually drunk a thing. We were just happy; all of us, laughing, shoving, teasing, in the South Carolina sunshine.

  Layton tried to smooth it over with an apology, box tickets the next time that the Railers played Carolina, and the promise of paying to have turf re-laid. The manager wasn’t impressed and folded his arms over his chest.

  “I’m wondering if maybe you’d like to move this away from Ocean Course,” he said in a level tone.

  By mutual decision, we left around the tenth hole of the eighteen because Layton was insistent we take the hint. Ten had won the golf. At least I think he had because we’d all lost count, and most of us agreed that as he was a hockey phenom, he had to be better than us all. With pride, I realized Ryker had apparently come in a close second. That’s my boy. I chose to ignore the fact that I’d been almost as shit as Stan had been. I used to play hockey. I was good at it. I’d never played golf in my entire life.

  We headed for the beach as the evening drew in, and ended up in a private area, no doubt owned by the Lockhart family. It was decorated with tiki torches, and there was music. The food was endless, the laughter just as much, and I got to dance with Ten in the dark, holding him close.

  Apparently, there had been bar action planned for after the beach, but after some heated discussion focusing on the fact that we were all partied out for tonight, we ended up heading home. Only, when the limo drove down Bay Street, Ten and I were bundled out for nightcaps and more dancing. It was two a.m. before we made it back to the house, and I fretted for a while about where Ryker and Jacob were going to sleep. In the end, they took one of the smaller bedrooms in the pool house, which was a lot better than the bedroom that Brady and Jamie were sharing.

  “Bunk beds.”

  “I get top!” Brady pushed his way past the middle Rowe brother, but in some complicated move involving knees and elbows, it was Jamie who clambered triumphantly onto the top bunk.

  I swear those two were worse than kids.

  As for Ten and me, we opened the doors to the private patio and sat out under the stars, holding hands.

  “I love our friends,” Ten murmured after a little while.

  “Me too. Even Adler. I love that Ryker is here.”

  Ten stood and stretched tall, his bright T-shirt riding up, the fluorescent colors twinkling in the dark. He held out a hand, and I took it, falling naturally into him and burying my face in his neck.

  “Are you tired?” he whispered.

  I yawned on order. “Yeah, do you think I’m too old for this?”

  Ten nibbled a trail from my ear down my jawline, cradling my face in his hands. “No, I don’t. Now, be honest with me, old man. Are you too tired to let me make love to you?”

  Tiredness vanished in an instant. “When I say old, I mean, I’m not that old.”

  Tennant

  He was the sexiest old man on the planet, and he had to be naked and hard in my hand, like yesterday.

  “Let me get you out of this ugly thing,” I said, easing out of his hold and taking the bottom of the tie-dye catastrophe in my hands.

  He raised his arms when needed. I tossed the shirt somewhere behind me, then claimed his soft lips. Our tongues tangled gently, the taste of the fruity drinks we’d had lingering. He gave me the lead, groaning softly into my mouth when my hand slid between his hard stomach and the band of his shorts. Soft cotton brushed my knuckles as I wiggled my fingers into his briefs.

  “Tennant,” he said, my name a groaned exhalation when I fisted his stiff dick.

  “Mm,” I replied, kissing the corner of his mouth, then rubbing my cheek along his like a love-starved cat. His dick pulsed in my palm. I stroked him as the way he liked it, firm with a slow twist over the tip. The soft rasp of his whiskers drove me mad. I began to push on him, angling him toward the big bed, his cock hot and hard in my hand. “Did you want to say something before I swallow your dick?”

  “Christ,” he huffed. That made me smile. As did how eagerly he shoved his shorts and briefs to his ankles once his calves touched the mattress.

  “Sit down. Spread your legs. Let me love you.” I nipped at his chin, pinching his stiff nipples. He kind of did this dead drop thing to the bed, his ass just catching the edge of the firm mattress. “Dude, don’t fall on the floor. We don’t want a broken hip to mar our bachelor getaway.”

  “Wiseass.” He chuckled, grabbing my shoulders, then pulling me to him with firm pressure. I went willingly, greedily even. The fact that I was fully dressed and he was naked made me twitchy. “I want to come on your lips. Right here.” He ran his thumb over my lower lip, pulling it, then releasing it. My dick throbbed. I pushed on my erection with the heel of my hand, hoping to ease the ache.

  “Hey, old man, I’m in charge here. You’ll come where I tell you to come.”

  His pupils blew out, obscuring the beautiful sky blue that I loved so much. “You’re starting to sound like a typical pushy spouse already.”

  “And you love it,” I countered, kneeling between his strong legs, my hands resting on the top of his thighs, my gaze falling to his cock. A thick bead of precum hung off the tip. I leaned in to catch it, but it fell to the sheet.

  “God, yes, I do,” he confessed, then arched up.

  His prick bumped my cheek, leaving a damp smear. I turned my head enough to latch on to his fat cockhead. Jared rolled his hips; a low grumbly sound followed his confession. He locked his arms behind his head and watched, his hot gaze never leaving the sight of me sliding the length of him down my throat. “Fuck, Tennant, you look good with my dick in your mouth.”

  I hummed in agreement. His eyes rolled back in his head, so I kept it up, humming and sucking, cupping his soft sac, fondling the orbs, then pressing a finger against his hole. He wiggled back and got a heel on the bed, giving me an access that I was quick to accept. Nothing made the man blow apart faster than a couple of fingers bumping his prostate while getting head. Well, he was kind of fond of a dick ramming that knot of nerves, but we’d made this stupid no-penetration-until-the-honeymoon vow eight days, seven hours, and twenty-four minutes ago. Not that I was keeping track or anything. Like, my ass was not in any way needing his dick in it. Nope. Stupid vows. I should have known better than to listen to my two sisters-in-law. Sure, it sounded romantic, but any time without making love was brutal.

  “Tennant.” Jared coughed, and I pressed a spit-slick finger into him, licking a sloppy path along the crease of his leg, then back to his glorious cock. “Ah, perfect. Shit! So fucking perfect…” The big man shuddered. Spittle coated my chin, my lips, his b
alls, and his ass. He began mumbling something, raspy grunts mixed with how sweet my mouth was. “Ten, please… close now.”

  I popped off, slid my finger out of him, and then stood. Jared, resting on his elbows, his eyes hooded and his skin coated with a fine sheen of sweat, stared at me in confusion.

  “We come together,” I said, ripping at my clothes, then throwing them to the four winds. He smiled as his arms folded, dropping his back to the mattress. A soft, warm wind rustled the sheers on the sliding doors, the smell of a southern night blowing in, the heady lemony-candy scent of magnolia mingling with the scent of man and sex. I straddled him, then caged him with my hands, dropping my mouth to his, lapping inside, tonguing his teeth as he pumped upward wantonly, coating my hip with streaks of his salty-sweet precum.

  “Get the lube,” he groaned, grabbing my hips.

  “No,” I gasped as he bucked up, his cock slipping over my hole. “Oh fuck,” I moaned and leaned back, squeezing his dick between my sweaty ass cheeks. Jared bit my shoulder, a surefire way to get me on the cusp. “The vow…”

  “Stupid,” he panted, grinding into me, his cockhead moving back and forth, back and forth, back and forth over my ass. “Stupid damn vow.”

  “Yeah, totes,” I huffed, finding a small thread of sanity and grabbing it. I slid back a bit until his cock was lying next to mine, both trapped between our damp bellies. “I want you so bad,” I said, my voice thick with lust. “I love this so much.” I took both our dicks in one hand. He spread his larger hand over mine, sliding it around until our cocks were in a vise of sticky, rough fingers.

  “Harder,” Jared snarled, then began thrusting. A small part of my brain slipped off the rails, plunging me into the world of sensation. Nothing else mattered but the feeling of our dicks slipping in and out of our hands.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” I cried out and blew apart, coating our fingers. Jared released us and pushed me to my back. I went willingly. “Get up here,” I huffed, pulling on him with greedy hands until his prick rested on my nose.

  Two hard pumps was all it took. He came hard, coating my cheeks, chin, and lips with pearly ribbons. I licked off my lips, and he shot again, a gravelly groan of pleasure the only sound he made. Spunk flew from him, thick ropes hitting my brow and hair, my nose, my ear, and my mouth. He laid his dick on my lower lip, semen oozing from him, and I lapped up each spurt.

  “You’re a mess.” He chuckled when he could speak again. “A beautiful mess but a mess just the same.”

  “They say cum is good for your skin,” I murmured, working his spunk into my hair, then tasting my fingers. “Yours is delicious,” I said around a cum-coated finger.

  He eased away, careful not to bump my head with a knee. Then he stood beside the bed, cock hanging down his thigh, and offered me his hand. I slapped my palm across his and was pulled to my feet and into his arms. He slanted his mouth over mine, stealing the breath from me. I grabbed at his short blond hair, smearing our tastes into our mouths.

  “Want to check out the shower? I hear it’s man-sized,” he whispered over my salty lips.

  The shower was big enough for four hockey players and a polar bear. When we fell into bed later, beyond sated from the hand jobs in the shower, I yawned so wide my jaw popped.

  “You want to shut the sliding door?” Jared asked sleepily. I snuggled up to his back and said something, but the door never did get closed.

  I woke up on my side, facing the sliding door. Jared was behind me, his ass pressed to mine, snoring lightly. I heard someone speaking outside and reached for my phone. It was a little after seven in the morning. Who the hell would be up so early after a night like we’d all had last night?

  Curiosity got the better of me, and I slipped from the bed, grabbed the shorts I’d worn yesterday from the floor, and pulled them up over my bare ass. Stepping out into the new day, I winced at the sun peeking through the trees, then checked out the grounds. There, on the patio surrounding the Olympic-sized in-ground pool, sat a man in a bright green robe and pink sunglasses. Apollo Vasquez looked at me, lifted his drink in the air, and motioned to the massive table weighted down with food. My stomach snarled, so I pulled on one of Jared’s old Sabres shirts, then scribbled out a note for my sleeping fiancé before going outside.

  “Morning,” I heard as I stepped outside. I smiled at Apollo. The slim young man who was Adler’s best friend seemed rested and refreshed. “Have you been here long?”

  “I just got here an hour ago. It was my mother’s birthday yesterday. Figures I’d miss all the fun.” He smiled into his drink. “You look debauched.”

  He sipped on a raspberry mimosa and kicked his tiny bare foot up and back as I blushed to the roots of my hair.

  “I think I need something to drink,” I muttered and padded around the pool to the drink table. Stainless steel coffee urns stood at the ready. Creamers and sugars, tea bags, and silver flatware awaited the guests.

  “The hot food is on the way,” Apollo called as I made myself a cup of hot chocolate. “So, tell me, did anyone have hot sex? Besides you, of course.” He tapped my shoulder after I sat down beside him, the bite mark from Jared a touch sore this morning. “Was there an orgy? God, I so need a hockey player to make love marks on me.”

  He was a very pretty man, lean, kind of feminine, and a little bit of a queen. Trent made him seem like a nun in comparison, but yeah, Apollo was a beautiful Latino gay man who should’ve been able to grab any guy’s eye, be it a jock or not.

  “I think our rainbow members are all spoken for, but if I hear of anyone…”

  He flashed me a bright smile. “Send him my way. I do love a big jock. So, marriage. Are you nervous?”

  “Mm, yeah, a little.” I took a sip of cocoa. It was rich and thick, sweet enough to send a person into a diabetic shock and just perfect for a lazy Sunday morning with a friend. “You’re coming, right? To the wedding?”

  “If I can find a date,” he replied, reaching up to lower his sunglasses a bit when Erik came stumbling out, his curls knotted. “Another married one,” Apollo sighed dramatically, then glanced at me over the top of his pink sunglasses. “What is it with this team? Do you all drink happily-ever-after bottled water or something? I mean, leave some crumbs for the rest of us, will you?”

  He snorted at his own teasing, and I laughed along. Erik waved sleepily. He had a hickey on his ribs that stood out plainly against his fair skin.

  “Big man up yet?” I yelled at Erik over the soft splashing of the pool’s filter and the familiar song of a Carolina wren.

  “He’s in the shower,” Erik replied, dropping down beside Apollo, coffee in hand, then promptly dozing off in the soft rays of golden sun falling on him.

  Apollo snickered and removed the mug from Erik’s fingers. “Maybe I need to start watching baseball…”

  I was about to reply that we had a team in Carlisle that he could check out when the high priest of wedding planning arrived. Trent gave me a sour glance, then marched over, his head wrapped in a purple turban that matched his flowing silk robe.

  “Hello, peanut,” Trent said to Apollo, and they bussed cheeks. “You look refreshed.” Apollo nodded, sipping on his raspberry mimosa as Trent turned his attention to me. “You, on the other hand, look as bad as him.” He waved a hand at Erik splayed out in his chair, snoring. “I rapped on your door to speak with you both as we are now in crisis mode! God, I need a mimosa too.” Apollo handed Trent his. A great fussy thank you took place, followed by a theatrical sip. “So, your betrothed told me to wait down here while Nero fiddles!” Another small sip. “Honestly, how you two can be so nonchalant about the venue being shut down is beyond me!” Another small sip.

  Wait. The venue? “What?” I asked. Trent huffed, then finished Apollo’s mimosa. “What do you mean the venue was shut down?”

  “Something about being a fire hazard. That was the last place big enough to house all the guests that was willing to take us on such short notice. And now it’s gone. Gone!”r />
  He swooned gracefully into the chair on my right, turban staying in place and the mimosa glass held between his long, thin fingers.

  “Where will we have the wedding and reception, then?” I inquired, because that seemed like a pretty big need-to-know thing. “We’ve got, like, ten days left.”

  “Eleven, but who’s counting?” Trent murmured, then returned to swooning over the side of the tasteful patio furniture.

  “You will have big wedding at my house!” Stan announced from the double doors that hung open. Erik startled awake. Trent sat up, his swoon forgotten. Apollo arched an eyebrow at the big Russian, then sighed sadly when the sun glinted off Stan’s wedding ring.

  “Dude, we can’t impose on you like that,” I said.

  Trent waved a hand in front of my face. “Hush you. Of course we can. When you say big wedding, how big is your yard?”

  “Hmm, is big grass. Maybe ten acres?” Stan walked over to stand behind Trent. “I have much room. Big yards with soft grass. And fountain!”

  “Oooh, a fountain! Do you have gardeners?” Trent asked.

  Apollo sat up, the sad look on his pouty lips gone. I tried to speak but was plowed aside like last winter’s snow.

  “Many gardeners. Make flower beds pretty. We have wedding at our home. Erik is making happy good sounds for beloved friends. Or we go to Vegas and have Elvis wedding like mine!”

  “No!” Trent and I shouted at the same time.

  “Then is settled. We have big wedding on my lawns!” Stan clapped me on the shoulders so hard my fillings rattled.

  “Sure, yeah, sounds good,” I muttered and pasted on a smile that fell from my face when I saw Jared sneaking past the double doors. He was so going to catch hell for feeding me to the wedding wolves.

  Jared

  The schedule was tight, and in my mind, it was the wrong way around. We had cake tasting at ten, followed by tux fittings at one. Surely tuxes should come before cake. I’ve seen Ten eat cake, and he can eat a lot of the sticky sweet concoctions.