Chapter Eight
Anthony
In between each set at the club, I check the score. It’s tied at two heading into the first intermission, but I have faith in our boys to close out the game.
Only, that isn’t what happens. Mads lets in two back-to-back goals.
He’s all over the place, his head clearly not on hockey.
Rylan approaches him more than once, giving him some pep talk or something, but it doesn’t help.
One more goal gets past him, the Rebels losing by three.
I know he’ll be upset about it, but it could have been worse.
Mostly, I’m just worried about him. I probably shouldn’t feel like I know him as well as I feel, but I do, and something is off… something is wrong.
I’m in the dressing room, sitting at my station, and when I open my phone to text Mads, I notice waiting messages from Hayes and Donovan. I ignore them for now.
Me: Sorry about the game. Are you okay?
Considering it just ended, I don’t expect him to have time to message me back right away, so I click over to Hayes’s message first.
Hayes: Are you okay?
Am I okay? Why the fuck wouldn’t I be okay?
Me: Um…yes? Should I not be?
I check Donovan’s message next.
Donovan: I’m so sorry. What can I do? Want to come over tonight? Emergency meeting of the Jilted Exes?
At this point, my heart is trying to bulldoze its way out of my chest. Clearly, something is majorly wrong, so instead of responding, I do a search for my name.
JILTED EXES’ CLUB MEMBER SNAGS ANOTHER HOCKEY PLAYER—THIS TIME, KASON MADDOX
QUEER STRIPPER LINKED WITH KASON MADDOX
Um…what the fuck. I’m not a stripper. I have no problem with stripping and would totally do it if I had the urge. There’s nothing wrong with that kind of dancing, it’s just not what I do.
IS LOVE IN THE AIR FOR DANCING JILTED EXES’ CLUB MEMBER AND KASON MADDOX?
I can’t help noticing they don’t use my name in any of the titles.
I’m reduced to Jilted Exes’ Club member or just called a dancer or a stripper.
Kason’s name is used each time, and I have a feeling both those things are on purpose.
To everyone writing these articles, I don’t matter—not as a person, at least. To them, I’m nothing more than that guy who got cheated on along with Hayes, Donovan, and who knows how many other people.
I’m just a dancer, a guy who moves his body for other men at a gay club, and they look down on that.
On me. There are photos from the times we hung out, and everyone is already throwing down opinions about how Kason can do better and all the ways I don’t deserve him.
Maybe it’s just because it’s happening to me, but it feels worse than it did when the news came out about Hayes and Rylan.
Maybe it’s a slow news day or they’re using this to drum up the story in a fresh way because nothing quenches the thirst of some people online like the pain and embarrassment of others.
Nothing makes them feel better than pretending they have all the details about a situation or people and spreading their opinions like law for others to carry and grow.
My stomach gurgles, twisting and turning, bubbling up like a shaken soda can.
Sweat beads on my brow, the room getting hotter by the second.
People walk around me in all states of dress and undress, laughing, talking, oblivious, while the room is spinning and my world feels like it’s crumbling around me.
Get it together, Ant. Don’t fall apart. Who can you depend on to fix this if not yourself?
I clear my throat, walk over to the sink, and throw water on my face.
“Hey, Anthony?” I hear as soon as I wipe the wetness away.
It’s Enrique, one of our dancers. They all know to come to me about anything club related, even though none of them know that I own it.
They all just think I’m acting manager. “There’s a shit ton of paparazzi out front.
I’m not sure what’s going on, but they’re trying to get in. ”
Because of course they are. They’re vultures sensing fresh roadkill.
When everything went down the first time, most people were so preoccupied with Hayes, with him being the one to propose to Malcolm and the fact that he has a well-known name—his family owning a large hotel chain in the US and other countries—that they didn’t care as much about me or Donovan.
What if they figure out who my uncle is?
Drawing the man who wants nothing to do with me into this mess?
What if they realize Lush is actually owned by me?
Would that be the end of the world? No, but it’s mine to hold, and I shouldn’t have to share anything I don’t want to.
“Anthony?” Enrique says again.
“Thanks. I’ll deal with it. Can you cover my next dance?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
I pull on sweats, a T-shirt, and sneakers, then head for the front of the club. I do my best to push everything out of my mind. There’s no time to freak out. Right now, I need to get shit done.
I don’t bother trying to wear a hat to hide who I am. Fuck that. I’m not giving them the satisfaction. I might be losing my shit inside, but they’ll never know they’re getting to me.
There are about twenty photographers outside, so definitely a slow news day.
Either that or a dancer being friends with a hockey player is even more of a big deal than I thought, and—oh shit.
Is this going to cause issues for Kason?
I’m not Hayes. I dance in my underwear every night and love it.
They’re never going to look at me as a good partner for Kason the way they would Hayes for Rylan.
You’re not Kason’s partner. You’re his friend.
That’s important to remember, isn’t it?
But does the truth really matter if no one believes it?
I talk to security outside and let them know not to let any of the photographers in. My gut is twisted up, while they’re yelling questions at me and flashes are going off. I wish I could make them leave, but there’s nothing I can do about them on the sidewalk.
From there, I send a quick message to Hayes and Donovan, telling them I’m fine. That this is all a misunderstanding, and I’ll talk to them tomorrow.
Kason hasn’t messaged yet, and though it’s hard, I tell myself that doesn’t mean anything.
It’s strange how I can know something isn’t my fault, that I’m not the one who did anything wrong, yet my brain still tries to play tricks on me.
The whole night, as I’m talking with security, keeping an eye on the club, and making sure nothing major goes down, I can’t stop myself from wondering if Kason is mad at me.
If this means I’m going to lose my friend.
*
I breathe out a sigh of relief when the ride share drops me off in front of my building and there are no photographers in sight.
Though I guess that doesn’t mean anything.
Somehow between the beach and Kason coming to my house, they figured out who I was and got photographs of us saying goodbye. It’s like they have eyes everywhere.
Just as I reach the door to the building, a dark figure steps out from around the corner.
My instincts take over and I automatically swing—not sure if I’m taking out a paparazzi or a creepy stalker, but not willing to take a chance.
What I don’t expect is whoever it is to dodge my punch and pull me against them.
“Let go—oh, Kason? Why are you wearing all black? Is this like a reconnaissance mission?”
“Ha-ha.” He lets me go. “I was trying to blend in, just in case. I wasn’t sure what to expect.”
Guilt immediately tries to suffocate me. “Fuck. Is this going to cause issues for you? I’m so sorry.”
“You’re sorry? I’m sorry. What do you have to be sorry about?”
A car drives by, both our gazes darting toward the sound. “Come on. Let’s go inside and talk.” I open the door and signal for him to go into the building first. Neither of us talks as we ride up to my floor, as if afraid of hidden cameras or microphones.
“Do you want anything to drink?” I ask when we’re in my apartment, but instead of a reply, Kason just pulls me into what is possibly the best hug in the history of the world.
Oh… His arms squeeze tighter around me. This is nice…really nice. I burrow my face into his chest, ignoring the voices in my head telling me to pull away.
“I’m so sorry this happened the way it did. This whole situation can’t be easy on you. Not after what you’ve been through.”
No, it’s not, but I’ve weathered worse. If the world thinks I’m with anyone, I can’t complain about it being him, someone so incredibly kind and caring.
“Thank you. But I’m okay. It takes more than some judgy headlines to get me down.
I just don’t want this to cause any issues for you.
” I force myself to pull away from him. “I don’t want it to mess up your season or be a distraction you don’t need.
” I go into the kitchen to get us something to drink.
“I can’t believe they think we’re dating! ”
I wait for Kason to scoff, to laugh off the absurdity of it all, joke about how ridiculous it is for someone to think he’s dating me, but silence greets me. I turn and see him watching me, head tilted slightly to the side, hands stuffed into the pockets of his black track pants.
“Wild, right?” I add, again trying to prod him along into laughing.
“We’re not dating?”
The room goes quiet except for the sound of my rapidly beating heart.
The way he said that, how he worded it as a question, tells me I’ve gotten something very, very wrong.
“Wait. We are dating?” falls from my lips, which is maybe the dumbest thing I could say.
How can I be dating someone and not know it?
“I thought so. But apparently I was wrong. What did you think we were doing?” Kason walks my way. “I think I’d like that drink now.”
“You and me both.”
My hand shakes as I pour us bourbon. We both immediately swallow it down in quick, hungry gulps.
Kason sets his glass on the counter. “So…”
“I don’t know! I thought we were hanging out as friends. Are we not hanging out as friends?”
“We’re friends, but when I asked you to dinner, I was asking you on a date. I must not have made that clear.”
I think back to that night, how it was the first time he offered to pick me up, opened doors for me, joked about scoring points, paid.
Each time we hung out, we took turns paying, fell asleep together, flirted—oh God, the flirting.
I thought he was just being fun, but now that I’m putting all the pieces together, I’m realizing how much of an idiot I am. “Holy fuck. We’re dating.”
He gives a soft chuckle. “Not if you didn’t even know it. Consent is kinda important to me.” He says that lightly, but I know he’s serious.
I should probably say something meaningful, something a mature adult should say, but what comes out is, “Why didn’t you try to have sex with me?” If he thought we were dating, wouldn’t that be a part of it?
“Do you want to have sex with me?”
“Who wouldn’t want to have sex with you!”
Kason rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t get you. Now we’re talking about hooking up. Can you see my confusion?”
I can’t say he’s wrong. None of this is making sense to me, though. I take a drink of the bourbon from the bottle, then walk into the living room and plop down on the couch, pulling my legs close to my chest.
“I don’t get why you didn’t kiss me—a real kiss. Or, again, why you didn’t try to have sex with me if you thought this is more than friendship.”
He sighs like I’m missing something, then walks over and joins me.
“I want to hook up with you. Believe me. I want it more and more each time I’m with you, but it’s not the only thing I want, and it’s not the most important thing either.
I like you. I’m not one who has a lot of random hookups.
In my mind, we were getting to know each other, and I was hopeful that other part was coming. ”
I turn my head slightly, looking at him. “Real talk? I was hopeful that part was coming too.” I can try to deny it all I want, but I’m attracted to Kason, and I wanted him. I just didn’t think he wanted me sexually or…this other stuff he’s talking about.
“Even though you didn’t think we were dating?” He gives me a cheeky grin.
“Yes, Flirty Boy. You’re hot. I’m attracted to you. I think I covered that when I said who wouldn’t want to have sex with you. But being honest, I am the hooking-up type.”
“That’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with that. What works for one person doesn’t work for another.”
Is there anyone in the world who is a kinder, better man than Kason?
“I don’t know how to date,” I confess. The one time I tried, it was all a total lie.
“You were doing a good job of it to me.”
“I didn’t even know I was doing it! I’m sure I’ll suck now.”
He quirks a brow at me.
“You know what I mean.” I rub a hand over my face, not wanting to admit this, but feeling like I owe it to Kason after everything.
Even more than that, I feel like I can say it to him, and he won’t judge me for it.
“The only relationship I’ve ever had is Malcolm.
No one ever wanted more with me before him, but I guess he never really did either, I just thought so.
You know it’s not easy for me to trust, Kason.
The one time I did, look how it turned out. ”
“I’m not him. I get what you’re feeling, but I’m not him.”
“I know! That’s the wildest part. There’s not an ounce of me that would ever think you’d do to me the things Malcolm did.”
He reaches over, runs his fingers through my hair, before cupping my cheek. “Then what is it? There has to be more.”
I turn away, words stuck in my throat, but damned if it doesn’t feel like they want to break free. Usually, they hide deep down inside me, but something about Kason pulls them to the surface.
“You can trust me, Anthony. I’m here if you want to talk, both as a friend and as someone you’re dating. But it’s okay if you’re not ready. And it’s okay if you don’t want to date me. We can just be friends.”
My heart picks up speed, doing a clumsy thud, thud, thud.
How do I tell him there’s a part of me, one that’s growing by the second, that really does want to date him?
That has probably wanted to date him since the first time he asked me out?
But I’m scared if I do, it will hurt even more when I lose him.
And I will lose him…just like I lost Aliyah my senior year of high school when she moved away. I’ll lose Hayes and Donovan one day too. I lose everyone, and I don’t think that will ever change.