Chapter 3
Timmy
How was I supposed to prepare for this?
I never thought that my friend’s almost brother-in-law would look like every man I’ve ever fantasized about, never imagined that man could even exist. So from the moment I saw him I activated survival mode, and I’ve only spoken the bare minimum and tried not to stare.
He has that commanding aura around him that screams Daddy, but I can’t possibly know that for sure. It’s probably just hopeful delirium, and I have to accept that.
But there’s no way on earth to stop the sudden feeling of loss when Jake makes a quick exit before anyone can even utter a goodbye.
“What did he mean, going to work? It’s almost nine,” I argue and turn back to Benny. I want to know everything about Jake, and where he works is a great place to start I suppose.
And it seems like a simple enough question, but Benny grimaces and tilts his head from side to side, then he looks at Chris like he should answer this.
In turn, Chris smiles serenely at me.
“He works at a club,” he explains in a measured tone.
“That makes sense, then,” I say, subdued.
I wish I had the balls to ask them if Jake’s queer or if he would ever be interested in someone so much younger than him—Benny mentioned something about him being thirty-six and an old man during dinner—but I don’t.
I really, really don’t.
So instead, I focus on Chris, and ask him all kinds of questions to keep the conversation going and my mind away from Jake.
But when it’s time for me to go, I lower my guard for just a second. It doesn’t take much more to imagine how the whole conversation would go. Benny and Chris would surely be uncomfortable and they’d for sure try to be nice about brushing me off, but the sting would never go away.
Because of that, I call an Uber while Benny’s distracted, and it arrives right as I’m closing the dishwasher.
Benny complains, saying how he was going to drive me, but I ignore him while I shake Chris’s hand and thank him for his hospitality.
“I like him for you,” I tell Benny just outside the front door. “You guys are damn cute together.” I can see how happy he is to hear me say it, and his eyes even go a little hazy, so I take my chances, grab my duffel, and make my escape.
I want a Daddy, not just an older boyfriend, though that would be my preference. I want someone who wants to take care of me. The chances of me finding that in Vegas compared to Detroit are higher, though.
So after the season I’m going to focus on that. For now, I have to put Jake and my search for my perfect Daddy out of my head.
When I get to my temporary apartment, it’s as sad as I suspected it would be. Totally lifeless, not a homey object in sight. My two big suitcases right in the entrance hall are the only indication that this isn’t a catalogue apartment come to life.
I can’t muster up the effort to do more than take out a fresh pair of underwear and find the only bedroom in the apartment. The freshly made king-sized bed looks inviting, but I need a shower after the weird-ass day I’ve had. I need to wash it all off and forget about it.
July
I shuffle in front of the full-length mirror in my new apartment and sigh.
I don’t know if going to a sex club dressed so casually is going to make me look like I haven’t been sweating over tonight’s events for weeks, or if it makes me look disinterested. Comfortable, soft, worn-in jeans and a hoodie are what I’m comfortable in, though. It’s what I feel like myself in.
Benny did end up asking Chris to move in together, and they’re living in lovable bliss, while I bought the apartment from him—thanks to my brand new ah-mazing contract with the Pirates.
After I signed, Gab assured me she didn’t have any plans of trading me away, least of all for being fucking gay, and though I know that can change any day for any reason, I trust her enough to make this big kind of purchase.
I have no clue why there are so many damn mirrors in this place—I bought it furnished—since I never thought Benny would be overly vain, but it just goes to show you never know everything about people, no matter how long you’ve known them.
It doesn’t change what I think about him in the slightest, though.
Especially when I have a mirror I can actually see my full body in.
The dark circles that were under my eyes when I woke up this morning are nowhere to be seen since I opted to sleep the day away.
Last night was the team’s private Stanley Cup party, but it’s been a damn busy week that came after an exhausting couple of months. But even though I wanted to cry at the thought of standing, I went because the Pirates . . . this team and these men are something else.
The second I found out I’d been traded to the Pirates, I knew the chances of going to the finals were good, but I don’t think I’d believed we’d actually win.
Before I got here, and especially after I got here, so much outside shit was happening that I knew it would be tough for everyone to be on their A-game, and that’s what’s needed to win the Stanley Cup.
But the way all these men—now me included—look out for each other is something that can’t be explained, and it sure as fuck can’t be replicated. I didn’t even know this kind of camaraderie was possible in the NHL.
My eyes focus again on what the mirror is reflecting back at me, and I have to wince.
The playoffs left me skinnier than I think I’ve ever been, and since we went to game seven at the finals, I almost dropped from exhaustion when the horn blared signaling our victory.
Then I almost dropped while we were waiting for the ceremony to begin, when the Cup was passed around, and when I held it over my head.
I stood through it all, though.
And then through the endless press junket, through the contract meeting with Gab the day after, through the parade back in Vegas, through the party with the whole organization, and last night at Picard’s house with only the players.
I needed a day to recharge, and now that I’ve gotten it, it’s time to do what I promised I’d do back in March.
Back in May, after the second and the third round of the playoffs, we had two days off and went out to dinner, which was when I saw the discreet sign outside the resort.
It didn’t say anything but Provoke and that it had all kinds of stuff there, masks, harnesses, whips, and mostly shit that’s associated with BDSM, so that night I researched it.
A members-only gay sex club.
That’s all I could find out about it aside from the address, but it didn’t matter. The seed had been planted and today the idea would . . . bloom, so to speak.
Fuck, I’m nervous.
The ding of my phone alerts me that the car service I hired for tonight is five minutes away, which means I gotta get my ass down to the lobby.
No backing out, I mentally tell myself, and walk out of my bedroom.
It doesn’t matter what my clothes look like anyway, I reason with myself as I call the elevator. What matters is that I look damn good without them.
It’s that thought that gives me the confidence I need to greet the driver without stuttering and to not talk like a blabbermouth during the hour-long drive.
I even walk confidently up to the back door of the large building in what seems like the middle of nowhere, and smile at the security guy.
He looks at me funny, then brusquely asks for my ID.
That’s when the nerves kick in again. What if he tells the press? What if Gab is fine with her players being queer but not with them going to sex clubs in their own time?
But the security guard just nods and gives it back with a blank look on his face.
That has to be good, right?
I get my answer when he opens the door for me.
It’s really dark inside, with only one overhead light illuminating a high reception desk.
Behind it there’s a beautiful woman with her head in a messy bun and a baggy black sweatshirt that has the logo of the club on it.
She tilts her head when she sees me.
“I don’t know you,” she says, sounding intrigued.
“Ah, yeah.” I walk two steps closer, feeling really out of my depth now. “I want to become a member?” I say like a question instead of a statement, or a . . . request?
It’s supposed to be a request, right?
I’m supposed to be nice and—
“Which member recommended you?” she asks, this time frowning at me briefly then looking down at what I suppose is a computer screen.
Her eyes shift from side to side and she clicks away for a good minute while I just stand there, completely frozen in place. Then she looks back up at me, eyebrows raised expectantly, and how the fuck am I supposed to answer?
“Your ad?” I ask weakly, and she frowns again, only the creases in her forehead are deeper this time.
“I don’t know of any ads Provoke has. We rely solely on word-of-mouth.
You need to be brought in by an existing member who vouches for you,” she tells me like I’m slow—I fucking feel like I’m slow.
“I can’t let you in otherwise. We won’t even consider you for a membership if a member doesn’t bring you personally. ”
I gulp at the fierceness in her eyes. There’s no way I’m gonna be able to talk myself out of this mess. I can feel the sweat starting to pop on my temples and then I hear the door behind me open and I just know the security guard is here to boot me the fuck out.
“I don’t—”
Whatever I was going to say—which I still don’t fucking know—gets cut off by the ringing of a phone I can’t see.
The receptionist picks up immediately and listens with that same focus from before. She makes a face, one where her mouth twists to one side, but then nods a few times and I see her mouth move, saying, “Okay.” But I don’t hear it so she has to have whispered it.
She hangs up the phone and keeps looking down in that direction for a long second, then her face transforms into the beauty from before and she smiles at me.
“Please wait here. Someone is coming down to help you.”
That doesn’t fill me with confidence.
Fuck, what did I get myself into?