Chapter Eight
Heat emanated from Nate’s big, bulky body and Wesley wondered what it’d be like to be pinned down by all that strength and power.
Nate came to the club to be submissive. Was he ever not submissive?
Wesley wasn’t looking to be dominated by any stretch of the imagination, but a more balanced give and take of pleasure with Nate would be nothing short of amazing. Once he’d fully healed of course.
Not that Nate would want him outside of the club.
His secret self was an effeminate gay man, not the business professional he portrayed as a Dom or as a teacher.
Nate wouldn’t be interested in someone like him.
Guys like Nate—ultra-masculine, big, and exuding all that raw physical power—usually wanted other guys who matched that energy.
Not a man who wore women’s clothing when he found something he liked and preferred pastel shades to bold colors.
His carriage, when he felt safe enough to be himself, screamed his sexuality like a flashing neon sign. Which really begged the question...
“Nate?”
“Hmm?” Nate’s head swiveled in his direction.
“Why am I here? Why did you agree to take in a stranger who’s probably more trouble than he’s worth?”
Nate swiveled and rested his very shapely butt on the window ledge. Biceps bulged as he crossed his arms.
Wesley wanted to touch, to bite. Okay, maybe not bite, but definitely nip and lick.
The quiet went on for so long, Wesley almost told him to never mind. He was clearly trying to decide what to say or whether to say anything at all.
But Nate finally sighed. “I give a lot of money to charities and stuff. A lot of players set up foundations or non-profits, which I haven’t done yet...I want to, but there’s all kinds of research and decisions to make, and I just haven’t taken the time to do it.”
“And what does that have to do with taking in a beat-up stowaway?” The word tasted bitter. He hated how easily he could imagine Nate seeing him that way.
“Nothing, I gue– No, it’s—” He sighed, ran a hand down his face, the rasp of facial hair floating on the cool air.
“Money’s great, you know? A lot of people don’t have enough, and by the grace of God I make a lot more money than I need to live on.
But donating money? That’s easy. I don’t have to get my hands dirty.
Not that I have a lot of time for that during the season.
But I think about it sometimes. And then there you were.
I have to admit that, at first, I was anxious to pass you off to be someone else’s problem.
That was before I knew it was you. And then.
..I don’t know. It occurred to me that I could make a difference to someone.
Face to face. In real time. Not just give money and pass the buck to someone else to make shit happen.
Plus, I know you–kind of. After two…encounters.
..” He shrugged. “So it seemed like the right thing to do.”
Wesley’s chest tightened. A charity case—of course that’s what he was to Nate. “You realize I can’t ever pay you back except maybe in friendship, right?”
A noise of dismissal floated through the darkness. “Real friends are rarer than money in my life, so I accept.”
Wesley knew the feeling. Well, not the money part, he’d never had an excess of that. But the dearth of true friends...story of his life.
He looked out over the city, lights glittering in the darkness. “Okay, well, if that’s the why—what’s the how?”
“What do you mean?”
“What are the chances that yours would be the first unlocked car I found?”
Nate huffed a quiet laugh. “Slim to none. I never leave my car unlocked.”
It was Wesley’s turn to huff, eyes still on the lights. “Weird.”
“Yeah.” Nate leaned his shoulder lightly against the glass beside him. “One of those things that doesn’t make sense when you think too hard about it.”
“So maybe we don’t think about it too hard.”
They stood in silence a while longer, watching the city breathe beneath them.
* * * * *
Lush greenery and vibrant flowering hedges made the Union Pacific Pavilion look more like a country club than a sports complex. But Nate was impressed. The Locomotives had a first-class venue. What had he done to deserve this?
Since he’d arrived in Omaha, Nate had only been to the campus once, and that was to get his athlete access card for the buildings and the digital fob for the parking facilities.
He’d been given a tour of the whole complex so he could find his way around in the future.
With the buildings as spread out as they were, he’d been shuttled from facility to facility via golf cart.
The Lumberjacks had thought they were punishing him, and Nate had thought so, too.
At first. His emotions had been raw on his first visit to the corporate office.
The sharp edges of his feelings of rejection and betrayal had since softened, and now, as he looked around, he thought maybe, just maybe, he’d ended up with the better end of the bargain.
Today, instead of heading to the corporate offices on the west side of campus, he pulled into the parking lot of the practice facility.
It sat between the team’s sleek corporate headquarters building and the main arena and its parking structures on the east side.
A dozen or so cars were parked near the entrance.
He wasn’t sure which cars might belong to teammates and which belonged to support staff. Guess he’d find out.
Two hours later, he burst out of the practice facility into the midday heat and humidity.
His face ached from smiling, but he couldn’t help his euphoria.
He’d received a walkthrough of each building several weeks ago but hadn’t gotten to exchange more than a few words and shake hands with the handful of support staff he’d met.
If the guys he’d interacted with today were the standard with the Locomotives, then his whole team experience would be a significant upgrade over that with the Lumberjacks.
He eagerly anticipated the upcoming season—more than he would’ve expected even a week ago.
Maybe, just maybe, he’d finally landed where he was meant to be.
Once in the car with the AC blowing cold air, Nate called Wesley.
The call went immediately to voicemail.
Nate frowned at his phone and dropped it into the charging compartment of the center console as worry buzzed under his skin. Wesley could be asleep, but he could have fallen while showering or be in some sort of concussion-induced stupor.
Careful to navigate the parking lot according to the posted speed limit, he hit the gas a bit harder once he turned onto 60th Street, then harder still as he headed east on Leavenworth, careful to keep just five miles over the limit.
When he reached Saddle Creek Road, congestion held him to five under the speed limit.
Fuck. His left foot bounced against the floorboard.
He’s just sleeping, Nate. Calm the fuck down.
The posted limit dropped further when he reached the medical district, and Nate huffed—there would be no speeding on the roads that bracketed the hospital zone. Farnham eastbound crawled. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, knee bouncing.
Once parked in his underground spot, Nate put on the afterburners toward the elevator. The ride to the twelfth floor tested his nerves, but there was nothing he could do about the elevator’s speed.
Please just be sleeping. Please just be sleeping.
When the doors opened, he jogged down the corridor and burst into the condo, heart thumping hard. The front door banged shut behind him.
“Wesley, Wesley! Where are you? Are you okay?” he semi-shouted. Nate hustled toward the living room, his gaze sweeping over the furniture. Not there. Shit, okay. He glanced at the bathroom as he swerved around the corner—not there either. Good, good—and into the guestroom.
Wesley lay curled up, back to the door, still and silent in the way only deep sleep or unconsciousness could manage. His cell phone lay face down on the nearest bedside table.
Thank God.
“Wesley. Are you okay?” Nate spoke loudly. “Please wake up.” Nate reached across the bed and gave his hip a slight shake. “Wesley.”
With a groan, Wesley uncurled and rolled to his back. “Huh?” He blinked slowly, squinting at Nate.
“Oh, thank fuck.” Nate huffed hard, trying to catch his breath, anxiety lifting with Wesley’s words and movements. “I tried calling you. You didn’t answer, and I was worried sick. I got home as quickly as I could. Are you okay?”
Wesley squinted and rubbed his eyes, another low grunt escaping him. “Athide from hurting like hell all over, I’m fine. Why?”
His words were more mumble than not, but Nate understood him.
Wesley panted as he pushed himself upright.
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“I didn’t hear it.” He glanced at the device.
Nate stepped toward the night stand and handed him his cell.
Wesley turned it over and poked at the screen. “Ugh. It died. That’s why. Charging it hadn’t even crossed my mind. Thorry I worried you.” He lifted a shoulder, a sheepish expression crossing his now plum-colored flesh.
Nate raked both hands through his hair and shook his head. “It’s fine.” Way to go playing it cool. “Your brain’s been fuzzy from the bashing it took. Been there a couple of times, so I get it. As long as you’re all right.”
“As all right as I can be. I take it you’re done with your hockey thtuff, and we can head to my house.” With slow, careful movements, Wesley slid his legs over the side of the bed and inched toward the edge.
A muttered complaint reached Nate’s ears when Wesley’s feet made contact with the floor. Nate had experienced that feeling before as well. He’d taken a handful of too-aggressive checks into the boards over the years.
“Why don’t you shower while I make lunch, then we can head out.”
* * * * *