Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DIEGO
I get off the bus in Boystown like I have nearly every day since I started training with Callan, but it’s like a whole different world tonight.
During the day it’s a totally normal street filled with average looking people.
The only real tell that you’re in Boystown usually is that every business has a rainbow flag in the window and there are signs around that say Boystown.
And I guess there’s generally a higher percentage of dudes holding hands with other dudes than you’d find in other places.
No one told me that the mask comes off once the sun goes down.
A man wearing a leather harness, obscenely tight leather shorts, and a pair of combat boots walks past me while holding hands with a drag queen who has to be close to seven feet tall in her platform heels, and they both wink at me.
Damn, okay, maybe I’m a little underdressed for a gay club if that’s how they’re walking around on the streets.
I tug on my plain white t-shirt and glance around.
It’s not like everyone on the street is dressed like it’s a Pride parade, but there’s definitely a vibe tonight.
Guys in makeup, mesh tops, or no tops at all, laughing, kissing, waiting outside of bars or stumble-walking to the next one.
The whole street feels like one big gay party, and now I get what Callan meant when he pointed out that Crossing Swords is a gay club.
Not that I’m not allowed, but that maybe I would feel like I don’t belong.
“You look lost, stud,” a big, silver haired man with a mustache and a tight t-shirt with the words Free Daddy Hugs stretched across his broad chest says with a smile as he gives me a blatant once-over.
My chest puffs up just a little and I smile back. Stud? Okay, I’ll take any ego stroking I can get after all the shit I’ve put up with lately.
“We’ve got him,” a familiar voice says just before a strong hand claps me on the shoulder, and in seconds, Silas, AJ, and Slater are standing around me.
“Daddy” gives an understanding nod and moves on, and Silas uses his grip on my shoulder to steer me down the street.
“Sorry if I just cockblocked you there, but I wasn’t about to deal with Callan pouting all night if you ended up at some other bar with a Daddy when he spent all day talking about you coming to Crossing Swords tonight,” Silas says.
I sputter a laugh. “I wasn’t—I don’t think he was even—”
“Yeah, he was.” Slater shoots me a knowing smile. “That guy was going to take you home and spank you if you let him.”
My whole body flushes with heat, and I let out another startled laugh, then clear my throat. I glance at the three of them and I’m relieved to see that they’re all pretty much dressed like they just came from the gym, so I must not have missed the gay bar dress code by too much.
“Has Callan really been talking about me all day?” It’s a casual question. At least, I think it is. Is it just today that he’s been talking about me or is this a regular thing? My body flushes again and my stomach squirms. Wait, he didn’t tell them about last night, did he?
None of them answer my question, they just share a chuckle, Silas squeezes my shoulder again, and we slow to a stop in front of a bar with a short line outside of it. I glance up to see Crossing Swords in neon with a pair of flashing swords behind the words.
“He’s running a few minutes late, by the way, but he should be here in a little bit,” AJ says.
There’s a vaguely familiar man at the back of the line who waves for us to join him. He’s got a much smaller build than the rest of the guys, but his arms are jacked, so I’m guessing I recognize him from Sweat. They all greet him with back-slapping hugs and then he sets his sights on me.
“Diego Ferguson, we finally meet.” He grins and that nervous twitch in my stomach turns into a full-on clench. I look over my shoulder and glance around quickly, wondering if anyone heard him say my name.
No one bothers to look in my direction—they’re all more interested in chatting up the people around them or straining to get a look at how long the line is to the door.
But cars whizz by on the street and people shuffle by us on the sidewalk, and for the first time it hits me that if anyone recognizes me, they could take my picture and post it all over social media.
How the hell will I explain being at a gay club?
He’s still talking, telling me that he’s Fender, the boxing instructor at Sweat, and that he hasn’t been around the gym much lately because he volunteered to teach free self-defense classes at the YMCA and YWCA this summer.
I nod, feigning interest, and angle myself so I’m facing the building more than the street, just to be safe.
The line shuffles along at a decent pace, and before long, we pass the doorman and make it inside where the lights are dim, the music is loud, and I’m a hell of a lot less worried about anyone who recognizes me managing to get a good picture anyway.
My shoulders relax and the knot in my stomach unravels.
We spot Butch and his boyfriend, Percy, at the bar, and all head in their direction. Percy is wearing a crop top and jeans, but Butch is dressed like the other guys in a tank top and gym shorts. He also has a hot pink fanny pack strapped around his waist.
“Oh, thank god,” Fender says, shouldering past me, unzipping Butch’s fanny pack, and reaching inside without waiting for an invitation.
“Excuse you,” Percy scoffs, giving Fender a playful shove. “Who gave you permission to paw at my man’s fanny?”
“Honey, I have had access to the fanny since long before Butch went and fell in love with you.” He pulls a granola bar out of the pack and zips it back up. “I missed dinner, and if I don’t eat something, one drink is bound to have me making some very bad decisions.”
“Just to be clear, we never had sex,” Butch adds, even though no one asked.
Percy laughs, clearly not threatened by the situation, and Fender rolls his eyes as he shoves the granola bar into his mouth in just two bites.
“Of course not. You two were roommates, and everyone knows that would be a massive violation of Fender’s rules,” Silas teases.
Fender gives him the finger while still chewing on his “dinner,” and Slater leans over the bar to wave down the bartender for us.
“Not feeling threatened at all, Perce?” AJ asks. “The way Fender just demolished that granola bar, he’s giving off some major Throat GOAT energy.”
Percy hooks two fingers into the strap of Butch’s fanny pack and tugs his man closer, tilting his head back to grin up at his much taller boyfriend.
“My throat game isn’t suffering,” Percy assures us.
“Definitely not,” Butch agrees, pulling him in for a kiss.
My cock stiffens and I look away, trying to think about something other than blowjobs and the confusing way their kissing is making me feel.
Except we’re in a gay club and there’s not really anywhere I can look where there aren’t guys grinding on each other or shoving their tongues down each other’s throats.
“Don’t let Callan hear you call anyone else the Throat GOAT or he’ll be demanding the chance to prove his skills,” I joke, shoving my hands into my pockets in an attempt to hide the growing bulge between my legs.
Six pairs of eyes turn in my direction with varying looks of amusement, intrigue, and the kind of delight that only comes from getting good gossip.
“Callan has skills, huh?” Slater asks.
“Uh…” Shit, did I just give myself away?
The bartender finally makes his way over to us, and I could kiss him for the distraction.
You know, not in a gay way, just in appreciation.
We all order drinks and I get Callan’s usual too since he should be here soon.
But as soon as the bartender leaves to get our drinks, everyone looks at me again, still waiting for me to say something.
“It was just a joke about how competitive he is.”
“Uh-huh.” Fender smirks, clearly not buying it.
“Don’t worry about them. It’s not their business,” Silas says wisely.
“Hey, even if I did know about Callan’s skills, you’re the one who said it isn’t gay to get a blowjob from another guy.” I point to Slater.
His eyebrows go up and he wheezes a laugh. “Fair enough, it doesn’t make you gay.” He picks up his drink as soon as the bartender puts it down and takes a sip. “It’s pretty damn bisexual though.”
I sputter into my drink, my pulse suddenly breaking into a gallop and my fingers tingling in a way that usually only happens when I’ve got too much adrenaline rushing through me.
“That’s not fair,” AJ says. “It could also be pansexual.”
Slater nods. “Omnisexual.”
“Polysexual,” AJ adds.
“I regret getting the two of you that Sexuality of the Day calendar for Christmas,” Fender says, and they both laugh again.
I give a weak chuckle and take another sip of my drink, but my head is spinning.
Obviously, I was aware that there were more choices than just gay or straight, but I wasn’t thinking all that hard about it.
Callan keeps saying not to worry about it, but what if I want to?
What if I want to understand what all those things they just said mean and if any of them could apply to me?
But then what? Come back from a season on the bench and months of rumors about my girlfriend cheating on me just to become the token queer player in the league?
I bristle at the thought, but a different, more confusing feeling blooms in my chest. Before I have time to even try to work out what it is, a familiar, strong arm lands across my shoulders.
CALLAN
“I knew it was a bad idea to let you come here tonight. Do you have any idea how many guys I saw drooling over you just between here and the door?” I say right into Diego’s ear.
It’s more blatant flirting than I’ve done with him, but I guess after last night I’m feeling a little bold.
He leans into me, and even more surprisingly, he doesn’t pull away after a few seconds either.
He snorts a laugh, passes me a drink he must have ordered for me, and shifts just enough that his round, hard-earned ass drags against my cock.
“Who says that isn’t why I wanted to come?” He cranes his neck so he’s talking right next to my ear as well, making it so no one else will hear us over the music and the general din of the bar.
A hot, possessive feeling spikes through me and I tighten my arm around him a little more.
“Is it?” I growl, tempted to nip at his earlobe, to find some small way to signal to any of the guys still checking him out that he’s already spoken for, at least for tonight.
“Isn’t that why you were planning to come? To find someone to hook up with?”
I raise both my eyebrows. Is it just me or does Diego sound jealous? Is that why he came? To keep anyone else from getting their hands on me?
I don’t bother answering his question, because the only truthful one I could give would mean admitting to him that the last thing I want to do right now is get naked with anyone but him. He tilts his head back and polishes off his half-full drink in a few deep gulps.
“Damn, do we have a new Throat GOAT contender entering the ring?” Fender jokes.
“What?” I scowl while Diego chuckles, sets his empty glass down, wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, then grabs my wrist.
“Want to dance?”
“What?” I ask again, dropping the scowl and trading it for another set of raised eyebrows. Is Diego serious? He wants to dance?
He doesn’t wait for a proper response, barely giving me time to set my drink down before he drags me away from the bar and onto the crowded dance floor.
I’m about to ask if he even knows how to dance, but he doesn’t give me a chance to do that either, spinning around and pressing himself up against me, chest to chest, belly to belly, hard cock to hard cock.
The spark of amusement in his eyes lets me know that he can see the surprise written all over my face, and maybe that was half the point.
Diego loops an arm around my neck, and we start to move our hips to the sultry bass. My hands end up on his waist, then, when he doesn’t stop me, sliding up the back of his shirt to pull him even closer and feel the heat of his skin.
“I don’t know what I’ll do if anyone recognizes me and sells the story of me at a gay club to any of the sports blogs,” he shouts over the music.
“Do you want to go?”
He shakes his head.
“If it makes you feel any better, I doubt anyone here would out you. Not that there’s anything to ‘out’ but… you know what I mean.” I try to reassure him, sliding my hands a little higher, rocking my hips a little faster to match his, letting my lips brush against the shell of his ear.
It must not be stressing him out that much, because he lets the subject drop, putting a hand on my chest and briefly ghosting his lips over the edge of my jaw. Was it an accident? An almost-kiss? Something else?
I turn my head towards him, and our mouths nearly meet, but not quite.
“Hey, what’s frotting?” he asks, clutching a fistful of the front of my shirt and looking at my mouth like he’s just as fascinated by my lips as I am by his.
My cock twitches against his and heat pools in my gut. I laugh gruffly and slide my hands down to grab his ass, pulling his hips harder against mine and purposefully grinding my cock against his through too many layers of clothes.
“This,” I say, our noses bumping and his breath hitching. “But naked.”
“Oh.” He sounds a little breathless.
The song changes but our rhythm doesn’t. We’re shamelessly grinding against each other, our chests heaving and our mouths less than an inch apart. Can I kiss him? Fuck, I want to.
“Is it weird that we’ve sucked each other’s dicks but haven’t kissed?” he asks with another breathless laugh.
My pulse spikes. “If you want me to kiss you, just say the word.”
“I want…” He tightens his grip on my shirt, and his fingers dig into the back of my neck. “To see your apartment.”
That wasn’t what I was expecting him to say, but I can work with it.
“Right now?” I squeeze his ass cheeks and grinding my throbbing cock against his again.
He nods, his nose bumping against mine. “Right now.”
“Okay, let’s go.”