GRAY AREA
PARKER
Verona’s is one of my favorite hidden gems in the city.
Luca and I are probably the youngest people who have ever stepped foot through these doors, which the old bikers in the back corner love to remind us of every single time we come.
There’s a group of them who practically live at the pool table near the jukebox, and last winter one of them promised I could join their motorcycle club when I turned sixty-five.
I still don’t know if he was joking or genuinely trying to recruit me.
Either way, I’ve spent enough nights at Verona’s to know exactly where Dave keeps the good scotch and which booths wobble if you lean too hard against the table.
Dave always leaves two stools open for Luca and I after home games. He claims it’s because we tip well, but I think he just likes hearing Luca bitch about hockey for three hours straight.
“You seeing anybody lately or what?” Luca asks me for the third time this month, dragging his beer across the damp ring it left on the bar. “Because I’m telling you right now, if you hit forty still living like this, Emelie is gonna stage a fucking intervention.”
I snort into my drink. “You say that like I’m doing naughty things in an alley.”
“You’re worse,” Luca laughs. “You’re emotionally unavailable.”
“That’s rich coming from the guy with three kids.”
“Exactly. I evolved.”
“No, you just discovered you had a breeding kink.”
Luca grins into his beer. He’s looser tonight than usual, still riding the high from seeing his old teammates after the game even though Minnesota lost.
The trade and his big move softened him in weird ways.
He still looks intimidating as hell with tattoos crawling down both arms, crazy broad shoulders, and some blond curls shoved beneath a cap.
Now he talks about his daughters every five minutes like a suburban dad trapped inside the body of a NHL enforcer.
“Em thinks I’m trying to knock her up again on purpose,” he says proudly.
“She’s probably right.”
“She told me if I get her pregnant after thirty-seven she’s drugging me and driving me to the clinic herself.”
“You still have time to try for your boy.”
Luca points at me with his beer bottle. “See? That’s what I’m saying. You encourage me.”
“I’m sex-positive.”
“No, you just like torturing Em.”
I smirk. “That too.”
He laughs loud enough that Dave yells at us from the other side of the bar to shut the fuck up.
Nights like these feel sacred. Just me and Luca talking about literally anything we could think of while the world manages a way to work around us.
He’s my best friend. My brother. We’ve both gone through so much shit together as teammates.
We’ve shared fights…we’ve shared struggles…
Hell—we even shared a few women back in the day.
If I had one person in my corner, it would be Luca.
Which is exactly why the moment the bell above Verona’s front door rings and Anders walks in, guilt slices through me so sharply it almost makes me sit up straighter.
He pauses just inside the entrance, scanning the room beneath the low amber lights.
His hair is damp like he showered right before coming, long curls brushing the back of his neck in a way that’s starting to drive me a little insane. He’s wearing his usual baggy jeans and plain black hoodie combo with rings on his fingers that glint beneath the bar lights.
“I was wondering when you would grace us with your presence.”
Anders rolls his eyes, but he’s already leaning in for the hug Luca pulls him into.
I shift over automatically so Anders can slide onto the stool between us. The second he sits down, his knee brushes mine. My entire body goes tight.
“Did you drive?” I ask him before I can stop myself.
Anders turns toward me with a crooked grin that immediately feels dangerous. “If I drove, then I couldn’t drink.”
“Of course.”
Anders’ expression flickers. “This ain’t my first rodeo, Captain.”
Luca groans like a stressed-out parent. “Anders.”
“What?”
“You stress me out.”
“I’m literally twenty-one. Not even the law has shit to say about it.”
“The law has never met you.”
Anders laughs under his breath and reaches for the bowl of stale pretzels sitting on the bar. “You don’t sound so confident in your parenting abilities.”
“You were feral,” Luca mutters. “I deserve a medal for putting up with all the shit you put me through.”
“But look at me now. So charming. So employable.”
“You don’t even have a job.”
“I’m pursuing academia. Or something. We’ll see. You know unemployment is a really touchy subject for me.”
Dave wanders over and gives Anders a skeptical look. “ID?”
Anders digs his wallet from his back pocket and slides it over dramatically. Dave barely glances at it before handing him a beer.
I watch Anders take the first sip and immediately regret it. His throat moves slowly when he swallows while foam catches on his upper lip. He wipes it away with his thumb without thinking, and something ugly and possessive rattles low in my stomach.
Luca’s talking again, but I’m barely listening.
“…semester going alright?”
“The semester started like three weeks ago,” Anders says. “I haven’t done anything yet.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“I’m a poly-sci major. My entire academic career is waiting until the last minute.”
“I’m starting to think you’re majoring in unemployment.”
Anders just waves him off. “I’ll just marry rich then.”
Luca points at him accusingly. “No. Absolutely not. You are not freeloading off some poor bastard.”
“Why not? I’m already freeloading off of Parker.”
Both of them look at me. I feel something chilling crawl down my spine.
“You’ll provide for me until I find a rich husband, right?” Anders asks sweetly, but his eyes linger on mine for half a second too long.
There it is again. That pull. That awful, addictive thing that keeps happening between us lately where every joke has a double meaning and every glance feels like a hand wrapped forcefully around my throat.
“Don’t drag me into this,” I chuckle, trying to keep my voice even.
Anders just smirks into his beer.
The conversation carries on, but I can still feel Anders beside me in such a visceral way that my body picks up on every slight movement, impossibly hyperaware. I’m way beyond saving at this point.
When Luca gets up to use the bathroom, the air changes instantly. It’s subtle at first, but then I lock eyes with Anders, who bites back a smirk.
“Thought you would be busy tonight,” I tell him quietly. “You didn’t come to my game.”
He turns toward me slowly. “I had plans.”
“Hmm.” I swirl the scotch around my glass. “You always say you have plans, but then you refuse to tell me what they are.”
Anders narrows his eyes, already smiling. “Because that’s none of your business.”
“Anything that concerns you is my business.” The words slip out before I realize, but I think I’m at the point in the night where I probably would’ve said them anyway.
That’s why this little game we’re playing is dangerous.
Just being near him feels like my entire body is rewired with my cock resting where my brain should be.
His expression flickers. “You sound possessive, you know,” he says softly. “Friends aren’t supposed to be possessive over each other.”
I reach out and swipe my thumb across his chin anyway. “Is that it?”
When I lean in, I pick up on the way his composure drops ever so slightly. The beer bottle in his hand hits the bar a little too hard, nearly toppling over.
“I don’t know,” he replies. His hand closes around my wrist, pulling it away in an attempt to get better control of himself.
Touching him is the easiest way to shake him. Anytime my hand drifts through the hair on the nape of his neck, he lets out this tiny breath that makes something primal surface inside me.
Lowering his voice, Anders leans forward a little more and puts his hand on my thigh. “The word friends just keeps losing its meaning these days.”
My jaw ticks, and I hate that I’m even giving him the satisfaction of a reaction like this. But we’ve both gotten so good at this game that it’s inevitable.
I exhale quietly. “It’s a gray area.”
His knee presses against mine more deliberately this time. Heat shoots straight through my stomach. “Maybe we should’ve been more specific, then.”
Friends is all we can be, because anything more would ruin everything.
I don’t have any trouble with keeping things casual.
But I know Anders. He doesn’t do casual the way I do.
He’s unapologetic, but sensitive, and sometimes those two traits work against each other.
And yet…I keep finding myself in situations like these where lines get blurred and desire outweighs principle.
He walks two fingers across the bar toward my glass, eying the golden scotch.
Stopping things here would be sensible.
Instead, I pick the scotch up and hold it near his mouth, tilting my head down an edge. “You want some?”
Anders nods, his breath catching at the same exact time mine does.
“Open your mouth,” I ordered. The warmth in my voice hits him like a caress. Anders’ eyes flick down to the glass, then back up to me, visibly trying to decide if I’m serious. I tilt it a little higher. “C’mon, sweetheart.”
That does it. He parts his lips.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Good,” I whisper begrudgingly, feeling my body actively betray me. “Yeah. There we go, angel.”
I tip the glass gingerly, watching his throat work when he swallows. The entire thing feels obscene, especially his mouth on my glass while he looks at me through his dark, lowered lashes.
Anders licks a drop of scotch from his lip. I nearly lose my mind right fucking there.
“You like?” I ask hollowly.
“Yeah, Pet’ka.” His eyes stay fixed on mine. “I really like.”
One more inch. That’s all it would take. One more inch and I’d drag him into the bathroom like a goddamn animal, bend him over the sink, and drive my cock right between his legs.
Every muscle in my body tightens.