Page 14

Chapter Thirteen

Austen

“Glad to see you haven’t been murdered,” I say with a laugh, relief flooding me. I’d meant what I said about Cam running off on his own. I know we’re both adults, but the thought of him disappearing into a club and following some guy home makes me feel more than just a little concerned.We didn’t talk about ground rules for that sort of thing, but Cam’s always been pretty solid at keeping his sex life mostly private. I know he wouldn’t be the type to bring a guy back to our room. I’m not sure I could handle seeing Cam with anyone.

I don’t want to see him with anyone.

I want him all to myself.

The thought enters my brain as he stares at me, bleary grey eyes and dark hair semi-sticking to his skin.

“How—”

“You weren’t answering your texts,” I half scream. The music is too fucking loud here.

“What?” he asks and I lean in closer, my chest brushing awkwardly against his as my mouth finds his ear. I stumble just a bit, from the countless shots Mack and the boys had me shoot at the last place. My lips brush the edge of his ear as I repeat myself.

“I said, you weren’t answering your texts.” Up close, I get a whiff of his cologne, mixed with the scent of sweat and alcohol, and it isn’t necessarily a bad smell.

The room spins as I breathe it in, letting it soothe my nerves for a fraction.

He’s safe. He’s okay. He’s not tied up in some guy’s basement.

“I checked your location—”

“Where are the guys?” he asks, leaning into my space. There isn’t much space left between us, and the odd thought pushes through my hazy brain that he’s close enough to kiss. I shove the thought away, though, almost as soon it comes. I’m far too drunk to be thinking clearly.

But there’s still the strangest feeling of curiosity.

I wonder how many men he’s kissed.

“Austen…” His voice darkens, and I realize I’ve completely zoned out, staring at his mouth. I back away for a moment as the DJ yells something incoherent, his music hitching up that octave climb, readying for the drop.

For a moment, it’s like I don’t know where I am, or even who I am. All I know is that I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be.

With Cam.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly, and it’s the truth. I left them after they became transfixed with the strippers in our VIP booth. I think I told Alex I was going to the bathroom, which we both knew was a lie, but he didn’t stop me.

I needed to know Cam was okay. I needed… him. Strippers or no strippers, it didn’t seem fair to me and I didn’t want us to be apart. I wanted my best friend by my side.

The lights above us flash as the beat drops, shades of red bathing Cam and me in streams of laser light. The room is spinning.

Or is that me?

“I’m so drunk right now,” I say, with a laugh. I can’t remember the last time I drank to the point of being drunk.

But that’s what I came here for, right? To get wasted and celebrate this next chapter of my life?

Cam’s voice filters in against the noise, and I feel the faint heat of his palm against my waist as he leans in to talk to me.

“We should go,” he says, his voice slightly gravelly from drink, but still laced with concern.

“Not yet,” I say, opening my eyes. I stare up at the ceiling at the red lights flashing above me. All around us, sweaty bodies move and grind to the beat. I’ve never been much of a dancer, mostly because, like everything else, it takes too much thinking for me. I never trust myself or my movement to not look silly or dumb.

But right now, here, with my best friend and a stomach full of liquor, I feel better. And something about being here, away from everyone, where no one is watching me, I feel like I can just… be.

Not give a shit for once.

So I shift my hips back and forth, awkwardly at first, but I feel the faintest guide from Cam’s touch, like a steady beat. Keeping me from falling over, most likely, but I appreciate it.

I appreciate how he always knows how to keep me from losing my shit.

If Alex were here, he’d find some way to blame this on choosing football, since hockey players need balance on the ice. Never mind the fact that when he’s drunk, he’s about as graceful as a bull in an antique store.

Neither Cam nor I say anything as the song drones on, we just move to the music together, like we used to do when we were kids dancing in the basement to music videos we’d watch on YouTube. We dance and enjoy ourselves as the crowd jumps, as the music blares, song after song. I lose track of how long we stay there, lose track of everything around me except how amazing I feel right here, right now.

When Cam throws his arm around my shoulders, I stop for a moment.

“Come on Fred Astaire, it’s time to go home,” he says, his voice full of humor. I throw my arm around his shoulders in response, pulling him close.

“Okay,” I say, the light nearly blinding me.

The fresh air kisses my skin as we exit the club, the streets still full of patrons and visitors even at this hour of the night. Or is it morning? I have no clue, since there are no clocks anywhere. My phone’s wedged in my pocket, but before I can grab it, I’m distracted.

I see it. The dancing fountains.

I break out of Cam’s hold, running for them with excitement. Cam calls out after me, but my legs don’t stop. I crash into the rails in front, bracing my hands on the steel as my gaze settles on the movement. Some operatic song I don’t know is playing, and it’s got to be the most magical thing I’ve ever seen.

I feel him behind me, warm like a fire. His breaths are rapid, the heat of his words on my neck like a warm fire.

“It’s fucking beautiful,” I say, my gaze fixated on the whimsical motion of the water, the bright lights.

“Yeah, it is,” Cam says, his voice a mixture of sadness and warmth.

I turn to see his stormy grey eyes glistening just the slightest, his expression full of something that almost looks like pain.

Mack’s words dance around in my head, but I can’t hold on to them. I hate it when people are upset. Especially people I care about.

His dark hair is a mess and looks all windblown, his cheeks red, probably from running after me and the alcohol.

I reach out without thinking, running my fingers through his hair like a comb to straighten it out.

“There,” I say as I smooth it back out of his eyes. “Now you look perfect,” I say with a grin.

“Good enough for the Met.”

Suddenly I feel warm all over, my chest and throat tight with anticipation as Cam’s gaze settles on my face. And I swear, for a moment, he looks at my mouth, but it’s so quick I have to wonder if I imagined it.

Cam offers me a friendly smile, and just like that, the moment disappears, like a dancing fountain dissolving into thin air.

“Come on,” he says, and I relent. I yawn, reeling in the sudden realization that I am tired as hell.

“Okay,” I say as he wraps his arm around my waist, letting me lean on him.

When we get back to the hotel, I can barely keep my eyes open. Cam fumbles with the key card, and down the hall I hear hollering that can only belong to my band of teammates, even though I don’t see them anywhere.

The door opens and I push my way inside, brushing against Cam as I do so. I waste no time removing my shirt and pants, that heated feeling practically burning me from the inside out.

I collapse on a bed, face first into the pillow.

“Austen…” Cam’s voice is soft, familiar, and like a damn lullaby.

And it’s the last thing I remember before I wake up, my head pounding like a hammer as someone knocks heavily on my door.

“The fuck?” I groan, reaching for my pillow, if only to hold it over my ears. Whoever is banging on my door clearly doesn’t give a shit about the fact my head is fucking splitting.

“Go away,” I murmur, even though I know they can’t hear me.

A moment later, I hear footsteps and the door opens, and the room gets a lot louder as my brother hollers for me to get my ass up.

I groan, swatting the pillow at him, and judging from the sound of annoyance, Mack is here too.

“Looks like someone had a hell of a time last night,” Mack says as my brother jumps on the bed next to me.

“Looks like our little golden boy does know how to have fun,” my brother says, as if he hasn’t picked my ass up when I was drunk before.

Cam grunts something in the background, but I can’t discern what it is. Right now, I just want to be left the hell alone.

God, my head hurts.

“Leave me the hell alone,” I bite as my brother laughs.

“No can do, champ. The sun is up and it’s time to get fucked up.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m still drunk from last night,” I mutter, not bothering to look up. I curl into my comforter, the familiar scent of sandalwood filling my lungs.

“Only one way to cure a hangover, man,” Mack says. “Drink some more.”

“We’re heading down to the pool for breakfast in twenty. So get your ass up, get changed, and meet us down there. We’ll go over the plan when you get there,” Alex says.

Now, I look up. “What plan?”

Mack chuckles. “Get your ass down to the pool and you’ll find out,” he says, and with that, they leave, chuckling like two mischievous children on Christmas Eve.

When the door shuts, I roll over and groan, and that’s when I see Cam, standing in the bathroom doorway. Shirtless, in nothing but a pair of blue boxer briefs, toothbrush half hanging out of his mouth. His dark hair is a mess again. It looks wet, and the overpowering scent of his body wash fills the room like one of the Abercrombie & Fitch stores.

My cock twitches, reminding me that we’re awake and it’s time to take care of business.

A strange sense of vulnerability overcomes me.

I’ve never jacked off with another person in the same room. I know lots of guys who have, and it’s not really that big of a deal, but suddenly I feel more than self-conscious. Privacy isn’t necessarily a problem, but when I’m by myself… I’m not exactly quiet.

I’m used to not having to keep my feelings to myself.

My cock twitches again in my boxers and I adjust myself with a groan, trying to stifle my damn erection, but I’m painfully hard right now.

Fuck.

Cam slips out of the bathroom as I swiftly maneuver my position so he can’t see me or my stupid morning erection.

“You done in there?” I ask, running a hand through my hair.

“Yeah,” he says as I make a beeline for the bathroom, shutting the door quickly.

I turn on the shower, hoping the sound of the water is enough noise to hide what I’m about to do.

I remove my boxers damn near immediately, my cock springing free with relief. Slipping into the shower, the water feels good. Warm and comforting, and it’s like it helps wash away a bit of my pounding headache.

But the minute I wrap my hand around my cock, the relief is so much better.

I let out a moan, trying my best to keep it as quiet as I can. I brace one hand against the tile, leaning into the spray as I use my other hand to pump myself. Closing my eyes, I purse my lips, tightening my jaw so I can stifle as much of my natural pleasure as I can.

Once I come, I know I’ll feel better.

It doesn’t take much. It never does, first thing in the morning. It’s maintenance, and nothing more. I barely even think when I’m doing it half the time.

Except this morning, of all mornings, my cock doesn’t come right away. Maybe it’s just the fact I’m away from home, maybe it’s the fact that it’s Vegas and sin is practically pumped into the air around here, but the second round is more intense than the first. Once again, it doesn’t take long to build up, and I have to cover my own damn mouth to avoid being loud. Because it feels so fucking good. I’m too wound up. It’s like I’ve been stockpiling this shit for months. Maybe even longer.

“So fucking close,” I hiss to myself as I hit that pinnacle once more, watching as rope after rope of my cum hits the tile wall.

A knock on the door scares me, and I remember all at once I’m not alone.

“You okay in there?” Cam asks, his voice oddly concerned.

Shit! Did he hear me?

Oh, my God—what if he fucking heard me?

“Uh… yeah. Be out in a sex,” I say, realizing my error. “Sec! I mean second! Shit!”

Remorse, shame, and guilt hit me like a ton of bricks. I am an absolute idiot.

Cam laughs on the other side of the door.

“Don’t let me rush you,” he says in that friendly taunting voice that makes me feel fractionally better.

I nod, even though he can’t see me, focusing on cleaning myself. When I get out of the shower, I feel slightly better, but my head is still aching and there’s a sense of anxiety swelling in my stomach.

When I open the door, Cam is sitting on his bed, dressed in his trunks and flip-flops, his dark hair all messy and wet.

I know he’s just casually sitting there, but damn if he doesn’t look like the cover of a magazine right now, in this swanky ass room, wearing bright pink trunks with palm trees all over them.

I take my time, feeling more self-conscious than ever as I make my way to my bed, which looks unmade.

I stop half-way, looking over to where Cam sits on the bed, scrolling his phone, completely oblivious.

And then it hits me.

His scent on the pillow, the warmth I felt in the sheets. If my bed is made, that means…

Shit, I didn’t even make it to my bed.

I’ve slept with Cam a ton of times over the course of our friendships. We used to have sleepovers all the time when we were kids, and there were plenty of times he stayed over my place for holidays and stuff when we were teenagers. Even after I found out he was gay, I never felt weird about sharing a bed or a couch with the guy. Just because one’s into the same sex, doesn’t mean he’s into me.

So why does this feel… different?

Almost as if he can read my damn mind, he looks up at me, and for a moment, neither of us say anything. My heart thuds in my chest with anxiety as I run a hand through my hair.

“Sorry about last night,” I say sheepishly.

Cam offers me a soft smile. “No apologies needed. That’s why you’re here, right? To have a good time?”

His words are empty, though his smile is full.

“Yeah, I guess,” I say, opening my duffel. Behind it, I let my towel drop, feeling as if I’m on display in a damn museum. I know he can’t see me or my goods at this angle, but my cheeks heat just the same as another strange thought enters my brain.

I wonder what he’d think if he did. See me, I mean. Wonder if I’d compare to other guys he’s been with.

I shut the thought down, because clearly, I’m still messed up from last night.

Lots of guys stress out before they get married, right?

Stress does weird things to people.

I find my trunks, the dark blue Ralph Lauren ones with the red waistband Savannah bought me last year when we went with my parents to Italy.

Maybe I should call her. I know she’s off on her own girls weekend—at the Biltmore, across the country—but if anyone should be able to calm my pre-wedding jitters, it’s my future wife.

Right?

I slip into my trunks, grab my phone and wallet, and slide into my flip-flops in no time.

“Ready to go?” I ask.

Cam gets up, nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, let’s go.”