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CHAPTER 2
RIVER
As a child, I was shy and preferred to be alone. The producers of my dad’s hit TV show, The Hockey Life , struggled to break me out of my shell. They even threatened to cancel the show if I didn’t give them more . And by more, they meant personality—something for the viewers to love.
I couldn’t do it.
Imagine being a clueless eight-year-old with cameras following you to every room except the bathroom. Once I figured that out, I’d sit on the bathroom floor, read comic books, or play with action figures. That was my only saving grace.
It didn’t last long, though.
The producers didn’t want to see a mopey kid on camera. They decided Ryan’s son would follow in his footsteps, and I would become the next hockey great.
When they put me on the ice, I sparkled like a diamond. The fans loved me and begged for more. It was the only time I forgot about people watching me at home. After the show wrapped, I wanted to be like my dad—a professional hockey player.
So, when Nate asked me to have our first threesome, I was hesitant. Being the son of Ryan Rousseau has many disadvantages, such as keeping a secret life. Seven years ago, I made Nate promise our sex life would never go viral. That no one could ever use our sick and twisted actions against us.
Most boys dream of having a threesome at fourteen. It’s all the porn rotting our brains. However, those fantasies usually involve two women. Not your best friend.
Nate punches the gas as we get onto the highway, eyes on the busy road. “We’ll handle it. Don’t worry, Riv. Our dads will pay off that bitch and be done with it.”
“That’s not the point,” I fire back at him, clutching the door handle. “The video shouldn’t have gotten leaked, to begin with. You promised me?—”
“I know what I said,” he interjects, “and I meant it. This will all blow over by the end of lunch. My dad will take care of it.”
As he races down the highway, the road doubles before my eyes. Fuck, I hate the side effects of our wild nights. The pounding in my skull won’t let up. And despite drinking two bottles of water before leaving the hotel, I still feel like death.
“You have a problem, Nate. Why can’t you see that? It’s not normal to invite nine women to your penthouse suite to share them with your best friend.”
“Oh, no?” Nate lets out a sinister chuckle. “So, it’s okay when celebrities and pro athletes do it but not when it’s you and me? Yeah, that makes a lot of fucking sense.”
Addicts never think they have a problem. It’s all in your head. They live in the moment and only care about the next high.
“I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“What?” Nate tightens his grip on the leather steering wheel. “No, you can’t do this to me. We have a deal.”
“And you broke it. You said all of the women signed NDAs.”
“We were both fucked up at that party. And it’s pretty clear she didn’t film the video. It was probably one of those douchey frat bros.”
“You don’t remember her at all?”
He shakes his head. “I was on the verge of a blackout that night.”
“My dad has her name. Does Layla Hightower ring a bell?”
Nate clenches his jaw.
“You know who she is, don’t you?”
“The president of Delta Sig’s girlfriend.”
“You fucking idiot,” I shoot back at him. “You told me she was on the tennis team.”
“What do you want from me? I couldn’t tell her apart from Riley Steele. So, fuck off. They look like doppelgangers.”
“I’m guessing her boyfriend caught us—or more like entrapped us—into having sex with his girlfriend for a payout.”
He rolls his broad shoulders against the seat. “Hey, it could be worse.”
“This is your old money entitlement talking. You grew up with a silver spoon shoved up your ass and your dad telling you money makes everything better. But that’s not true, Nate. Some things money can’t buy.”
“In this case, it does. How many sex tapes of my mother have people tried to leak? He will make it go away.”
Nate’s parents are the sole source of his addiction. For most of his life, they have thrown sex parties at his house. They’re swingers with an open marriage and questionable morals. I’m not judging their sex life. Not like I have any room to talk. It’s just they really are shitty parents.
“No more group sex,” I tell him as he exits the highway, getting closer to a small town on the water called Devil’s Creek. “I’m done with that shit. And no more random women.”
His gaze snaps to me. “Are you bailing on me?”
“No, I’m saying things need to change.”
“How so?”
Until my best friend asked me to have a threesome, my life was perfect. Now, my head is all fucked up. I think about him during practice and in the locker room shower. Even in class and when I’m in bed at night. Our lives start and end with each other.
There’s no escaping him .
No matter how hard I try, my thoughts drift back to Nate. He consumes me, chipping away at the pieces of my damaged soul. Ten years ago, I was lost. But so was Nate.
We stitched each other back together, only to discover there was more than familial love.
So, I do this for him.
Fuck women I don’t like.
Eat pussy when I hate the taste.
But this gets me to him .
“You can only have sex with one girl,” I tell him. “She signs an ironclad NDA. We have sex in places we can control. No more parties, bathrooms, or closets. Nothing on campus. Period. Unless it’s at our house.”
Every addict has an enabler. That’s me. I can’t quit Nate even if I tried. The bond of our friendship is too deep to sever. To do so would mean cutting out my own heart.
I am head over heels, knee-deep in the mud, in love with Nate Brooks.
I can’t say no.
My heart won’t allow it.
Also, Nate has no idea. He’s so damn clueless when it comes to us. For someone who seems so in sync with me, he misses the one thing right in front of his face.
“Okay,” he agrees after a solid minute of mulling over my proposal. “But I get to choose the girl.”
“We find her together.”
At that, he smiles. “Deal.”
I hate myself for letting this continue. Pretending I like women to maintain my image is exhausting. Looking at Nate while we have sex helps me get—and stay—hard. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even bother with random hookups.
“I don’t remember most of last night. Did you drug me?”
Nate turns his head back to the road and opens his window, letting in the salty breeze from the bay. “You asked me to put molly in your beer. I only gave you one pill. I took the other three.”
My jaw unhinges at his confession. “Are you fucking kidding me, Nate? Why did you listen to me when I was already drunk and not thinking clearly? We get regular drug testing, you moron. If the NCAA?—”
“They won’t find out,” he says with false confidence.
“Is your dad going to pay them off, too?”
I’m rich, but Nate is wealthy . There’s a big fucking difference. His dad could move literal mountains for us. He would use more than his money and status to squash a scandal.
“Money makes the world go round,” Nate jokes but stops laughing when he sees I’m not. “Fuck, Riv. Would you loosen up? It’s just a sex tape.”
My eyes bug out of my head at his comment. “There’s no such thing as just a sex tape when everyone in the country knows your name.”
“If this chick wanted to out you, she would have sent the video to The Kingston Spy. But she didn’t, which means she wants money more than fame.”
The Kingston Spy is the bane of my existence. Whoever runs the TikTok account has twelve million followers and dishes out juicy gossip about everyone at Kingston University. Lately, she’s focused more on athletes—me in particular.
Just my luck .
I have over seven million followers on TikTok from making hockey videos with my dad and the team. The puck bunnies love my dad… and Nate. Well, his ass specifically.
I can’t say I blame them.
Every time I see my best friend naked, I want to grab his bubble butt and squeeze it. I dream about bending him over, fucking him from behind. Licking his asshole. His shaft. Sucking his big cock into my mouth.
The same thoughts run through my brain whenever we fuck girls. It’s the only way to get through the encounter.
Nate turns up the radio and zones out, tapping his fingers on the shifter. There’s nothing left to say until we see our parents.
A silent notification pops up on my phone from OnlyFans telling me Baby Face has a new post.
Oh, fuck yeah .
Nate is busy driving and biting his lip, and since that simple act makes my cock perk up, I need a distraction. I click on the notification bubble, which opens the app. My eyes widen at the hot-as-hell image on my screen.
Baby Face is a camboy I subscribed to at the start of the summer. What began as watching gay porn turned into me seeking out creators. Now, I’m hooked on this man.
He’s my Nate replacement.
Toned in all the right places, Baby Face is shirtless and tanned, eye black smeared under his big, blue eyes. Those eyes . They practically jump off the screen. I could spot him out in the wild from those dreamy blues alone.
As usual, he wears only a pair of black spandex shorts that hug his big dick and balls. Shoulder pads sit on his broad shoulders, rounding out the hot football player look. He’s even wearing cleats, posing with his fingers shoved through his spiky black hair.
Live show tonight , he tells his adoring fans. He already has over two hundred comments in a matter of minutes. I know how it feels to be admired from afar. It’s both annoying and addicting.
“What are you reading?” Nate asks as he turns off the road.
“Nothing.” I click out of the app and stuff the phone into my pocket. “Just checking comments on my last TikTok video.”
“Yeah?” Nate smirks. “Those thirsty bitches begging for your dick?”
I force a laugh. “Always.”
Nate parks at Café Lacroix, a popular restaurant in Beacon Bay right at the edge of Devil’s Creek. It’s all glass from top to bottom, with a patio on the backside facing the bay. From the parking lot, I hear the water crashing on the shore and smell the saltiness of the sea in the air.
Nate turns off the ignition. We don’t attempt to exit the car, tension clinging to the air like gunpowder.
Being consumed by Nate Brooks is like a drug. After the first time I got high on him, I couldn’t walk away. I think he knows it, too. He uses sex as a weapon to disarm me. And the sad thing is I don’t mind.
I want him to use me.
Hell, I crave it.
“I really am sorry.” Nate gives me those sad golden-brown puppy eyes that weaken my defenses. “I went a little overboard with all the girls. But it was your birthday… and I wanted to make you feel good.”
Herein lies the problem with our relationship. Nate always makes me feel good… and I’m too addicted to him to quit.