Page 20 of Perfect Storm (Toronto Thunder #1)

Instead, Levi took a step back, giving Aidan a very cute wink. God, he even thought that was cute. He actually was embarrassing. “So, don’t worry about that, okay? Promise me?”

It was not a hard promise to give. “Uh, sure. Yeah. Of course.”

Levi patted him on the cheek, the touch fleeting, but Aidan felt it all the way down, deep in his stomach.

“Excited about tonight,” Levi said.

For a split second, Aidan almost imagined that Levi was talking about something else. Not a trip out to a bar or a club, but just the two of them, circling each other in his condo.

But that wasn’t what this was. Despite the flustered comment and the admission Levi had made about flirting with him, he didn’t seem to have any interest in pushing it any further.

“Me too.” Aidan tried not to be disappointed. Levi patted him on the cheek again.

“It’ll be lit,” Levi told him.

Aidan almost said what he was thinking, which was that he hoped it wouldn’t be too lit. But he was trying to loosen up a little. Just a little, Levi had said. And he could do that.

He could.

“Oh my God,” Levi exclaimed as Wes led them down a dark-ish Toronto alley. “It’s like a secret bar.”

“Oh yeah,” Wes said, glancing back. “It’s called Vault. Some kind of play on the old-fashioned speakeasies. There’s no sign or anything.” He looked down, consulting something on his phone as they walked deeper into the alley.

Aidan shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and wished he hadn’t worn his Patek Philippe watch. They were probably going to get mugged and his lawyer would give him a look like, what the fuck did you expect?

“Is this the kind of place you guys normally go?” It was the rookie punter, Cameron, his voice wavering a little, apprehension clear on his baby face, even in the dim light.

“No, which makes it better,” Dawson said, reassuringly.

“Hell yes,” Lane agreed.

“This better be worth all the fucking theatrics,” Nate muttered under his breath.

“It’s worth it,” Wes reassured them. “It’s just down here.”

He guided their group further in, then down a set of stained concrete steps set into the ground.

“It’s like we’re descending into hell.” Lane sounded delighted by this.

“Only you,” Trevor muttered.

There was a black wooden door, shiny with lacquer, at the bottom of the stairs. To the right of the door was a gold key, shining in the murk of the alley.

That was the only sign.

“We’re gonna get killed,” Cam whispered behind him. “Our organs harvested. That happens in big cities, right?”

“Rook, I promise you, I’m gonna personally make sure your organs stay unharvested,” Dawson murmured back.

Wes knocked on the door—a distinctive knock, even; two long knocks punctuated by one short one—and a hidden window in the door opened.

“Holy shit,” Lane exclaimed.

“We’re with Andresen,” Wes told the set of eyeballs framed by the tiny opening.

A second later, the door opened, not grinding open like Aidan half expected, but swinging open smoothly, the hinges clearly oiled.

Then they stepped into another world.

The ceilings were low and the room was dim, but that was the last depressing thing about it.

There were low chairs and couches scattered around, all upholstered in thick, rich fabrics.

Blues and purples and dark turquoise greens.

The walls were covered in midnight blue, with a subtle gold pattern picked out.

An oval bar dominated the space, dark wood shining even in the low light.

And spinning out from the central room, like spokes on a wheel, were various doorways, each accentuated in a slightly different color of wood.

Like they’d descended into an underworld, and these were portals to different fantastical universes.

“Holy shit,” Lane exclaimed again, but hushed this time. Reverent. Like this was the coolest thing he’d ever seen. And Aidan wasn’t sure he’d disagree. Wes had said it would be worth the trip, and so far, ten out of ten, no notes.

Leaning against the bar was a tall guy, solid muscular build, with curly hair the color of a shiny gold coin and a face that could probably make anybody on earth do anything.

“Oh, hey, there he is,” Wes said, gesturing towards the guy and leading their group over.

“This,” he said, waving at the hot blond guy, “is Ramsey Andresen. He’s a hockey player for the Buffalo Sabres.”

A brief, very complicated emotion crossed over Ramsey’s face. Aidan barely caught it before it was gone, smoothed over in a cover-model smile.

“Hey,” he said. “Welcome to Vault.”

There was a collective lull that fell over the group. Aidan supposed he wasn’t surprised. Ramsey didn’t seem that surprised either, like he was used to going around, just living his everyday life, having that effect on people.

“This place is so sick, isn’t it?” Wes said excitedly. He greeted Ramsey, tugging him into a bro-hug. “Here, let me introduce you to the team.”

Aidan stepped forward first, used to being the leader. “Aidan Flynn,” he said, offering Ramsey his hand.

Ramsey’s handshake was brief but firm. Up close he was even more attractive. Maybe before Aidan wouldn’t have noticed, but it was difficult not to notice.

“You’re the QB, huh? Mentoring Wes here?” Ramsey asked.

Aidan nodded. But he didn’t really want to talk about mentoring Wes.

He knew he’d be good at it, and Wes would even be a good mentee, frankly.

But the thought of calling it that made something uncomfortable and horrifying crawl up his spine.

He wasn’t old. He wasn’t washed up. Not by a long fucking shot.

“Hockey, huh?” he said to Ramsey. He didn’t think hockey produced these kinds of pretty boys. Though to be honest, Ramsey didn’t seem like a boy at all. He was clearly all man.

Aidan wondered which of his teammates he was going to have to drag off this guy by the end of the night.

“Dawson.” His friend approached next, holding out his hand.

Okay. Well, there was something to be said about getting over someone by getting under someone else. And Aidan had known Dawson was bi since their college days.

“Oh my God you’re hot,” Cam said, then clapped a hand over his mouth, looking horrified that he’d actually said that out loud.

If Aidan had worried about how this guy would react—because he would absolutely throw down and protect his rookie, no questions—Ramsey only grinned crookedly, more real than the cover-model smile and said, “Hey, so are you, kid.”

“Holy shit,” Lane mumbled behind him.

Trevor nudged him. “Dude, please tell me you have something else you can say to this guy other than holy shit.”

“That’s Cameron, we like to call him Cam,” Wes said, nodding towards their rookie. “Then there’s Levi. Lane. Trevor. And Nate.”

Aidan watched as Ramsey greeted all the guys. His gaze didn’t linger on any of them, but they all seemed half ready to slobber all over him. Nate seemed to be the exception, hanging back, barely giving Ramsey a nod.

Aidan supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that Levi looked, though Aidan could hardly blame him for it. He’d looked, hadn’t he?

But Levi didn’t bother trying to muscle his way to Ramsey’s side as he started talking about how he’d reserved them one of the private rooms.

“There’s different private rooms?” Dawson asked as they spread out at the bar.

“Oh yeah. Several different gaming rooms. Pool tables and darts. A poker room. A library. And the vault.”

“There’s an actual vault? Holy shit.” Lane seemed to still be stuck on holy shit. “That’s so fucking cool.”

“Next time we’ll try that one out,” Ramsey said with a wink.

“This place is pretty awesome,” Levi said to Aidan. Somehow they’d ended up next to each other at the bar, both glancing over the same cocktail menu. It was in the same midnight blue as the walls, thick rich paper, almost like velvet to the touch, and all the text embossed in gold.

“Yeah, Wes said it was, but Wes is pretty enthusiastic about most things,” Aidan admitted. “Or else he tries to be.”

Levi shot him a look. “Oh, you noticed that too, huh?”

“There’s no point in asking him about it. He doesn’t talk about his ex,” Aidan said.

“Not that you actually tried,” Levi pointed out gently.

“Hey, I did try,” Aidan said. Last year he’d made several attempts, when it had become obvious that his new teammate was going through it. But Wes had never wanted to talk about it.

Aidan hadn’t entirely understood back then, but he got it now. When Riley had shown up at the lake house with Landry and Levi in tow, and Levi had demanded to know why Aidan was sulking, he hadn’t wanted to talk about Mo, either.

But he couldn’t deny that it had helped.

“You tried,” Levi stated, voice edging with disbelief. “You, Aidan Flynn, attempted to talk to someone about feelings.”

“Hey, you keep insulting me, I’m gonna get a complex.” And when it came to Levi, he really didn’t want to get even more of a complex than he already had. He’d already embarrassed himself once today.

“No, your ego is just gonna be normal-person sized,” Levi teased, foot nudging Aidan’s, smile on his face.

How had they gotten so close together?

Levi’s eyes were bright with amusement and joy, the color of the best whiskey Aidan had ever drunk.

“Sure,” Aidan said.

The bartender stopped in front of them. “What can I get you two?” he asked. The vests the staff were wearing were velvet too—but a deep dark purple, almost black, with a tiny gold key pin on the open collar of his black shirt.

Aidan glanced over at the bottles of whiskey subtly lit and displayed in the center of the bar. “I’ll have a Lagavulin,” he said.

“Make that two,” Levi said.

When Aidan shot him a questioning glance, Levi just shrugged. “Not gonna watch you get wasted on whiskey by yourself this time.”

“I’m not going to—”

“Chill,” Levi said, nudging him again, but this time he didn’t move his shoulder or his foot, leaving them pressed against Aidan. “It’s all good. I’m teasing, remember? Flirting with you.” He paused. “Please for the love of God tell me someone has flirted with you before.”