Page 17 of Trick Play (Playing the Field #4)

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

Micah

Now

I hate cruises.

I’d boarded this boat mistakenly thinking it would be a relaxing and fun getaway from LA with my friends, but I hadn’t considered certain variables.

For instance, the whole “sleeping separately” rule I’d enacted on day one. Now, two nights into it, my back is literally trying to kill me. My neck hurts so bad I’m constantly popping headache relievers, and my shoulders ache worse than a long night of pole dancing. I have to stay strong, though. Even before we broke up, Zeke and I spent very few nights together. Between his football schedule during the season and my nights at the club, we usually napped after sex before one of us had to go our own way. Spending the entire night with him now? That’s like asking for trouble. What’s more, I don’t know if it would be better or worse if we hooked up first. So, no. No sharing a bed for us.

As far as relaxing goes, Tahegin the Tyrant has left us with absolutely zero minutes of wiggle room in his itinerary. Seriously, we have to shit during an allotted time, or we don’t get to go. I do have to say, though, his scheduled times are scarily accurate to each of our regular routines, and I’m a bit concerned as to how, exactly, he acquired that information.

The pottery class had been . . . fun, I suppose. It was weirdly phallic and had us laughing like idiots, but then my hands got super messy and goopy, even under my nails, which are now chipped in a few places. Zeke got some of the stuff in my hair when he tried to hold it back for me. It was a bitch to clean up, and now we have an uneven bowl we have to stare at for the rest of the cruise while knowing that when it was just an oblong object in our messy hands, we pretended to jack it off.

Making memories here, people.

I suppose the spa treatments would have been relaxing had it not been a couples spa—massage and sauna included. I had to hold hands and sit naked and sweaty with the one man I’m trying my hardest to keep at a distance. So, yeah. Not relaxing.

We spent last night at a comedy show in the bar, and it was a good laugh until people started recognizing my celebrity companions. This morning, we were lucky enough to be the only ones in attendance at a bright and early baking class. It was a good thing, too, because Zeke, Tahegin, and I got in a food fight and forgot all about what we were supposed to be baking. Hendrix’s cupcakes turned out spectacular, though. We ate them all in one sitting.

After, Tahegin finally released us from his strict itinerary, Zeke and I discovered the best thing ever .

The boat has twenty-four-seven self-serve soft-serve. There are two stations below deck on opposite ends. Zeke and I stayed up entirely too late last night, racing over and over to see who could make it to both stations and back to the room the fastest, having to call several do-overs because of foul play.

It was always Zeke’s fault, of course.

Okay, so it hasn’t been that bad. Tahegin has been running us ragged, and I’m nothing but an achy back and pent-up frustration—but other than that, the cruise is all right, I guess.

Especially now that we’re getting some downtime to sunbathe on the deck.

Or rather, I’m sunbathing and hopefully not tanning. While I do love a good tan, I use a machine and privacy to avoid any unwanted tan lines, which wouldn’t look good when my bare ass is out on the stage at Mischief. I’ve covered myself in a nice coat of sunscreen to avoid getting any lines across my torso, which is currently adorned by a strappy, sexy one-piece. The swimsuit I’ve chosen would do very little to cover a pair of breasts, so it’s perfect for someone without any. The top is a crisscross halter with wider straps that cover my pecs and cross at my collar, two more thinner straps crossing over my middle at the natural curve of my sides. The bottom is like a normal bikini or Speedo, but the sides have horizontal straps that expose my hips. It’s all in a beautiful lilac color, of course, to match my indigo hair and nails.

Beside me, Hendrix is stretched out on a chair much like I am, only he’s beneath the shade of a large umbrella, and he wouldn’t be out here if Tahegin hadn’t made this outside time mandatory. Poor Hendrix, with his insanely pale skin and severe distaste for the sun, just had to partner up with a guy who is quite literally sunshine. He’s also my best friend, and where I’ve dressed up, he’s in knee-length black swim trunks. Very . . . plain.

Oh well. I still love him.

Tahegin and Zeke are . . . somewhere. Who knows. They’ve been bouncing between the water slides—which I’m so proud of Zeke for trying even if they aren’t that high up from the deck—and volleyball in the pool. Like two frat boys, they’re being athletic and making friends with other guys. It’s all very dude- bro, and I think I’ll stick with my sunbathing, thank you very much.

Of course, as soon as I think it, something blocks the sun. I raise my waterbugs and set them atop my head as the shadow over me comes into focus. A couple stands at the end of our chairs.

“Hi, there,” the woman at Rix’s feet says way too cheerily. Everything about her is blonde and perky. And I do mean everything , which is clear to see since her hot pink bikini is practically nonexistent. She is pretty, though. Thick and thin in all the places men like. She’d be a star at Glitter, LA’s female version of Mischief. “I’m Amy. This is Shawn.” She gestures to the guy beside her.

Shawn up-nods and grins crookedly at me. He’s in shape, but nothing like Zeke or even the pro athlete next to me, and his buzzed hair isn’t doing him any favors. “’Sup.” And then he . . .

No. Surely he didn’t just check me out, did he?

Giving a polite smile in return, I offer them our names in return. Hendrix, of course, remains still and quiet, possibly asleep.

“We couldn’t help but notice you guys from over there.” Amy jabs a thumb at the bar behind her. “Your swimsuit is gorgeous,” she tells me before stepping between Rix’s chair and mine.

“Thank you,” I respond, but she carries on as if I don’t say anything.

“Whew, it is so hot out here. Mind if I sit?” Without invitation, she plops onto Hendrix’s chair, her ass practically half on his thigh.

My friend jerks in surprise and tries to scoot away, but that only frees up more space for Amy’s ass. She’s facing me, and I can see her trying to subtly press back against Hendrix.

Oh . . . Oh no.

“Isn’t this cruise so nice? Way better than a singles trip where everyone is alone. Don’t you think?” Amy angles the question over her shoulder at Hendrix, who scowls and doesn’t respond.

“Yeah, where’s the fun in that?” Shawn adds into the silence, shifting to stand near the head of my chair rather than at the foot. He reaches up to the umbrella on my other side to stretch—and grunt and flex his bare abdomen. The move has his junk only a few inches from my face.

Ugh. These two come on strong and, for some reason, aren’t taking our silence as a freaking hint.

“Wow, your muscles are so big. Do you work out?” Amy asks Rix, and I can barely see around Shawn to watch her hands land on my friend’s stomach and bicep.

He starts. “Hey?—”

“You have nice hands,” Shawn says from above me, drawing my attention back to him—just in time for him to hip thrust toward my face again. “Dainty and pretty. Like Amy’s.”

I lean away from his fake stretching. The look on my face can’t possibly be inviting, or maybe I’ve managed to hang on to my smile. I’m not sure. My brain is still trying to catch up with everything going on, trying to separate real life from my nights at the club where I’m used to this kind of thing. “Uh”—it comes out more like ugh —“thanks, I guess.”

Smacking his teeth, he makes a hissing sound as he inhales and flexes his stomach and arms again. “She doesn’t get jealous, you know? She’s cool with the whole bi thing. I’m sure you get it.”

“Oh. That’s, um, good for you guys.”

“Yeah. It’s like this deal we have. I see something I like, she finds something she likes, and then we usually link together. You feel me?”

“I don’t think?—”

“Get off.” A growled voice makes me and Shawn both look over to where Amy is sliding her hand up Hendrix’s leg, exposing his hairy thigh as she rucks up his shorts. He’s practically falling out of his chair to get away from her.

Undeterred, Amy giggles. “Oh, we intend to. Wanna join?”

Hendrix scoffs and jerks his leg in an attempt to dislodge her grubby paws. “Fuck no?—”

“Rix!” Tahegin’s shout cuts through the bubble of the couple’s surprise attack. The four of us turn to face him, and my shoulders sag in relief when I see Zeke on his heels. Gin looks as angry as I’ve ever seen him, a rare scowl on his bronze face. The water dripping from his dark curls onto his toned chest puts Shawn to shame, something the man just now seems to notice about Gin, Zeke, and Rix.

Zeke’s eyes are on me, and despite the matching swim trunks he and Tahegin are wearing—blue with rainbows and unicorns, and I’m not even sure whose idea they were—they both manage to look intimidating.

“That’s my boyfriend,” Gin rumbles in an unnaturally low voice for him as Rix stands from the chair, leaving Amy alone in it. “And we aren’t interested. Next time, ask before putting your hands on someone.”

Hendrix wraps an arm around Tahegin’s waist, the corner of his mouth tipping up on one side as he leans in to murmur in his boyfriend’s ear. “I remember that being my line last time.” The comment is so soft I only manage to hear it because I’ve spent years honing my ears for his quiet quips. Gin seems to catch it just fine, though.

“Hush, you,” Tahegin hisses. “Why’d you let her get so close?”

“I was asleep. She surprised me.”

Gin grunts and faces Shawn now. Amy, Zeke, Rix, and I all look at him, too.

Shawn jerks his chin at Zeke. “What about you?”

Pointing at me, Zeke says, “He isn’t mine”—oh boy, does that hurt right in the chest—“but I agree with my friends. Ask before air humping beside someone’s face, dude. Does Micah want you to be doing that?”

All eyes turn to me, and I raise my hands in a helpless gesture. “I do not.”

“Right, then.” Zeke claps. “Best you both move?—”

“Hold on. What the fuck? Are you Ezekiel Aleks?” Shawn backs away from me, only to approach the other three guys. “Holy shit. You’re Tahegin Ellingsworth. And you’re that receiver he’s dating.”

“Hendrix Avery,” the man in question deadpans.

Amy tips her head thoughtfully, eyeing them. “Football players? I can see it.”

“Oh my God, babe. You just hit on an NFL player,” he tells her.

“Nice!”

“No, they’re way out of your league, Ames.” He waves her off. “Can I get an auto?—”

“ No ,” the three players chorus together with finality. Then Hendrix adds, “Go away.”

Huffing at her boyfriend’s comment, Amy stamps off, assets bouncing with each heavy step, and Shawn is forced to chase after her.

“We’re leaving, too.” Tahegin speaks for himself and Hendrix, clearly frazzled, and the two exit the deck in the direction of their room.

It’s just Zeke and me now, a heavy silence filling the air between us despite the music and fun happening on the rest of the deck. “Can I sit?” he asks, pointing beside me.

“Of course.” I’ve curled up at some point, knees bent and tucked to my chest with my arms wrapped protectively around them as if to keep me safe. As soon as he sits down, though, I press my body against his, seeking comfort.

“Are you okay?”

That’s what he asks. Am I okay? Not why did I let Shawn get so close. Not “he’s mine.” Not “he isn’t interested.” Just am I okay.

Am I? It’s nothing new to me, not really. Guys can get handsy at Mischief, which is one of the reasons I refuse to give dances in the private rooms. Sure, the club has cameras and attentive security guards, but they can only do something once the customer has actually put their hands on a dancer.

Shawn didn’t even touch me, so why do I feel so . . . dirty?

“Micah?” Zeke gently turns my chin with two fingers so I’m facing him, and his eyes desperately search mine. “Are you okay? You didn’t want him to do that, did you?”

Biting my lip so it doesn’t quiver, I shake my head. Slow at first, then faster as I accept my truth. That guy shoved his junk in my face, clothed or not, and it was entirely different than when a customer pays me to do it to them. That is wanted. This was . . .

“Oh, bunny,” Zeke whispers and wraps his arms around me as the first tear escapes my eye. I know there are far worse things he could have done, that I’m lucky the guy didn’t try to pull something else, but I still feel weak and powerless, like prey. And also . . . a bit like it’s my fault because I hadn’t managed to tell him to stop.

A sob bursts from my lips, barely muffled into Zeke’s neck.

“Fuck, come on. Let’s go to the room. I don’t want to give those assholes the satisfaction of seeing you cry.” Sliding my sunglasses from my head and onto my nose, he effectively covers my obvious signs of tears. He guides me to stand, and next thing I know, he’s tugging a shirt over my head. It’s too big and smells like masculine sweat and rich ale. Smells like him.

Zeke ushers me down the hallway and into an elevator, then another long hallway. I don’t peek up from where he has me tucked tight to his side. When we make it to our room, he focuses on getting the door open while I tremble—not from cold but shock.

Damnit, Micah. Pull yourself together.

Zeke pulls me into the bathroom and turns the shower on as hot as it will go. “You’re shaking,” he says, rubbing his palms up and down my arms. “Let me warm you up.”

I can’t figure out how to tell him I’m not cold, so I just nod and allow him to strip me bare. He removes his swim trunks, too, then drags me under the hot water with him.