Page 44 of Trick Play (Playing the Field #4)
EPILOGUE
Zeke
Now
I watch Micah spin around and around the pole on center stage. He’s gorgeous in a sequin bikini the same shade of sky blue as his hair, his body tanned, toned, and sparkling with shimmering body spray reflecting off the stage lights. Once again, the song ringing out over the crowded club croons about Friday nights and paradise. I’ve come to learn it’s Micah’s song of choice, and I haven’t stopped mentally kicking myself for missing his performance that very first night I came to Mischief. I distinctly remember this song playing while Dream had me turned around during a lap dance. To think I missed Micah because I didn’t look back over my shoulder.
I’ve since discovered that he is, in fact, on the poster of dancers hung up by the front entrance. He’s positioned toward the back, his small stature blending in with the twenty-odd other dancers. He explained that he is the one who designed the poster and that he intentionally hid himself in the back along with some other guys who didn’t want as much attention as, say, Dream.
Speaking of . . . “You looking for a dance tonight? Seems to me like Mickey has been ignoring you,” Dream coos as he steps in front of me, blocking my view of Micah.
“Pretty sure he told you I don’t want any more dances,” I mutter as I try to peer around him. The song ends, and Micah makes quick work of scooping up bills from the stage. He doesn’t linger or flirt like most of the other dancers—he isn’t here for that. He makes enough money to support himself from stage dances only, not to mention the way I practically throw money at him to aid his pampering and shopping addictions. So I spoil him, sue me.
“Leave my boyfriend alone, Dream,” Micah demands boredly after sauntering over to my booth. Bills stick out from all over his bikini, stuffed in the strings, cups, and crotch. He looks sexy, all covered in money, and I want to take each one out dollar by dollar with my teeth, then untie the itty bitty bikini strings until it falls from his body.
Damn. At least the tent in my jeans matches all the other patrons of Mischief. I not-so-subtly adjust myself, my gaze devouring Micah.
“Boyfriend?” Dream parrots in surprise, looking between us as if expecting one of us to tell him that Micah was only joking. Not happening.
I hum an affirmative as I continue to eye-fuck Micah. I want to tug him to me by one of those strings and kiss him until Dream gets the hint, but I keep my hands—and lips—to myself like a good boy. No touching; club rules.
Eventually, Dream gets tired of being ignored and stamps away with a huff, leaving Micah and me alone to stare heatedly at each other.
Micah licks his glossy lips. “I was thinking of giving some lap dances.”
“Yeah?” I ask, voice husky and clearly excited by the idea. I love watching him work.
“Let me go put this money in my locker and change real quick. Be back in a few.” He blows me a kiss, something the other dancers do often but that he only does with me, and disappears to the back where the dancers’ lounge is.
While I wait, I survey the room, wondering who Micah will dance for. He usually tries to stay as much in view of my table as he can. My gaze stutters in surprise as I lock eyes with a blonde woman across the room. Unless it’s a night advertised for women, usually only men make up the patrons at Mischief.
Her eyes go wide, mouth dropping, when she sees me, and she smacks her companion’s arm to get his attention. The guy, also blond but several shades lighter, squints at me when she points, so I give them both a tentative finger wave. They take it as an invitation to join me at my booth.
“Hi.” She beams once they reach me. She’s lithe but curvy where it counts, and her features are soft, almost angelic. Freckles dust her button nose, and her teeth could rival Tahegin’s with how perfect they are. I may be gay, but I know enough about women to know she checks the boxes of cute, beautiful, and smoking hot. “I’m such a big fan. Gosh, I know you probably have people come up to you all the time to say that. Sorry to intrude on your night.” She also checks off the box for adorable with her use of “gosh” and the timid nibble of her lip.
“No, no. You aren’t bothering me at all. I love meeting fans. Obviously, you know I’m Ezekiel Aleks.” I extend a hand to her. “What’s your name?”
She gently takes my hand, like I’ll dissipate into smoke if she squeezes too hard. “Rosemary. This is my boyfriend, Zev.”
“Hey, man.” I shake his hand as well. “Cool names.”
Rosemary blushes and blurts, “Can I get a picture with you?”
I cast a hesitant look her boyfriend’s way. “I charge a kiss for pictures and autographs.”
“I’ll get in on that action,” Zev speaks for the first time and . . . wow. His deep rumble puts Rix’s to shame. I’m still trying to process the pure sex appeal of his voice and his too-wide smile when they both slide into the circular booth with me, one on each side. I have the sudden feeling of being a Zeke sandwich.
They scoot in close as I take out my phone. “Usually, I post these on my socials, and people save from there. Does that work for you guys?”
“Yes! I follow you on everything,” Rosemary admits.
“Any requests for a charity I should tag?”
It’s Zev who answers. “Something for domestic abuse.”
“You got it, man.” I angle my camera with a video already rolling. I’ll take a screenshot of the best frame to post. “Who’s first?”
Zev motions for Rosemary to have the honor, so I tilt my head her way. The kiss she plants on me is indulgent, but I don’t mind. She’s nice and obviously a fan. I let her live out the fantasy of kissing a professional football player for a minute. After, I turn toward Zev, expecting a simple peck. He gives me his tongue instead.
Using all the tricks, he makes Rosemary’s kiss seem tame by comparison. He bites my lip, sucks my tongue, and kinda blows my mind with his skill. Dude knows what he’s doing.
I pull away when his hand lands on my thigh and stop the video. “Hey, buddy. Just a kiss, okay?”
“Damn,” he sighs as if genuinely upset by my refusal.
“Sorry,” I chuckle nervously. “I have a partner.”
He shrugs. “So do we. But I get it. Let us know if you change your mind, though.” The couple moves on, Rosemary giving me a hug goodbye and well-wishes for the upcoming season.
I don’t see where they end up because Micah comes out and immediately scores a dance with a guy directly across from me. Settling into the booth, I resign myself to a night of ultimate edging. God, when I get Micah home later . . . It’s always so good after a shift at the club. I get so riled up watching guys with no chance lust after my boyfriend.
I’m engrossed in Micah’s second lap dance when someone clears their throat. I jerk my gaze away to find a man standing at my booth.
He’s dressed in a suit probably more expensive than any I own, and that’s saying something. Tan skin, maybe with Hispanic heritage. Dark hair and even darker eyes. “Mr. Aleks,” he greets. “I’m Benjamin Santiago.” Ah, now the business attire makes sense. This guy owns Mischief, as well as nearly every other club in LA. He’s red-carpet famous for his entrepreneurship. Though he and I have often attended the same elite events, I only know of him. Jessica speaks as if he’s an elusive Hollywood celebrity, more in demand, even, than Gael—Hollywood’s sweetheart.
Who, by the way, isn’t so sweet after all. Gael and their agent were the ones to put a private eye on Micah—who, of course, discovered his night job. They sold the story to the most popular gossip site, hoping to use my name as clickbait and gain popularity from sympathetic readers. It would be hard to prove the truth since Gael’s agent is sneaky and has other people doing the dirty work, but Jessica said we could try for a defamation case if I wanted. With all the uncertainties circling the APA and our stance to overturn the in-league dating rules, Micah and I decided to ignore Gael’s futile attempt. Many of my fans sided with Micah and Mischief after the many statements from him and Benjamin.
Micah speaks highly of his boss. He’s working nights at the club as well as working with Benjamin’s advertising team, using his graphic designs to promote Benjamin’s numerous clubs throughout LA. So far, Micah is loving both aspects of working for him.
“Oh. Right.” I shake his proffered hand. “You’re Mica—I mean, Mickey’s boss.”
He smiles, not too big or friendly. Rehearsed. The kind often used for aforementioned red-carpet appearances. “I apologize for interrupting your evening here at Mischief, but some concerns have been brought to my attention. I’ll need you to step into my office so we can discuss them.”
“Is this about Micah?” The words spill from my mouth, ushered by worry for my man, and in the heat of the moment, I forget to use his stage name. “I mean?—”
“This way.” He’s brisque, gesturing for me to exit the booth and walk toward the back, past the security guy posted outside of the private rooms. I go, casting a furtive glance toward Micah, but he’s too busy focusing on his dance—as he should be. He’ll notice I’m gone once he’s finished, though.
Benjamin takes the lead once we’re in the back hallway, and I’m surprised to see he’s shorter than me. His presence takes up so much of the spacious hallway I feel the need to duck my head or round my shoulders to make myself smaller.
We turn an abrupt corner into a short hallway with a lone door at the end. He reaches for the knob, opens the door, and then we’re greeted with a sight I don’t expect.
The couple from earlier—Rosemary and Zev—are . . . preoccupied in the office. He has her sitting on the edge of the black-stained desk, her back to the door, her legs around his waist, and his hands buried beneath her clothes. It’s a passionate encounter that brings a flush to my cheeks and has me looking away to give them some privacy.
Benjamin clears his throat, expression bemused rather than upset at finding a pair of lovers seconds away from indecency in his office. The sound is enough to draw Rosemary’s attention, but Zev just dives for her neck when she looks over her shoulder at us. “Mr. Aleks, this is my husband and our girlfriend. Please excuse their behavior, as they were not aware I would be having a meeting.”
His words have Zev peeking up over Rosemary’s shoulder, and he shoots me a smile so full of teeth that it’s a little unnerving. “Oh, hey, sexy. Fancy seeing you again.”
“Again?” Benjamin cocks his head, assessing us.
“I, um, kissed your husband, apparently,” I admit and hope for the best. “And your, uh, you guys’ girlfriend.” A polyamorous couple. Huh. I wonder if they know the poly couple in the APA? Wait, no. That’s dumb. Not all poly people know each other. Oh! But maybe I could introduce them?—
“Of course. Rosemary is quite the fan of yours.”
I can’t stifle my reflexive smirk as I remember her indulgent kiss. “I could tell.”
She blushes.
Benjamin makes a shooing motion at his lovers but doesn’t seem at all upset with them for kissing me or getting it on in here without him. “Go on, you two. I have business to attend to.” They mosey out the door, giving Benjamin some serious bedroom eyes. Once they’re gone and the office door is closed, the owner of Mischief gestures for me to sit. I take the chair in front of his desk and try not to imagine what has happened on it or the desk where he leans against the edge. With those two, who knows.
“I have poly friends,” I jabber nervously when Benjamin simply stares at me in long silence.
He quirks an eyebrow.
My mouth continues without my permission. “Yeah. The Miami Pirates guys. Well, only two of them are on the team now. One is in med school, which is super cool, right? Go him.”
He crosses his arms.
“I’m sorry I kissed them—” I jerk a thumb toward the doorway where Zev and Rosemary have long since disappeared. “If that wasn’t cool. I didn’t know.”
Finally, he speaks, and he doesn’t bury the lede. “A dancer came to me, concerned that you were being possessive of Micah and jealous of the other patrons he visited. The dancer seemed quite worried for the safety of our customers.”
I blink slowly. Once. Twice. Trying to comprehend. “A dancer . . . what?”
Me? Possessive? Well, maybe when some creep like David tried to put hands on Micah, but not because Micah is dancing. It’s actually the opposite. Benjamin should understand—he owns the kink club Chris frequents and is apparently in a polyamorous relationship, which I think is included in the kink community. Chris said my preference for watching falls under some kink umbrella, so maybe Benjamin will understand . . . Leaning forward, I give the man in front of me my most serious stare.
“I haven’t been possessive of Micah or threatening toward any of the customers. If it was Dream who brought up these ‘concerns,’ then you should know I just declined a dance from him and informed him that I’d no longer require his services. He seemed surprised when Micah told him about our relationship. No one was threatening, though. After that, Micah went to give a couple of lap dances to other customers. I didn’t want to be distracted by Dream during that because . . . well, I like to watch. I enjoy watching my boyfriend dance for and be admired by other men. It makes me feel powerful knowing they all want what I have and that they’ll never get it. Micah loves me. He comes home with me. He lets me touch him. It’s a high unlike any other, man. I would never stop him from dancing, and I know if someone did get handsy, Micah or your security team would put the guy in his place.”
Benjamin stays quiet again, regarding me with eyes so dark I’m not sure where pupil meets iris.
“I hope I explained that well enough.” I fidget uncomfortably under his endless gaze.
Then, what seems like an hour later, he offers me a small, knowing smirk. “I think I understand completely, Mr. Aleks. While I am inclined to believe you, just know my security team will be keeping an eye on you. Don’t cause any issues in my club, or next time, we’ll be having a very different conversation. Now that that’s out of the way—” He leans forward conspiratorially. “Tell me. How would one purchase the opportunity to allow their girlfriend to meet her favorite Rubies players in person? Cost is not an issue.”
I take in his bespoke suit, imported wooden desk, and the giant painting of a fallen angel that takes up nearly the entirety of one wall. The surface is uneven from the original paint and brushstrokes, and it appears to be painted for this room specifically—and it bears an uncanny resemblance to Zev. It must have cost a fortune. I chuckle softly. “No, I don’t suppose it would be.”
I give him the contact information for our team’s event coordinator, and we discuss the upcoming football season and the progress the APA has made toward repealing the player relationship rule. We had a minor setback, I tell him, when new information came to light regarding a player and a coach—don’t even get me started! Kit couldn’t wait until after we overturned the rule to expose his relationship? Seriously, though, we’re happy for him. It’s too late in our off-season to try and get all the APA guys together, but maybe after the next Bowl. We could all do dinner and drinks or something, and everyone can get to know each other and introduce partners. It can be fun and respectable. No parties—at least, not too big of one.
“So if I acquire season passes to see all of the Rubies games this year, will I be disappointed?” Benjamin asks with a curious and challenging quirk of his brow.
Shaking my head, I give him my biggest grin possible. We’re going to get that stupid rule repealed, and I’m going to have Micah by my side. I’ve never been so ready for the season to start. We’re going to go all the way this year. I can feel it in my bones. “No, sir. This is going to be a great season.”