Page 45 of The Blame Game

He palmed the ball he’d been carrying and gave Shea a one-armed hug, big hand lingering on Shea’s arm. “Glad you could make it tonight.”

“Yeah, thanks for the tickets. These are amazing.”

“Hey, that’s the least I can do for you.”

Dom blinked, surprised by the interaction and how chummy they seemed. Is that a flirtatious note in Rogers’ voice? Dom wondered, studying their body language.

Rogers hadn’t looked away from Shea once, his expression animated as they spoke about the game, reaching out to touch Shea’s arm every so often. They were definitely comfortable together.

Dom’s mind whirled, imagining Travis’ body pressed against Shea’s. Picturing those broad palms and long fingers wandering across Shea’s skin and Shea sinking to his knees to take Travis in his mouth …

Dom’s stomach twisted. That wasn’t … Shea and Travis weren’t … were they?

“Hey, you should meet my friends,” Shea said brightly, half-turning toward Dom.

He rose to his feet and held out a hand, pasting on a smile. “Dominic Olson.”

Travis flashed another wide grin. “Yeah, I know who you are, man. My dad’s a big fan.”

Dom tried not to wince. Ouch. Was that a dig at his age?

“Tell him I said thanks,” he managed. “And great to meet you. You’ve had an amazing season so far.”

“Thanks. Great to meet you too. Any friend of Shea’s is a friend of mine.”

He turned away, greeting Myles and Ethan, then giving Shea another hug before he excused himself.

“You’re buddies with Travis Rogers?” Dom said under his breath as they took their seats again. Travis was a young superstar in the NBA and had been tearing up the league this season.

“Yeah,” Shea laughed. “I told you. We met through my work. He’s the one who gave me these tickets.”

Dom took a seat again, his stomach knotted. What the fuck? Was Travis paying Shea for style advice or sex? Dom couldn’t see Shea being that indiscreet and outing someone so boldly but he couldn’t help but wonder.

“I swear to God,” Myles said, leaning forward to speak to Dom. “This asshole has all the luck. I get assigned to some random middle-aged golfer and this guy gets the celebrity client.”

Oh, oh. Shea had met Rogers through his work as a physiotherapist, not an escort. That made so much more sense. That was quite the coup for someone as new as Shea to work with clients of that caliber though, and Dom felt a flash of pride for Shea at how accomplished he was.

Though it begged the question. If Shea had clients like that, why in the hell was he still working as an escort?

“Dude, I had just gotten hired and I was shadowing Vinny!” Shea protested, glancing over at Dom with a shake of his head. “He’s the owner of the clinic. He got the celebrity client; I was along for the ride.”

Myles scoffed. “Except you spotted the issue Rogers was having and made this miraculous suggestion that solved all of his issues! He still swears you were the one who got him back on the court faster than anyone anticipated.”

Shea grinned, polishing his fingers on his sweater. “Well, what can I say? I am a genius at my job.”

“I was so fucking jealous too.” Myles laughed.

“Sounds to me like you still are,” Dom threw over to him.

Myles laughed. “You’re not wrong. None of our patients get me tickets like this.”

Dom laughed, glad he finally understood the situation.

If Rogers felt indebted to Shea for saving his career, of course he’d give away tickets like that.

It was probably a drop in the bucket to Rogers since NBA stars made four to five times what NHL players did, even the top tier hockey players. And that didn’t even include endorsement deals, which were astronomically larger.

Travis Rogers made Dom look like a pauper.

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