Page 26 of These Wicked Games
“Kuli?” I look up, meeting Atlas’s eyes. “You alright?”
No. No I’m not. I feel off, and odd. Both exhausted and also amped up. “Yeah, just a rough game.” My eyes lift to Grey who takes his towel off. Averting my eyes, I look back up at Atlas and catch him watching Grey before focusing back on me. “You alright?”
“Uh, yeah.” Atlas throws on a smile. “Can I come too?” Ryker fist-pumps, which looks ridiculous for a nearly six-foot-five man to do. “Who knows, maybe Mrs. Sgarbossa is there waiting for me.”
Ryker stops his dancing to glare straight at Atlas. “Ew, get wifed up on your own time.” He dresses, and while my friends play fight I focus on getting ready for a shower. I strip down, putting my dirty clothes in a bag, and grab my towel, doing my best not to look in Andre’s direction. My intrusive thoughts tell me to elbow him as I pass by, but fighting in the nude just isn’t my style.
Stepping under the water, I let go of everything that pisses me off. This game was sloppy but tomorrow’s another day. I’m just caught off guard by all this bullshit. It doesn’t have to matter. Andre’s a goalie, which means as long as he does his fucking job I shouldn’t have to talk to him much.
Putting my face in the water, I stand under it for a minute, letting the warmth just shut my brain off. Going out tonight will be fun, it’ll be good for me. Ryker’s always a good time, and maybe I’ll meet up with someone.
Despite its reputation, The Charm Box is a safe place for anyone famous to let loose. NDAs are mandatory at the door. No weapons of any kind allowed. Yes, it has mafia ties, but the place is neutral ground, and anyone caught breaking that peace would have to answer to Dimitri Morozov, and no one answers to him and lives to talk about it.
Allegedly.
Opening my eyes, I nearly jolt when I see who’s currently occupying the shower next to me. Andre turns on the water, not looking at me, thank god. It hits me now, that I’ll have to fucking deal with this pretty much every day.
I swallow, watching him. Water slides over his skin making it glisten a bit. He’s not as bulky as I am, but a lot fitter than most. My eyes travel up every ridge of his abs to his nipples, watching his large hands soap up his chest. My throat works with a swallow. My eyes have a mind of their own, gliding over every inch of his chest until they lift to meet his hazel eyes looking right at me.
Fuck.
Snapping my gaze away, I focus on finishing up and getting the hell out of here as fast as possible. “What’s wrong, Kuli? Having somebigemotions?” he laughs.
“Disgust and rage are emotions, so yes.”
“So that’s rage chub?”
My eyes whip to his then look down at my half-hard dick. “Violence turns me on,” I mutter, rinsing my hair. “I was thinking of breaking your nose.”
“Uh-huh, sure thing, Oli.” How bad would it be if I beat his ass right here and now, naked and wet and all?Okay, what the fuck. My dick perks up, and I turn away from him. It’s clearly broken.
Maybe violence does make me hard.
Okay, I need to get laid.
I shut off my shower and grab my towel, not sparing him another glance. Even though I don’t look at him, I can still see him. In my mind. Hot, naked, wet. My dick thickens.
Yes. Definitely broken.
What the fuck is wrong with me.
Grabbing my drink, I try desperately to get into this. I thought a night out would be great for my mind, but I was wrong. So wrong. This isn’t my thing, no matter how hard I try to drink myself into thinking it could be. Dive bars with my best friends are more my speed. While this club isn’t as loud as The Treasure House, it’s no less suffocating.
“Oh my god.” Ryker grins, kissing the girl currently trying to take as many clothes off as possible with both her hands preoccupied in Ryker’s hair. It’s impressive, honestly. I think she’s a dancer here. He picks her up, her thick red hair flipping as he hoists her onto his lap. She laughs, a soft thrilled sound as he dives for her throat. I grip my drink in my hand, wondering where Atlas went off to, but I haven’t seen him since he was whisked away by a brunette after we sat down. Something was a bit off with him as well. Maybe it was Andre’s words back in the locker room.
“Do you guys need another round?” A lithe bartender cocks a brow, looking at Ryker and rolling his eyes. “Good thing you guys have great medical care,” he says. “The STD panels must be astounding.”
Ryker gently moves the redhead off his lap. “Hey! I always use a condom.” He looks back at the woman. “I do. All clear, baby.” She grins, going back for his throat.
“Oh, good,” the man deadpans. “Now I can sleep at night.” Rolling his eyes again, he looks at me. “What about you, sugar? You want another drink, or do you want to keep watching your friend have more fun than you are?” Ryker’s eyes narrow on him.
“Excuse me, who the fuck do you think you are? Don’t talk to us like that. I’m not doing anything anyone else in here isn’t doing.”
The man sighs, ignoring him. “What will it be?” he asks me.
“Uh . . .” I look at Ryker, who’s eyes are hard on the man. He looks young, almost too young to be working in a club like this. He’s slim, with shaggy pink hair, and his gray eyes shine behind the silver and pink eye shadow he’s wearing. His lips pop with a shine of pink as well. Fake freckles decorate his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, standing out against his fair skin. He’s wearing a shimmering white top connected by what looks to be diamond strings down his sides, the sharp lines of his stomach visible, and his tight black pants hug his body. I turn my attention back to my friend, whose eyes are scrutinizing this man.
“Today, fellas. Believe it or not I have other people to tend to.”
