Page 46 of Cherry Picking
That’s how we end up at a table, half a dozen shots in as the buzz starts to settle.
“Canada can suck my balls!” Rory shouts as he throws back another shot.
Hawks and Mashburn are on either side of him sharing a look that means it’ll be a team effort getting our friend out of here. But it’s hard not to indulge when he’s all grins and hyper energy.
“Hate to break it to you, little man, but the PHL is all men, so buck up for some beard burn down there,” Griff says nonchalantly with a smile as he sips the same beer he’s had since we arrived.
After last night, I imagine he’s not in a hurry to get drunk again. Not to mention the heated looks he throws my way when the others aren’t looking.
Rory shrugs and throws his arms around his teammates. “Bring it on. I ain’t afraid of a dick.”
The beer comes out Griffin’s nose as he chokes and sputters on his drink. “Too far, buddy. Too far.”
I pat his back as Rory shrugs and reaches for another shot. One that Mashburn intercepts, causing the smaller man to pout.
“Maaaash,” he whines as Mashburn ruffles his blond hair. “Let me be sloppy!”
“I think you already are, short stack.”
Rory glares and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair until the front legs come off the ground. He mumbles something under his breath that makes Mashburn give him a quizzical look, and then the taller, broader man puts a hand on the back of Rory’s seat and forces it upright.
That hand comes to rest on the back of Rory’s neck, and he pouts like a chastised child.
The two of them were already thick as thieves when I joined the team, and they’ve only grown more inseparable.
“Speaking of dicks,” Griff cuts in, leaning his elbows on the table. “I could really use one right now.”
My pulse ratchets up at the look he throws my way, but I trust Griff not to out us so carelessly, so I swallow down the anxiety that weighs on my heart like the weight of the words I still can’t bring myself to reciprocate.
Rory doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s too bad your boyfriend isn’t here.”
“Too bad indeed.” He smirks as his hand finds my thigh under the table.
Our boundaries have always dictated that we keep all touches strictly friendly in shared spaces with the team, and though we’ve both pushed it in the past, we’ve never outright broken it.
This feels dangerously close to it.
“Locke likes to be possessive, you know.” I frown, but Griff’s grin only widens. “Leaving marks. Playing rough. Sometimes Icome home a little beaten up, and he’ll leave some bruises of his own.”
Hawks whistles and shakes his head. “Don’t involve us in your foreplay. You want to rile him up? Go to the bathroom and phone fuck in there.”
Our captain’s gaze lands on me, and there’s something in it I can’t place. He clears his throat, and it passes, the table coming alive with laughter.
“But it’s so fun to mess with you guys. How about a little gay chicken to end the night?”
I freeze, and I swear I feel everyone’s eyes on me for a brief second.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, throwing his hands up. “I’m not gonna ask you to go suck someone off or anything. Light fun. Unless anyone here has a problem with it?”
Rory grins, Mashburn shakes his head, and Hawks just sighs. Griff turns to me, and that’s when I realize that I’m involved with this game, too.
Because the team doesn’t know I’m gay.
“I’m in if they’re in,” I say even though I’d rather just take Griff back to the room and fuck some sense into his pretty head.
Our winger hoots and jumps out of his seat. “Whatcha got for us, Thirteen?”
Griff and I lock eyes again as he scoots his chair back and motions for Rory to come around. He looks down at Mashburn like he’s waiting on permission, and when the big guy rolls his eyes and waves him off, Rory bounds over like an excited puppy.
