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He doesn’t react, so I try again.

“Lane!”

His eyes snap open, the deep blue bright even in the dark club, and I swallow. His hair is dark with sweat and his shirt is still lifted exposing most of his toned stomach, and he looks . . . fucked. It’s sexy as hell and my dick decides itreallylikes the way he looks.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

The man behind him pauses in his groping and looks me up and down, not bothering to conceal the interest in his eyes.

“Looking for you,” I say, holding out a hand as though I might be able to pull him away. Coach looks at my hand but makes no move to take it, so I make eye contact with the bearded guy instead. “He’s my boyfriend. We had a fight, but I want to make up.”

“I’m happy to mediate,” the guy says with a grin.

Reaching forward, I grab Coach’s hand and gently pull him away from the man. “I appreciate the offer. Maybe another time.”

My heart is slamming in my chest as I watch the guy narrow his eyes at Coach, who’s just standing there, his expression vacant and his hand still in mine. Then he shrugs and turns away, almost instantly finding someone else to dance with. I heave a sigh of relief and try to pull Coach toward the exit. He doesn’t budge.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asks.

I frown, glancing at our joined hands before up at his face. “What do you think I’m doing?”

He narrows his eyes at me, shoving his sweat-soaked hair off his forehead with the hand that’s not still clasped between my fingers. “It looks a lot like you’re stopping me from getting laid.”

I bark a laugh, nodding over at where the beefy guy is wrapped around someone else. “What? You really wanted him?”

Coach tugs my hand hard, taking me by surprise as I stumble forward into him. He presses his mouth to my ear, his voice low and harsh. “What I wanted was a quick, rough, no strings fuck.”

My heart stumbles at the feel of his warm breath against my ear, my cock twitching at the harsh way he says ‘fuck’, anger lacing the syllable. “I didn’t know you were into guys.”

He pulls back enough to look me in the eye. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

His tongue wets his lips and I track the movement, acutely aware of how close we’re standing. If he pulls me closer, he’s going to feel how hard I am, and it doesn’t look like I’m going to be able to coax him off the dance floor anytime soon, so I turn, pressing my back to his chest as I start to move to the music.

Coach’s hands immediately grip my hips, but for a second, he doesn’t move and my cheeks heat at misreading the situation. But then he yanks me back against him with such force I grunt.

“I thought you were with Joy,” he says, his lips brushing my ear.

I reach up, my fingers sliding through his damp hair. “You heard her. We’re justfriends.”

He scoffs, and when his nose brushes my neck, his fingers sliding under my t-shirt, my breath hitches. Every inch of me is alive. My blood thrumming in time to the heavy bass, beads of sweat sliding down my back. He feels bigger like this, every inch of his six foot three to my five-eleven feeling like a mile.

I push my ass back into his crotch, sucking in a breath when I find him rock hard against me. Coach’s hands smooth up my stomach, fingers teasing over my nipples, and I grip his hair tighter.

“You’re bi?” he asks, his teeth tugging at my earlobe.

My head is spinning, and I wonder how much of it is a delayed reaction to the three shots I pounded, and how much of it is Coach . . .Lane.

“Does it matter?” I ask, leaning my head back against his shoulder, the urge to tip my head and claim his pale pink lips far too tempting.

Lane pinches my nipple and I gasp. “Honestly, Rossi, I just want to know if you’re going to let me fuck you?”

A noise I’ve never made before in my life leaves my lips and Lane slides a hand down my body, cupping my rock-hard dick over my jeans.

“You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” he says, releasing his grip, and I groan.

Could I? Could I let this happen? Joy’s words are still sharp in my chest, and now I’m wondering whether leaving her alone with Doug was the smartest idea.Fuck.Considering this is supposed to be uncomplicated, my head is a damn mess.

“I . . .” My mouth is dry, and I can’t concentrate as Lane nips and sucks at my neck, his fingers teasing the waistband of my jeans as if he’d take me right here on the dance floor if I gave the word. Lane’s earlier words ring in my head, ‘a quick, rough, no strings fuck’, and my balls tighten at the thought of him angrily pounding into me, beads of sweat dripping from his hair onto my back.Fuck.

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